God Doesn’t Tell Me What to Do

My parents grew up in the days where if you went to cheder (Jewish religious school), the Rebbe would smack your knuckles with a ruler. At work, they were told, "If you don't come to work on Saturday, don't come on Monday."

My father's family was very poor. His mother had to pawn her wedding ring to put food on the table. No wonder they didn't stay observant. My father just wanted out of poverty.

I became an observant Jew in my twenties. It was easy for me. I always had a full stomach, thanks to my father.

For my parents' 90th birthday, my father wanted to make a big fancy schmancy party at his country club.

"That's the first day of Sukkot, a Yom Tov," my sister-in-law said to my father on the phone. That’s problematic since as an observant Jew, our family cannot drive on Yom Tov.

"God doesn't tell me what to do," my father said.

Although he grew up very poor, he'd become a successful and rich dentist. He'd pulled himself up by his own boot straps.

"I tell God what to do."

"Having the party on Yom Tov will make it difficult for Jewel," my sister-in-law said. She pleaded with him on my behalf. "Can we please choose a different date?" More pleading, crying, last night's eyeliner streaming down her face.

He wouldn't budge.

I wanted to avoid WWIII, so I caved. The country club was in the middle of nowhere, so I had to find a way of getting there that didn't include driving.

She handed the phone over to me and my father gave me "the talk." "It's our 90th birthday. We don't have much time left. What can be more important than pleasing your parents?" He went on and on, pouring out the Jewish guilt. There was no budging him. I wanted to avoid WWIII, so I caved.

How was I going to work this out? The country club was in the middle of nowhere, so I had to find a way of getting there that didn't include driving. I called up the Rabbi closest to the club. Miracle of miracles, he made plans for us to stay at a small castle on the water off the Long Island Sound, right across from the club. We could get there before Sukkot.

When we arrived, my teenage daughter was ecstatic because the house had been used in a teen TV show she watched. She couldn't wait to tell her friends. Besides being a castle, inside it looked like a museum, including a knight in shining armor by the front door and a full floor library, with carved wooden arches and a gorgeous mosaic floor.

Most importantly, there was a small sukkah in the garden.

So, the night of the party came. We walked across the road in the rain in our disposable plastic raincoats. Inside the club, everyone was in tuxedoes and ball gowns. Low cut dresses everywhere. Diamonds flashing and dangling earrings sparkling. There were ice sculptures and mountains of lobsters and shrimp. Candlelight. The smell of excitement crackling in the air.

The fire alarm went off. Of course, nobody listened. The flames would have to be close enough to cook your shrimp to be taken seriously.

About 20 minutes into the party, the fire alarm went off. Of course, nobody listened. The flames would have to be close enough to cook your shrimp to be taken seriously.

The fire department came and made everyone go outside. It was raining and we jam-packed ourselves under an awning. Tuxedoes, gowns, sequins and glittering jewelry all packed in like sardines. Overhead lights gave everyone a pale pallor and makeup was fading. Someone brought a chair for my 90-year-old mom, who was wearing a gorgeous beaded blue dress and dazzling jewelry. We assumed it would only be for a few minutes.

The fireman told my father they couldn't find any fire, but they couldn't reset the fire alarm, so due to safety concerns, no one could go back inside. My father heard this and fell to the ground unconscious.

We tried to keep my mother away from him because we were afraid she'd have a heart attack if she saw him on the ground. We told her he'd had too much to drink.

The ambulance had arrived with the fire department, so they took my father and a couple of our family members who were doctors (plenty of Jewish doctors in our family) to the hospital. Everyone else left.

Cross country airline tickets all gone to waste. The fancy schmancy party was over, leaving ice sculptures to melt, candles to be extinguished and a feast to be spoiled. We weren't even allowed to pack up the food.

We walked back across the road to the castle, the knight in shining armor awaiting us. Our hosts were happy to invite us to dine with them in their sukkah. The bamboo walls wobbled in the wind, the palm fronds on the roof kept us dry in the rain. The Yom Tov candles glistened. We sat on garden chairs at a table laden with gourmet food. Eight of us crowded into a room built for four people. It was a magical night.

The country club opened the next morning at 6:00 am for golf tee off times. It had been closed only for the few hours of the party. The fancy schmancy country club was shut down on Sukkot, but the frail little sukkah was fine and dry.

Now isn't this the message of Sukkot? Your protection comes from God, not from your house, your bank account, your stocks.

Right after that experience, he felt vulnerable and God's presence became more a part of his life.

My father stayed in the hospital for a few days for tests, and thank God he turned out to be fine. It was the shock that made him faint.

Right after that experience, he felt vulnerable and God's presence became more a part of his life. He would say "God willing" this and "Thank God" that. It didn't last long. As he felt stronger, his tough guy persona returned.

But at least for a short time he tasted what Sukkot is all about.