The Rabbi

I was hired as the director for a Jewish Temple Day camp in Los Angeles when I was 21.  Some of the campers were Jewish, and most were something else.  The 65 campers ranged in age from 6 to 14. 

I got to hire the 10 women and men counselors, and I was also the driver of the 65 passenger bus that took them to the beach, and all kinds of interesting places around Southern California.  I loved it.  All the counselors I hired were people-people. 

At the end of one day, before dropping the young people off at their homes  I first stopped by to see the Rabbi at the Temple to check on the schedule for the next day.  I left the bus waiting at the curb with the 65 campers plus 10 counselors.   "Bruce," the rabbi began, "When you drop off the seven-year old negro boy, tell him he cannot come back any more. Don't tell him why." 

”Tell me why,” I asked. 

"Because some of the parents said they did not want their children around negros, and

would withdraw their children." 
"No," I replied, "I will not do that." 
"It's a business decision," he said.  "We have to stay in business."
"I will not do that.  I will quit now if you ask again, and you can drive the children home and find another director.  With our history of being discriminated against and killed because we are Jewish, how could you even ask that?"

Instinctively, he replied with a standard business  response.  I was silent. He paused, and looked into my eyes.  In silence, he withdrew his request. 

I drove the "campers" home and the "negro" child got to return, and no parents removed their children over the rest of the summer. 

For me, I got to remove the pedestal  I carried about men and women of God   More importantly,I discovered a bit more awareness, and natural instinct to stand for, and with everyone, including the Rabbi.      

A BIKE RENTAL

My son and I went to Venice Beach near Los Angeles so I could rent a bike and he could simply step onto his skateboard.  An hour later, I returned the rented  bike and informed the business owner that the gears were slipping and not shifting well.  I asked for a credit.  He immediately replied, "No," and said angrily, "just forget paying me."  In the past, he had often seemed quick and sarcastic as his way of being.  " 

I walked away feeling not so good inside.  It wasn't a matter of who was right. I felt sad about the encounter.  By the time I got to my car a few minutes later, I know I wanted, and had to change how I felt,  and probably how he felt.  From the back seat of my car, I picked up a new copy of my book FREE THE CHILDREN, and walked back to the bike rental place. 

I found the man as he looked everywhere but into my eyes  "I apologize,"  I began, 
"for what just took place between us."  His face softened as did mine.  I handed him the
book and said, "I'm sorry.  I want you to have a copy of my book. You're a good man."   I apologized again.  Tears came to his eyes, as he accepted the gift and extended his hand to reach mine.  I had tears too.  My body relaxed.  I felt good inside. 

ORIGINAL ME

An adult person is a set of beliefs and behaviors, not our own.  An adult is self-perceived as a woman or man that behaves in specific ways.   She or he often speaks in a voice of authority, seriousness, and a language never quite their own.   Take the adult out of me, and what is left?  Me.  The original me, in my case, was when I was
12-years old.  I remember me.  

I freely danced, did hand springs, somersaults, rode my bike down hills that the adult would never do.  The 12 year old, yet to be adult me, laughed a lot.  Not at other people, but with them.  He found it difficult to take seriously much of what the adult me.......does.  Even spiders weren't that scary.