Jewish Life Digital Edition October 2013 | Page 19

were many familiar faces of people I had
seen the night before at the mosque –
young Jews searching for something. Suddenly, a large man wearing a very strange
looking fur hat and sporting a long grey
beard came dancing down the narrow aisle.
He danced straight up to me and then
pulled me with him back down to the front
of the shul. “It’s so good to see you!” he said,
hugging me in a warm embrace. I didn’t
know how to react. Were Chassidim always
so friendly? I had seen many of them in the
diamond district in midtown, but none of
them had ever hugged me before.
I found out later that I had just met Rabbi Mordechai Twerski, the son of the late
Hornsteiple Rebbe of Denver, Colorado,
Rabbi Shlomo Twerski. It is no wonder that
he is affectionately called the “Hug-achuver
Rebbe” by his disciples. His warmth had a
strong impression on me, although I wasn’t
quite sure what had just hit me.
Back at my place, I decided to lend Geoff
my newly printed poem for his long subway
ride home. “Let me know what you think.”
We kept up the friendship for the next few

months and I continued to divide my time
between the mosque and the shul.
My parent’s apartment building employed a new doorman from Pakistan, and I
talked to him about my newfound interest
in Islam. He bought me a Koran and some
other books as well. One day he greeted me,
“Today is Ibrahim Day.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Ibrahim Day is the day that our forefather Ibrahim was to sacrifice Yishmael.”
“You mean Isaac,” I corrected him.
“No, Yishmael,” he snapped back, looking
annoyed.
“Listen,” I said, “I don’t know much about
the Torah, but I’m pretty sure that Abraham went to sacrificed Isaac, not Yishmael.
I think I have a Bible at home, I’ll go upstairs and check.”
I had no idea that this was one of the
main points of contention between the
Moslems and the Jews. He didn’t raise the
point again, but I began to see that it was
not possible to be a member of both religions at once while remaining intellectually honest.

DEATH AND LIFE
I was in denial about how badly my mother’s condition had deteriorated. Had I
known that she only had a few more
months left, I probably would have done
everything different. I would have spent
more time at home. Instead, I wanted to
live on my own, so I could write and meditate. I was rambunctious and didn’t understand much about the world. I completely
ignored the fact that she might actually die;
we all did. I was too young to process such a
tragic loss and unprepared for the pain. I
thought that everything would be fine. Not
only would she survive, but if, G-d forbid,
she didn’t make it, it was all meant to be
and I would accept it with happiness. Or so
I thought.
Her death came suddenly and it was a
shock for me. I stood there in the hospital
room with my family, unable to speak, unsure of what to do. I tried laughing, crying,
it was such a strange mixture of emotions.
On the one hand, I was so happy that her
pain was finally over; on the other, I felt
like my whole world had been destroyed. I

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