For Openers...
Don't Go Gently
On Yom Kippur
TED ROBERTS
Special to The Jewish News
L
eah was old and Leah was
sick. That's why she lifted
her head from the pillow
and called out, in her heart,
to God.
To be more specific, she called out
for the Malech Hamoves, the angel of
death. With her entire being, she
pleaded, "Take me. Take me."
God and His angels heard. After
all, this was Leah Rizenberg. A seven-
candle soul on the ethical scale. A soul
as sweet smelling as the aroma of the
Shabbat challah she baked every Fri-
day until she was stricken.
However, it must be admitted that
Leah suffered from one imperfection.
She procrastinated; she delayed. Why
burden today with tomorrow's obliga-
tion? And she loved gin rummy, her
favorite form of procrastination.
When the angel on duty that night
heard the erev Yom Kippur call, he
immediately dispatched the Malech
Hamoves to collect this priceless soul.
He came to her as she struggled
through an uneasy sleep. "Leah, it's
me," he whispered. "You called me, the
friend of the sick and the sufferers."
Immediately she was awake. "Ah,"
she gasped. "You're a prompt old bird.
You couldn't have waited another 15
minutes?"
"After 82 years, 73 days and
approximately six hours, what's anoth-
er 15 minutes? Another goodbye to
your family? Another pill? Come;
you're as old as stone. Take my hand."
Leah crooked a finger in the Dark
Angel's face. "Wait a minute; wait a
minute. Not just yet. It's almost Yom
Kippur. I'm feeling a little better now.
How about a quick game of gin? You
know, next week I'll be a great-grand-
mother."
llowz By You
The angel, who had been in on
eons of final scenes like this, knew it
was best to humor the reluctant ones.
"One game of rummy — only one."
She dealt the first hand and
although she wasn't at the top of her
game, she easily subdued her guest.
But not by so much that he didn't
refuse a second game. The stakes?
"Okay, okay, if I lose, I'll go right
now," she agreed.
As she picked up the deck and skill-
fully built a hand that would catch her
opponent with a handful of pictures,
she prattled, "Did you know that my
granddaughter in Queens is scheduled
to deliver next week? So why couldn't
Her opponent said, "Don't even
think it. It is not done. I can't wait a
•
week for you."
As he ranted, Leah drew a card and
quietly, almost apologeticallywhis-
pered, "Gin."
The angel, not accustomed to
defeat by mortals, agreed to one final
match. If she won, she could hang
around a full week and provide the
soul of her own grandchild. A loss, she
❑
by Martha Jo Fkuchmann
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Quotables
"It's my last vision of him — praying."
—A daughter of Joe Klein, a passenger on the Swiss Air Flight 111
that crashed near Halifax. Mr. Klein's talit (prayer shawl) was all that
was found of him among the wreckage in the Atlantic Ocean.
"I don't really think about it at all."
—Jack Greenberg, newly appointed president and
chief executive officer of McDonald's Corp., on being Jewish
and running the planet's best known cheeseburger business.
"Can one ever get forgiveness for such stupidity?"
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agreed, meant the clasp of the angel's
cold hand.
It was a classic encounter, like Jacob
and the angel.
I won't tell you who won, but here's
a clue: 25 years later in Queens, N.Y.,
there was a great gin rummy player
named Leah who cherished the mem-
ory of a great-grandmother she never
met. A lady who wouldn't go gently
on Yom Kippur.
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