The Light in My Heart

by Jerry Rosendorn

  “Yet, what’s the reality of life? As we grow older, we settle into what’s familiar to us. As we mature, we develop our daily routines and have less of a need for new material goods. But, are we doomed to a life of old? Will we find ourselves like the caged hamster continuously running on a wheel going nowhere? Or, can we find the new in old?

  “At the height of their popularity, The Beatles were young, hip, and talented. The Beatles sold millions of dollars in records and associated paraphernalia. But, even in their youthful days, one of their songs showed us that they were thinking about growing older.

  “Do you remember their song, ‘When I’m Sixty-Four’? I’m going to sing some of the lyrics:

  ‘When I get older, losing my hair, many years from now,

  Will you still be sending me a valentine, birthday greetings, bottle of wine?

  If I’d been out ‘til quarter to three, would you lock the door?

  Will you still need me? Will you still feed me? When I’m sixty-four?”

  When the Rabbi concluded the song, the congregation chuckled, but he still held everyone’s attention. His style was friendly and calming with just enough humor to keep everyone focused on his message. I’d never thought of the concept before, finding the new in old; I wondered how it connected to religion.

  The Rabbi then spent time talking about growing old. While it was a subject I could relate to, it always seemed far off. Now, with Sharon by my side, I started to think about the Rabbi’s next words.

  “Some people think the flames of passion are gone when we get older. Some people think the little things like a birthday greeting or a Valentine are no longer important when we get older. Some even think old people become inactive. All not true. As we get older, we realize how important it is to have personal relationships; to care about someone.

  “George Bernard Shaw understood this well when he observed, ‘The only man who behaved sensibly was my tailor because he took my measurement anew every time he saw me, while all the rest went on with their old measurement and expected them to fit me.’”

  The Rabbi’s words were so true. Maybe we assume too much and fail to live life to its fullest by not looking at what’s in front of us.” As I pondered these words, the Rabbi continued.

  “Quoting from Ecclesiastes, ‘That which has been, is that which is to be, and that which has been done, is that which will be done, and there is no new thing under the sun.’ But, I suggest to you that a closer look at old may reveal something that’s new.”

  My mind begged the question: How do I discover the new in old?

  As if on cue, the Rabbi looked in my direction.

  “Begin with your God-given senses. We see, hear, touch, feel, and taste the world. Take your senses to your hearts and feel them in your inner being.

  “Here’s a way to test it out. Take a walk in the morning and expose all of your senses. If you see a red rose, your senses tell you it’s a red flower with a fragrant smell. But, by processing this information within your heart, you’ll be able to feel so much more. Your heart will remind you the fragrance you experience that day is the same as when you gave a rose to one you love. Then, take a walk another day. The next time you see that same rose, it may have moved into a different stage of its opening or its scent may be more intense. Hopefully, you may discover new things like yellow roses among the red ones.

  Do you see the value in old?”

  I immediately thought of my love to hike; how I had seen nature and its stages at different times of the year.

  The Rabbi’s voice became more intense as his eyes scanned the congregation.

  “The key to unlocking your being is to take your senses to your heart. In this way, you’ll understand the full beauty of what you experience.” I recalled Dr. Fox expressed something similar.

  In answer to my question of what the sermon had to do with religion, the Rabbi softened his voice and explained why we re-read the same prayers week after week and year after year. “We do it because we may find a new in the old. As we grow, as we search our inner beings, we discover new meanings within the old prayers.”

  When the sermon was finished, I turned to Sharon and she kissed me. The morning was inspiring, most importantly, I experienced it with her.

  Once or twice a week after work, I went straight to Sharon’s condo. To save me from street parking, Sharon gave me access to the underground parking garage. Now, with the push of a button on a remote control, I was able to park my car next to hers.

  When I arrived, we’d share a glass of wine. Even though I rarely drank, I enjoyed this ritual. Since I didn’t enjoy dry wines, Sharon compromised on a sweeter wine more to my liking.

  Sharon shook her head as I sipped my wine. “I have to wean you off the sweet stuff and get you to appreciate a nice pinot noir.”

  During most of our conversations, as Sharon talked to me about her difficult clients, I’d continue to marvel at her people skills.

  “Sharon, I am amazed at how you handle these situations.”

  “Honey, as the saying goes, ‘when you have apples you make applesauce.’ I usually figure out what to do with them without taking any nonsense.”

  Chapter 44

  April and May 1998

  As I prepared to attend the Mediator’s Conference, Sharon called with good news.

  “I’ll go to the conference with you. I’ll try to be the best companion you’ve ever traveled with. I want you to plan everything; I’ll be on auto-pilot.” She continued, “I have to insist on separate rooms; I’m not ready to be intimate with you. Once I do, I’ll be so emotionally bonded with you, if you ever leave me, I’ll be devastated. Can we be discreet and stay at a hotel away from the conference? I don’t want to share you with anyone, nor do I want to make small talk with strangers. Most of all, I don’t want to put you in the position of having to introduce me to people who’ll wonder who I am. Our relationship is too new; I don’t want to burden it unnecessarily. I’ll go, if you find us a place at least thirty minutes from Palm Desert.”

  “Okay. I understand. I know a nice place in Palm Springs that’s over thirty minutes from Palm Desert. I have to go to the conference on Friday and attend a two-hour class. Then, I’m yours for the rest of the weekend.”

  “Good. Is the hotel clean?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Great. Are you sure you don’t need to attend any other classes or network with other mediators?”

  “No. I just need to attend the one class.”

  I picked up Sharon on Friday at eleven in the morning for our drive to Palm Springs; we arrived at a small boutique hotel located one block from Palm Canyon Boulevard, the main street in Palm Springs. The hotel’s trademark was its beautiful garden and adjacent pool where the bartenders served exotic drinks and guests took exercise and yoga classes in the garden.

  After unpacking, I drove over to the conference site; attending the class which dealt with the latest issues in construction disputes. The class was helpful, but I got antsy toward the end. When the clock struck the final minute, I dashed out of the conference center heading back to the hotel and Sharon. Half way back, I called to let her know I’d be there soon.

  As I drove into the hotel lot, I did a quick mental checklist to help speed me along: Shower, shave, and change into clean clothes.

  As the hot shower water hit my back, I started to relax until my thoughts shifted to the image of Sharon’s tall beautiful body standing next to me in that shower; I imagined the water cascading over her every curve until it reached the shower floor. I did a double-take; it seemed so real.

  Once dressed and ready, I strode to Sharon’s door and knocked with confident male assertiveness. When she opened the door; I entered her room, saying, “Sharon, I was daydreaming about you. Why don’t we stay in your room for a while and relax. We can have a late dinner.” Then, as if I awoke from a deep s
leep, it dawned on me that Sharon hadn’t said a word and I found myself alone in the middle of her room; Sharon was still at the door.

  “Jake,” she finally said as though I was a two-year-old in need of some redirection. “It’s not safe in here. Please, make an about face. Let’s go for a walk and get something to eat.” I was caught red-handed with my desires. I quickly pivoted on my right foot and shot past her into the hallway.

  As we walked toward Palm Canyon Boulevard, I remembered a great Mexican place for dinner; I took Sharon’s hand and led her in that direction.

  Once seated by the bar where a band was setting up, we had several fruit margaritas, nachos, and a variety of tacos. The drinks became my salvation; they calmed my arousal down and reengaged my brain into telling alcohol-aided funny stories.

  After I told another ridiculous story, Sharon joined in and shared one of her own. We both laughed as if the stories were humorous. Our mood was unrestrained and happy; I took Sharon’s hand and led her to the dance floor. The music was provided by a three-piece band, a local group, time warped into a 60’s musical genre. The music put bigger smiles on our faces as we kept saying, “Remember this song?” We relived those simpler days in the Valley.

  We never looked at our watches; we stayed up late for middle-agers and wobbled back to our rooms.

  The next morning, we had a late breakfast and then changed into our bathing suits to spend the day by the pool.

  I’m not a sun-worshipper. If I hang out by the pool or the ocean, I have to be shaded by sunscreen and an umbrella; I always followed the directives of my dermatologist. Thankfully, Sharon felt the same way.

  To protect us from the strong desert sun, I chose a place in the garden partially shaded by the shadow of the hotel building and several palm trees; the spot was aided by two large umbrellas. With the help of 50 SPF, sunglasses, and my Safari Hat, I was ready to enjoy the day with Sharon.

  As I reclined in my lounge chair, Sharon started laughing. “If you looked like that in high school, they’d have called you ‘super geek.’”

  “I was a geek. But, we’ll see who has the last laugh,” I responded knowing I knew best. “They look ten years older than me; my skin’s as smooth as a baby’s bottom. Plus, there are long life genes in my family and I want to look good when I get there; my grandmother Ida lived to be ninety-seven.”

  “Jake, that’s great. Tell me about her.”

  “Grandma Ida was born in a small village in Lithuania. She was one of four children; when she was very young, her mother died and her father left the family, he moved to England. I’m not sure why her father left; maybe to make his fortune. They lived a very poor life and each winter brought new challenges for survival.

  “When her father left, Ida and her siblings went to live with their maternal grandparents. Her grandfather had a good job with the government issuing passports. She told me how people would come to their home where her grandfather had a large desk on which he would take down information and hand print passports. His final administrative act was to take out a large government seal, which he kept under lock and key in his desk, to stamp the new passport. For this service, he received a fee.

  “For the first twenty-years of her life, Ida lived in this small village learning to sew, cook, clean, and take care of a house. Her grandmother was the teacher; Ida was a willing student.

  “The village had around one thousand Jews who had a very structured life. The boys went to school to study the Torah. The girls spent the day with their mothers including trips to the village market to buy food and supplies. The center of their life was the synagogue where each one was expected to marry a Jew, have children, and prepare the next generation for the cycle of life.

  “When Ida first began telling me her stories, I wondered how she could live in such an environment. As I got older, I realized the answer was very simple; she didn’t know anything else. There was comfort in her structured life and she had some fond memories living in that village.

  “Sharon, it is similar to growing up in the Valley during the 1960s. When we look back, our lives were also simple; though we enjoyed what we had.

  “This story wouldn’t be complete without a love interest. For Ida, it was Benjamin; the boy next door. Actually, he wasn’t a boy; Benjamin was eleven years older than her.

  “Benjamin lived with his mother and older brother Yankel; his father died when the boys were young leaving them to care for their widowed mother.

  “Benjamin was a hard worker; doing a variety of jobs around the village to earn money. He was cabinet maker when cabinets needed to be made. He was a shingle maker when roofs leaked. He was a jack of all trades, but his brother was cut from a different cloth. Yankel did not work; he spent his days lying in the forest daydreaming. No one knew much about him, many thought he was ‘a little slow.’

  “One day, Yankel walked into the forest and disappeared. When he didn’t show up that evening, Benjamin and some of the villagers went to look for him; they had no luck. Benjamin assumed he had been eaten by a wolf.

  “When Yankel disappeared, Benjamin’s mother was heartbroken. Yankel always required extra love and attention from her; she spent the rest of her life grieving the loss of her son. A few years after he disappeared, she laid down for bed one night and never woke up.

  “Two months after her death, an envelope arrived in the village addressed to Benjamin’s mother. Benjamin opened it wondering who’d sent this to his mother. Inside was a note from Yankel saying he left the village in search of a better life and he found good fortune in the United States. Folded inside was a twenty dollar bill. The envelope had a return address in Los Angeles, California.

  “Sharon, this was around 1905 and Benjamin knew nothing about Los Angeles, but the note and the money convinced him that Los Angeles was the place for him to start a new life.

  “Within a few days, Benjamin set out for Los Angeles. This was devastating for Ida; she loved Benjamin and thought she’d lost him.

  “As time went by, Ida received letters from Benjamin. She couldn’t read them, but her grandfather could and he gave her the latest news from Benjamin and America. Eventually, Benjamin established his own business with a horse and wagon; he had become a junk dealer. When his business grew, he hired someone to help him; he felt ready to marry and start a family.

  “Benjamin wrote to Ida and asked her to come to Los Angeles to be his bride. When her grandfather read her the letter, she screamed with excitement and ran to her dresser to pack some clothes for her journey to Los Angeles.

  “In order to get to Benjamin, Ida took a train from Lithuania to Hamburg, Germany. From there, she boarded a ship and traveled to Galveston, Texas. From Galveston, she boarded another train to Los Angeles.”

  Sharon was following my story carefully and inquired, “Galveston, Texas? Why didn’t she go to New York and Ellis Island?”

  I continued, “I wondered the same thing, but it turns out many people entered the United States through Galveston. In fact, there was a famous rabbi who helped immigrants when they came through that port of entry. His last name was Cohen. He met my grandmother at the dock, helped and directed her from the ship to the train station.

  “Ida arrived safely in Los Angeles. She and Benjamin immediately married and they settled in East LA in an area known as Boyle Heights. They must have had a joyous wedding night because nine months to the day, my uncle Izzy was born.

  “Life was good for Ida. She married her childhood sweetheart, they had their own home on Brooklyn Avenue in LA, she was a mother, and she quickly became a part of the Los Angeles Jewish community. Then tragedy struck.”

  “Jake, oh no. What happened?” Sharon rose up from her lounge chair with a deep look of concern.

  “Benjamin died. As he was crossing the street, a runaway horse ran over him; he died instantly. In that instant, Ida’s good life was gone. What was she going to
do?

  “As I told you, she had become very involved in the Jewish community. With her sewing and baking skills, she helped other young wives and now they all rallied by her side in her time of need. Their objective was to get her through her mourning period, and then find her a new husband. Thankfully, they did just that. About one year later, she was introduced to my grandfather; they got married after a very short courtship. Again like magic, she got pregnant right away, nine months and one day later, my father was born.

  “Sharon, I’ve heard my grandmother tell me this story many times. Never thinking much about Benjamin’s death, I only focused on the fact my grandmother met my grandfather and my father was born. It was the only part of the story that had any meaning for me. But now, sitting here with you and telling you this story, I’m thinking about Benjamin’s life and his death. He loved my grandmother, and because of him, she came to Los Angeles. If not for his death, I wouldn’t be here with you.”

  We spent the day talking, drinking a beer or two, having lunch, with an occasional dip into the pool. I was sharing and receiving; I was growing closer. Most importantly, we were together.

  That evening, we walked arm-in-arm to a local steak house and dined on the patio watching the last part of the day retreat into night. Our horsepower was just above idle.

  We walked back from dinner; it was a warm night with no moon. We stood in the hotel garden staring up at the sky to see the Big Dipper. As we stood together, Sharon moved into my arms; the feeling was so secure. As we broke our hold, I looked at her beautiful face and we kissed. The taste of her sweet lips lingered in my mouth; my hands caressed her smooth shoulders. I leaned over to kiss her left shoulder and was met by a floral fragrance that transported me to a state of calm arousal. The most incredible part was how close I felt to her; I didn’t want to let her go.