I was taking a post-cholent Shabbos walk on Duval Street when I passed by a man working in one of the Israeli-owned shops on the boardwalk.
“Shabbat shalom!” I greeted him.
He waved me over, and we started talking. I found out Michael was from Montreal. I mentioned the parsha of the week, and Michael blurted out, “Oh! It’s my bar mitzvah parsha next week! I even remember how to read it!”
“That’s amazing!” I said. “We’re going to be reading it soon, during Mincha. Why don’t you come lein for us?”
“But – my job...” he said, biting his lips.
“Don’t worry. There’s plenty of other shops on Duval! Come for Mincha, and stay until the end of Shabbos. If you’re going to be our baal korei, you can’t go back to work after reading the Torah!”
“Okay. I’ll speak with my boss,” he said, a worried wrinkle still furrowing his brow.
When he showed up for Mincha, some other members of the shul were upset.
“This is who’ll read the Torah for us? Someone who spent the whole Shabbos working?”
“Right now, he’s not working. He’s in shul, and he’ll be staying the rest of Shabbos,” I answered. “At this moment, he is a tzaddik, keeping Shabbos just like everyone else. What he did before is no one’s business but his own.”
They nodded, and settled in their seats.
Michael read the Torah flawlessly, and stayed for the farbrengen and Maariv. He loved every minute, and left extremely inspired. That was the last time he ever worked on Shabbos.
Today, he lives a Torah observant life, and he teaches others about the beauty of Yiddishkeit.
