(c) 2022
I was walking back from my most unfavourite chore, returning books to our library, a storefront more than half an hour walk from my house. At 11 years old, it was rare for me to go the library, especially in winter so I can’t remember why I had these books in the first place.
“Arlene, they will be overdue tomorrow so your books must go back today”. My mother’s words rang in my ears as I began my long trudge back home.
I lived in a largely Jewish neighborhood. I’ll describe the area another time, but this day, it was Friday. Soon you’d see mostly men walking to the various synagogues in the area for evening services. They’d carry their prayer shawl in a satin envelope decorated with Hebrew letters or the Star of David and wear their yamaka, a small skull cap.
My immediate family, we were “cultural Jews”. What does that mean? We joined our large extended family to celebrate holidays that always revolved around food and sometimes presents. There was Rosh Hashanah, The New year, Passover, our exodus from slavery in Egypt, and Hanukah the miracle of the oil. There were gatherings for Bar Mitzvahs and weddings, birthdays, births, funerals and the other events a large Jewish family celebrate.
It was 1954, just 6 years since Israel, a very old country was made new again. There was a positive feeling of rejuvenation in there air. Fund raising included dances and raffles, ticketed events and donation drives. Organizations sprang up. I was a member of Young Judea, a social group for girls. This is where I learned more about being Jewish. I learned songs and dances as we celebrated holidays, some more important than others. I learned from the movies too, “The 10 Commandment” along with the many Christ spectaculars. All the while I kept reminding myself. “Jesus was Jewish”. I must admit when considering this I sometimes I flushed with a bit of pride. I don’t believe in him the way Christians do but, let’s face it, “Jesus was definitely very special.” But I digress.
At this time, my chapter of Young Judea was collecting donations for “Trees for Israel” We were given official collection cans. I took mine with me on my trip to the library. I thought, “ Maybe I can turn this dreaded chore into an opportunity?”
She smiled and said, “Thank you so much, but what are you doing out here so late. Look, it’s starting to snow harder. I shouldn’t be here either.” I showed her my can, “I belong to Young Judea and I’m collecting donations for Trees for Israel”.
“Well that is quite admirable young lady doing this in such poor weather.” She smiled, reached into her pocket, found some coins and put them in my can. I thought, “Oh how I love the sound of dropping coins.”
At that point I’d worked my way along the street collecting donations and lots of affirming smiles. I was at Lawrence and Kedzie about 10 minutes from home. I turned the corner and there was the cigar store. A few men were standing at the entrance to the shop smoking big cigars. They looked kinda gangster like but I was feeling quite confident with my successes so I walked up to them and showed them my can.
“Collecting money for Trees for Israel?” the shortest man asked.
“What are they going to do with those trees?”
“Well I think they’re going to plant them in the desert and try to reclaim the land. I don’t know exactly how they do it but I think that’s the plan.”
That gentleman reached into his pocket and pulled out some change. Again, I thrilled at the sound as he dropped quarters into the can. The other men looked closely, not to be outdone, they too put even more coins into my can.
Then the one that looked about my dad’s age said “Why don’t you go inside the store. There are lots of people there.” I thought, “I’d walked past the cigar store before but never considered going inside, why would I? I’m 11 years old and I don’t smoke!” then I laughed to myself. Unsure I said “Do you really think it’s OK if I go in”.
“Sure” he said with a big smile, “and if they ask, tell them I said it was OK.”
I thought, “Probably not many women or children like me stepped past that glass door.” But, I was rolling in my successes and beside, now I had an invitation. The man outside said it was OK, so I put my fears aside.
I cautiously approached the glass door. I could hear the din of heated conversation. As the door opened I felt the rush of warm air. Until that moment I hadn’t realized “I’m cold!” I thought. I was having so much fun collecting money and talking to people that I didn’t notice the cold or the weather or the time.
Conversations stopped and all eyes turned to me.
Stepping forward I was surrounded by smiling cigar smokers.
“And what can we do for you young lady?” That’s when I held up my can. “I’m collecting for Trees for Israel”. The men looked at each other and laughed. Amused, they pulled out their wallets. Each man watched the other, once again not to be out done. “Oh my God” I thought “folding money is being stuffed into my can. This sound is even better!” The man that looked like my dad said, “What a good thing you are doing. Here is a quarter for you”.
“WOW, this is all too good to be true” I thought as I put the money in my jacket pocket. I didn't realized it at the time, but this was a prophecy for what was to come. In the meantime I said “Thank you so much”. Happily I turned and in moments I was back into the cold and snowy night.
A little ways up from the cigar store, a very tall man stood in the middle of the sidewalk. He wore an old winter coat and tattered gloves covered his huge hands. One held a tin cup and the other a white cane. Were there people passing by I don’t know. I was transfixed.
Inexplicably I found myself drawn toward him. I wasn’t too much taller than where he held his cup. I froze and then realized what I wanted to do. I reached into my jacket pocket and found my quarter. Carefully I dropped it into his tin cup. The sound startled me. Then, standing right in front of him I looked up. I looked into his huge white sightless eyes set deep into the hollows of his bony face. “Thank you” he said, his voice deep to go with his huge body. “You’re welcome” was my feeble whispered replied. I was lost in the moment and then with a jolt I was back to reality. I turned and moved quickly to get away from those haunting sightless eyes.
I knew it was late. Stores were dimming their lights, turning off their signs and locking their doors. There weren't as many people on the street. Those that passed me seemed anxious to reach their destination. It was truly the end of the day.
I was basking in a rare and wonderful moment, a feeling of acceptance washed over me. I was doing good work. “But now I’m tired.” I thought. “I’m cold. I’m ready for something comforting, something familiar. Now I’m ready to go home.”
From here it was a quick walk to Wilson, our side street. From the corner I could see the living room window of our first floor apartment. Silhouetted in the window was my mother. I could tell she was looking up the street. “Was she watching for me? Was she waiting for me?” Seeing my mother I thought for the first time, “I could be in trouble!” At that point I began walking faster.
The afternoon flashed before me. The library, the snow, the haloed street lights, the darkness, the cold, the generous people I met, the cigar store, the blind man, I was having so much fun I completely lost tract. I didn’t know what time it was but I thought it was safe to say “No, I didn’t walk straight home after the library.”
With trepidation I opened the building entrance door and stepped inside. I pressed the buzzer and waited. Someone rang me in. I slowly walked up the carpeted stairs to our first floor apartment. The door was open. There stood my mother in her winter coat and wet boots. She was in a tearful rage. “Arlene, where have you been? It is almost 8:00 o’clock. We were so worried. ARLENE, we called the police. They’re out there right now looking for you”
What could I say? “I was canning for Trees for Israel” and sheepishly showed her the donation can. In memory the rest of the conversation is a blurred shouting and crying, stories and explanations.
My mother decided a fitting punishment was to take away a privilege. “No more canning for you Arlene” was my mother’s pronouncement. I presented all the arguments, the pleading, the tears, but she was unmovable. I was devastated but realized that my thoughtlessness really scared them. Then I thought, “Oh My God, they actually called the police!”
I can only guess at my mother’s reasoning and justification. Something I did caused me to seriously loose track of time that could have put me in danger. So, I think in her agitated state she decided to remove the cause instead of correcting the behaviour.
At the next Young Judea meeting I handed in my donation can. I can’t remember how much money I’d collected but everyone was quite impressed. “Keep this up and you could win the prize for “the most money collected.”
I went home and told my mother, but she was unmoved. “No canning for you Arlene.” “ But mother!” I begged, but she was still firm in her decision. Sadly I accepted my fate. I can’t remember if I told the club why I wouldn’t take another donation can. I think I was too embarrassed to admit what I’d done and more importantly how my punishment hurt our cause.
***
Fast forward to the present. As I wrote this life episode I recognized the significance of my experience. At the time I was an insecure child totally lacking self-confidence. Looking back at that snowy winter walk I saw the beginnings of my social growth. Pulled out of my shell by circumstances I experienced my power. Success came with a commitment to a mission, something bigger than myself, a cause I believed in. “I’m collecting for Trees for Israel”. Much to my surprise, with my new found confidence and a smile, I asked and they gave!
Over the years I’ve taken up many causes, ideas and movements for the betterment of all. Meeting the blind man with a quarter in my pocket was the first time I gave money to someone on the street. It felt good. I was glad I had the money to give.
Today for those with a cup, a hat, an open guitar case, an outstretched hand, I’m rarely without a coin for the needy. If I can’t afford a bit of change they get a smile and an acknowledgement, “Not today, but I wish for you all the best.” My comment is generally well received.
So let it be said, that snowy walk was the beginning of my life long quest to become the confident, secure, outspoken and caring person I strive to become even today.
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