The Shoplifter’s Kippah
This past Sunday night, I had just stepped out of the supermarket when the hullabaloo began.
A religious man had been caught shoplifting by the security guard.
When we heard the yelling, many of us turned to see what was going on, including a group of African tourists. Christian pilgrims, it appeared, possibly from Nigeria or Kenya…
And the tourists were bending over and guffawing, “And he is a religious man!” they chuckled to one another.
The hillul Hashem stung like a slap across my face.
This past fall, my father was hospitalized for a few days at Sinai Hospital in Baltimore. Except for me and my family, I don’t think my father really knows so many Orthodox Jews.
But all of a sudden, every conversation with my father was peppered with news about Orthodox Jews…
On Thursday, he told me about the kind woman from the Bikur Cholim society who came buy with challah rolls and grape juice.
On Sunday, he told me about the beautiful card he had received from the Bais Yaakov students who prepare cards for all of Sinai’s patients.
On Tuesday, a different Bikur Cholim volunteer stopped by to check how he was doing.
The Kiddush Hashem as sweet as a lick of honey.
Which reminds me…
In the street, in the store, in the world,
I don’t think people are watching me and what I do.
But they are.
A slap? A lick of honey?