by Dr. David Fialkoff, Editor / Publisher

I've been afraid to write this story. Life is cheap in Mexico, and I was afraid for mine. But this story took place almost a decade ago, and the man of whom I write has moved away to Mexico City or Guadalajara or I'll not say where.

There was a time when I was regularly spending time in Querétaro, both for business and pleasure. Typically, I would arrive there on Thursday evening and come back to San Miguel on Sunday or Monday.

There was (and might still be) in that large city a small Jewish congregation that only convened on the Sabbath and holidays. When I was in town I would attend.

The leader of that congregation, although not a rabbi, was a learned man. In his early fifties he took responsibility for the smooth functioning of the Saturday morning prayer service, and and he and his wife provided the traditional meal after those services. I, being very familiar with the etiquette of the service, filled the traditional role of the "rabbi's assistant."

The recent coronation of King Charles contained many elements that were based on the coronation of the kings ancient Israel. There is a precise, if less pompous formula to the Sabbath prayer service, rules and rituals, especially concerning the Reading of the Torah:

This is a short version of the ritual, only the basics. There is much more. Chapters, books have been written regarding the appropriate etiquette. Jewish love of detail is the main factor associated with Jewish success. My attention to detail, which drives some people crazy, most of all me, finds a home in the synagogue service, where there really is a very particular way to do things.

The synagogue service is really a magical ritual, and so the formula is important. But in ceremonies, intention is as important as form. Feeling being the main mystical vehicle of the Jewish prayer service, in Querétaro, most rules could be bent. No one was ever embarrassed for not following the customs.

But back to the story:

The man of whom I write, Q, also attended Sabbath morning services in Querétaro. Quite fascinating in a rather high-strung way, I had a standing invitation to his home each Friday night that I was in town.

There, after performing the rituals over the wine and the bread, we sat down to a festive dinner, with stories, jokes and songs and a discussion of the Torah portion for the week largely led by me. My hosts, Q was a highly cultured person, more formal than polite. He was a very entertaining person, as mad geniuses often are. Our Friday evenings were prolonged affairs. A friendship was forming. But then, quite suddenly and without warning, things changed.

Q, became unappreciative of my guidance in religious matters. With a principal diagnosis of Attention Deficit Disorder, Q was often at sea during the prayer service. Then he became resentful of any guidance I gave to anyone, making disapproving gestures or mumbled complaints. Then he became overtly hostile. Bullying me, or attempting to, out loud during services and at the meal that followed. At the first signs of this change, I stopped going to dinner at his house. Synagogue was another matter.

Rabbi Hillel, when mockingly challenged by a gentile to explain the whole Torah while he stood on one foot, kept both feet on the ground and, quoting the Torah, declared the Golden Rule, "'What is hateful unto you do not do unto another.' The rest is commentary. Go learn."

The kabbalists explain that our souls were all contained in Adam's soul, and, as this group soul, Adam Kadmon, still exists, we all still inhabit the same spiritual body. This accounts for the centrality of the Golden Rule.

One Saturday Q's hostility went too far. Having just elevated the Torah off of the bimah, after the Reading of the Torah, Q sat with the scroll. At that moment, the service required Q to stand up and deliver the Torah, still cradled against his shoulder, to the ark. This had to be done before the leader completed the kaddish, a short prayer.

His being oblivious to this order of the service, and such being my role as the rabbi's assistant, it was necessary for me to softly advise Q, "You have to return the Torah to the ark now." As he didn't budge, I tried again, now with a note of urgency, "The Torah has to be in the ark before the leader finishes the kaddish." Q remained, figuratively and literally, unmoved. At this point the leader, who could not interrupt his kaddish to say anything, was repeatedly pointing to the ark to lend his approval to my instruction. Facing Q's petulant defiance, indicating the leader's gesture, I implored, still in a low voice, "Look, he's pointing. He's pointing."

Begrudgingly, as if defeated, Q got up and made the short walk to the ark cradling the Torah upright, against his heart and shoulder, with me several steps in front of him as it was my role to open the ark, take the Torah from him, place it inside, and close the ark's doors.

The moment was like a scene from The Exorcist, with the demon blaspheming out of the little girl's mouth, but it was immersive, all too real. Just before passing me the Torah, with the congregation in song, Q mocked me in a falsetto, childish, schoolyard, sing-song voice, softly so only I could hear, "Look, he's pointing! Look, he's pointing!" It was a satanic perversion, a sacrilege to the Torah passing between us, a Desecration of God's Name.

I kept my composure, as I did in the face of all of Q's baseless animosity, but after services, I complained again to the leader of Q's hostility towards me, this time representing his latest affront.

The leader did speak with him, I know because the following Sabbath Q, entirely undaunted, ridiculed me, again in that childish tone, "You had to go complain to 'Daddy.' You couldn't talk to me about it." I retorted, "I did talk to you about it. I went to 'Daddy' because you are acting like a naughty child."

I stopped going to synagogue. I could have put up with Q's antics which never abated, but I was disappointed that the leader did not defend me better. I was not a free agent acting independently. I was supporting the protocol of the synagogue service and the leader. I felt that I deserved more support in return.

Life is cheap in Mexico. Ninety-five percent of all killings are never solved. I don't know the extent of Q's mental and emotional imbalance, but the way he looked at me on more than one occasion was murderous.

I've kept this story to myself for a long time. If I hadn't heard that Q moved to Mexico City or Guadalajara or somewhere else, I wouldn't be telling this story now. Q, if you do read these words, please understand that I really did love you; you just wouldn't let me.

The Golden Rule has two formulations, positive and negative. The positive form is, "You should love your neighbor like you love yourself." On that the rabbis explain that we should grant our neighbor every benefit of the doubt, as we excuse ourselves: "If I wasn't under stress, then I wouldn't have behaved so badly." As I see it, the negative form, "What is hateful unto you, do not do unto another," has one big advantage. After all, what good does it do to love you like I love myself, if in fact I hate myself?

Some people are nice to strangers and acquaintances as was Q with his "polite" formality. But these same people are harsh with intimates, with people close to them.

I know that Q was very hard on himself. I assume that he was hard on me because I got too close to him, because he came to identify me as self. From his point of view, my kindred proximity rendered me guilty, mentally and emotionally, just as he, in his own mind, was guilty. By his twisted logic, Q had to punish me for being his friend. Which reminds me of that Groucho Marx joke, "I wouldn't join any club that would accept me as a member." I'd laugh, too, but it's my life.

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Dr. David Fialkoff presents Lokkal, our local social network, the community online and off, Atención robustly reborn for the digital age. If you can, please do contribute content, or your hard-earned cash, to support Lokkal, SMA's Voice. Use the orange, Paypal donate button below. Thank you.

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