A SCHLIMAZAL REGAINS HIS FOOTING

A SCHLIMAZAL REGAINS HIS FOOTING


Good morning, class. Our Yiddish words for today are “schlemiel” and “schlemazal.” The schlemiel and schlemazal are tragedo-comic characters who are perennially down on their luck.

Are the schlemiel and schlemazal synonymous? Ask any Yiddish aficionado, and he will resort to a word-picture to drive home the distinction: The schlemiel is constantly spilling his bowl of hot soup. The schlemazal is the one who is always getting the soup spilled in his lap. Many of us have our own stories to be told. Take this personal example, a cautionary tale of my own, starring me in both roles of schlemiel and schlimazel:

I am taking Minnie the Dog for her morning constitutional on a particular dank and rainy day. I feel particularly virtuous, because Linda usually does the morning run. This morning I play daddy, so Linda can get to a meeting on time.

The steps down to the backyard are made of railroad ties, the kind that get mercilessly slippery in the rain. There had been plans to install railings along the stairway, but as you would expect, the project dropped to the bottom of a lengthy to-do list.

So, I take two steps, and a moment later, I become the prototype schlemazal. My feet fly out from under me, and I land flat on my back, like in a Road Runner cartoon.

You want to know about pain? Oy! Such a schlemazal! Details are irrelevant. After two sets of x-rays and a CAT scan, we determine that I have fractured four vertebrae.

“It could always be worse,” my Uncle Izzy would say. Broken vertebrae aside, it could always be worse. The spine, they reassured me, was stable, so l could resume activities and watchfully wait for two month for another series of x-rays and CAT scans. And new railings have already been installed.

What kind of transcendent lessons can be learned from a schlimazel who slips and breaks his back on the proverbial banana peel? I need not reach too far:

First, be careful! Mother and father usually knew best when they cautioned and re-cautioned us about the perils we might confront when we’re out on our own.

Second, cherish the moment. The scant moment when I was transformed from schlemiel to schlimazel, I did see my life pass before my eyes. For whatever reasons, my first response was to try to wiggle my toes. Upon succeeding, I knew by instinct that everything would be fine.

God looked down on me with undeserved providence. But how many of our brothers and sisters do not share the privilege of cherishing the moment when they knew all would work out? Then think of starvation, of disease, of torture and genocide, and their victims who are belittled into hopelessness. What might we do?

Finally, but foremost: Ordinary people doing ordinary things bring extraordinary gifts. People in the hospital – techs, cleaning staff, transporters, nurses – people who work at their jobs and collect their pay, leave behind a smile, a laugh, a sensitivity, a concern, a wish and a prayer. And, I discovered the same in airports that are notorious for indifference. They now seemed only too quick to accommodate with a wheelchair, and to assist getting over a step, and helping navigate the concourses. Just everyday people who will help bear a load that might be too much for you to maintain.

I know what you’re saying cynically: Sure, that’s the treatment you get when you are a well-dressed guy, gray hair, the other side of sixty, in a wheelchair. To this I have no refutation. But I have intuition. My intuition tells me that, over all, people are getting nicer, and if we push a little harder we might actually foment a revolution for niceness. It’s almost as if we could see the brokenness of a person and be led to basic niceness. Then we would recognize that every one of us carries his/her own bag of sadness, and fear, and insecurities. We all need a gift of compassion, understanding, of basic niceness. And then dare we dream that kindness will explode and rain its beloved fallout over all the earth?

Schlemiel, schlimazel . . . there’s a role for each of us to play. Think about it, train your sights on it, do not despair, be known by your niceness. Most of all, be careful. The path can be slippery, and you might take a fall now and again, but if you are careful, you will make it. What a reward awaits.