Survivor: Poland

"One of the best Seinfeld episodes."

That's like saying one of the best Dylan songs.

There's just too many to choose from to say "one of the best."

But one of the best Seinfeld episodes was when Jerry took a date to see Schindler's List.

Yada yada yada.

They started making out.

THEY MADE OUT AT SCHINDLER'S LIST?

Oh the sacrilege.

Not since Mel Brooks and The Producers had someone successfully made something funny about the Holocaust.

Marge Schott tried.

But only few have succeeded.

After all, let's be very clear here, there is nothing funny about the Holocaust.

From what people remember.

As a proud Jewish person, the Holocaust is worse than any moment in time that this world has ever experienced.

But the bottom line is the Holocaust is history.

Just a part of the past.

And that's a tragedy in itself.

Despite the bumper stickers and post cards, people have forgotten.

People have moved on.

That's what people do.

For many, the Holocaust is nothing more than a made for TV movie.

I'm not minimizing the tragedy or significance in any way shape or form.

But as we creep farther and farther away from the end of World War II, the memories will fade even more.

And so will the people who survived the wrath of Nazi Germany.

The number of Holocaust survivors still alive today is somewhere between 100,000 and 350,000.

This according to the trusty internet.

But no matter what the real number is, one thing for sure, it’s not going to go up.

Last year my daughter’s 8th grade class took a trip to Washington DC.

And as part of that trip, we visited the Holocaust Museum.

It was, BY FAR, the most emotional stop on our four-day trip.

Parents, teachers and even kids were clearly affected by what they saw.

And ten minutes after we got on the bus... the giggling started again.

I’m not sure that’s such a bad thing.

But I’m not sure it’s a good thing either.

Next year my 7th grade son will make that same trip.

But recently his class got an up close and personal introduction to the subject.

Her name is Estelle Nadel.

She is a survivor.

For 37 minutes Mrs. Nadel addressed our middle school.

She told us her story of growing up in Poland.

And the story of her father being shot to death by the Gestapo.

Along with her sister.

She told us about the time she and her brother were captured by the Nazis.

Thrown in a jail.

At the age of five.

“We knew we were going to be shot the next morning,” she said.

Matter of fact.

Like we would say, “change the channel”.

She told us about how they successfully escaped from that jail.

Barely squeezing their undernourished frames through the iron bars on the window.

Somehow landing in a friend of a friend’s attic.

An attic where “you couldn’t even stand up because the floor was too weak.”

They stayed there for two years.

Until the war ended.

She has probably shared these stories at least six million times.

But several times during her speech tears formed in her eyes.

And she wasn’t the only one.

I made a point to sit alone, in the back of the room.

So that I could listen to her every word.

While watching the reaction of the kids.

I wondered how much they would really take from it.

Her speech ended at 10:34am with what appeared to be her signature out.

“That’s my story and that’s my life.”

She then opened it up to questions.

Questions that quickly confirmed a few things.

Kids are kids.

And yes, they were paying attention.

“Are you still mad at Germany for what they did?”

“What did you do in the attic all day?”

“Have you been back to Poland?”

The questions continued.

For 18 minutes.

Not 17.

Not 19.

18.

Which in Judaism means Chai... or life.

Living in white bread suburbia, I may have been the only one in the room to pick up on that.

But I found it symbolic.

Always the journalist I went up to her after the speech and asked her if she had seen Schindler's List.

"Yes," she said.  "It was the first movie of its kind I ever saw."  

"It was terrible...."

Just then, before she could say any more, she stopped.

Midway through her sentence.

A group of teenage girls had come up to thank her.

And one-by-one, they hugged.  

I never got the rest of the answer to my question.

But I didn’t have to.

Her mission was very much accomplished.

A Rabbi, A Korean and a BBQ Pork Sandwich

I won’t be winning the award for Jewish Man of the Year anytime soon.

I don’t keep kosher.

I didn’t marry in the religion.

I don’t raise my kids Jewish.

But I certainly remember where I came from.

And where our people came from.

As Tim, the converted dentist in Seinfeld told us, “it’s our sense of humor that has sustained us as a people for three thousand years.”

Five Thousand.

“Even better.”

So there I was, a few days ago, waiting at the airport gate, getting ready to head back to New York.

Minutes before we were scheduled to board, the announcement came that we would be delayed due to bad weather on the east coast.

We were scheduled to arrive at around 5:00pm, but with the delay that would mean it could be closer to 7:00pm.

Right after sundown.

Just at that moment, I saw a familiar face.

Not a familiar person, just the face.

It was an Orthodox Jewish man.  

Young.  

Probably mid-30’s, sporting the full beard.

He looked exactly like the teachers I had growing up at Hebrew School.

At least the beard part.

Maybe that’s what made me go up and talk to him.

Or maybe it was something much bigger.

(Insert spiritual harp music.)

Since the flight was delayed, we had plenty of time to talk.

And I had time to ask him the burning question.

“Since the flight is delayed, what happens if we arrive after sundown?”

You see in the Jewish religion, the new day starts when the sun sets.

And in the case of the Sabbath, once sundown hits on Friday night, you can’t do anything involving work until the end of the next day.

“Well, landing the plane is not considered work,” he said.  

“I would just have to walk home from the airport instead of driving a car.”

“Oh,” I thought.

“But today is Thursday,” he said.

“Oh.”

Shows you where my head is.   

My life has been turned so upside down lately, I didn’t even know what day it was.

But fortunately we kept talking.

It turns out the man was a Rabbi, working at a local college in a program called Chabad.

You’ll find the Chabad on many college campuses, giving Jewish kids a chance to stay connected or reconnect with their religion.

He told me, several times, that he worked in sales.

Selling “after life” insurance.

We ended up speaking for most of the 90 minutes that our flight was delayed.

It was actually quite refreshing.

He wasn’t putting the hard sell on me, but rather just chatting about life.

And faith.

And religion, of course.

Sure, there was a little sell job on his part, trying to get me to rejoin the team.

But the majority of the discussion was just two Jews talking shop.

His shop.

He told a great story about a guy who came to him when his mother was in her final stage of cancer.

The man was concerned about the fact that his mother didn’t believe in God.

So the Rabbi said to the man, “do you believe in God?”

“Yes.”

“So when she passes away and she meets God, will it really matter that she didn’t believe in God?”

“And if there is no God, will it really matter that she didn’t believe in God?”

“Bottom line, it does you no good to worry about it.”

The Rabbi had a story for everything.

And I’m guessing this was not the first time he had shared these stories.

Just a guess.

But like a good salesman, he made each one of them feel new.

I really liked the Rabbi and the conversation, even though I was watching my every step to make sure I didn’t get hooked.

I don’t know if he was on the clock or not, but I definitely took the opportunity to give him my life story.

It was either that or ride the moving walkway back and forth for 90 minutes.

I told him that I went to Orthodox Hebrew School through ninth grade.

And I told him I married a Korean Catholic.

And I told him about the time I told my dad that my girlfriend’s name was Kathy Lee.

“As in Lebowitz?” my dad said.

“Not exactly.”

It’s kinda funny what you will share with a complete stranger.

Even if he looked like an old friend.

When the conversation ended, he gave me his name and number in case I wanted to follow up.

He also told me that he was on Facebook.

Great salesman, this guy.

Then he went his way and I went mine.

He went to go sit down with his bags.

I went to the snack stand and got a BBQ Pork Sandwich.

I really enjoyed that conversation.

And the sandwich.

Payback is a... Field Goal

I’ve never been much of a practical joker.

And there’s good reason for that.

I really HATE it when the joke is pulled on me.

For example, about a million years ago I had a job in LA and one night, against my better judgment, I let someone borrow my car to go get us dinner.

After a while, one of my co-workers came in and told me that my car had been in an accident.

A few VERY LONG minutes after that, the driver of my car came back with dinner and informed me that they were fine, the car was fine and the joke was on me.

Well the joke may have been on me, but the hamburger, fries and chocolate shake that I had ordered were all over the wall.

And the floor.

And anywhere else it may have landed.

I was young and had a temper back then.   

Thanks to Miss Cleo, I am fine now.

Honestly, I cannot remember the last time I pulled a practical joke on someone, but I can make a pretty good guess.

The year was 1985 and I was 17 years ago.

My father had recently remarried and I had acquired two stepbrothers and a stepsister in the deal.

I guess I was trying to be the cool kid on the block when I pulled some type of prank on the stepbrother who was my age. 

Honestly I have no recollection of what it was or what I did.

But what I do remember, to this day, is when he said to me, “I will get you back.”

“It might not be today, it might not be tomorrow, but when you least expect it, it will happen.”

OMFG.

The idea that somebody has a free pass to pay you back from something that you did and you have absolutely no control over when or where that will happen was way too much for me to handle.

Here we are 25+ years later and he still hasn’t paid me back.

In fact, he is living on the other side of the world and we don’t even talk anymore.

I’m guessing he doesn’t even remember he said it.

But I do.

In fact, my memory is pretty skippy sharp when it comes to most things.

Well, most irrelevant things.

Like baseball games from 1983 or U2 B-sides from 1987 or Seinfeld lines from 1993.

Or going to a Raiders-Broncos game with my then eight-year old son and watching our beloved and miserable Raiders team have a victory taken away from us because of a time out.

Here’s what happened.

The date was September 16, 2007.

My son and I went to Invesco Field at Mile High to watch the visiting Raiders face their rivals from Denver.

We were both decked out in Oakland Silver and Black, but he was even more over the top with a Raiders uniform and bandana.

And some eye black to complete the deal.

Not a good outfit in the enemy’s backyard.

But who would beat up an eight-year old kid?   

It’s not like we were in Oakland.

Somehow our underdog team took the game into overtime.

And it appeared that we had won the game when our kicker Sebastian Janikowski nailed a 52-year field goal.

My son jumped into my arms as the stadium volume went mute.

The pathetic Oakland Raiders had actually won a game.

And we were there to see it.

Amazing.

Um, not so fast.

While we were celebrating, the referees informed the crowd that Denver Head Coach Mike Shanahan, who was formerly Oakland Head Coach Mike Shanahan, had called a timeout milliseconds before the play started.

Yada yada yada...  seconds later Janikowski missed the next attempt, the Broncos went on to win and my son and I limped home.

So what does all of this have to do with revenge?

Fast forward to Sunday.

Shanahan, now coaching in Washington, was facing his protege, Gary Kubiak, now the Head Coach with Houston.

Well, the game goes into OT and Shanahan’s kicker is setting up for a game-winning 52-yard field goal.

Sound familiar?

The snap, the place, the kick is good.

The Redskins and Shanahan win!!!!!

Wait, what’s that?

Kubiak called a time-out milliseconds before the play started?

He can’t do that.   That’s Shanahan’s move.

Not this time.

As you have probably figured out, Shanahan’s kicker missed the second attempt.

And Houston came right down the field and kicked its own field goal to win the game.

Somewhere my stepbrother is smiling.