Two Tales of Tefillin

The other day, a group of Farsi-speaking Jews came to the synagogue. Living in Los Angeles, I am rather familiar with Persian Jews and their various customs. In fact, I used to spend time visiting Persian merchants in LA's fashion district on a weekly basis, laying Tefillin with them. Thus fortified, I called the group over for little inspiration and spirituality.

Soon Shmuli and I had them all putting on Tefillin . . . Nothing out of the ordinary in the day's work of a Roving Rabbi. Suddenly, from the corner of my eye, I noticed a familiar face – one of my close friends from Downtown LA!

Playing it cool, as it were, I waved to him, as if it was one of our weekly meetings in LA. He did a double take, his eyes almost popping out, and teared up with emotion.

One can not describe the joy and surprise of traveling half way around the world, only to see the face of a longtime acquaintance!

That evening, Chief Rabbi Pewzner recommended that we stroll around the city and visit the hotels, in order to locate various other vacationing members of the Tribe.

As we walked down one of main thoroughfares, passing the acclaimed Mariinsky Theatre, we stopped briefly in a 24 hour convenience store to pick up a calling card (Called Hallo Mama, it costs 150 Rubles and gives rates to call Palestine[sic], but not Israel). Besides calling cards, they sold fruit, bread and a sickening amount of alcohol . . . including these 3 liter bottles of beer (yuck!)

In the Astoria, one of Petersburg's nicest hotels, we met a lovely Jewish couple from Denver resting in the hotel's lounge after a long day touring the city.

Joining them, we spoke for a while about various topics of interest -Jewish history in Russia and S. Peterburg, the Holocaust, life in Colorado and the discovery of natural gas off the coast of Haifa.

Before Petersburg, they had been in Lithuania, where Colly, the husband, had roots. We spoke about the community there, what was, what could have been and the recent blossoming Jewish life after the Holocaust and Communism . . . Concluding that we needed to do something practical, I suggested putting on tefillin.

It was already 9:50 in the evening, but with the sun shining outside, it hardly could be called night.

Walking through the streets in the eerie evening light, everything took on a surreal, dreamlike state. My senses told me that I was tired from a long day's work . . . but it just seemed too bright outside. Perhaps, to some small extent I hope, things were just a little bit brighter due to our work.