A Heart Too Wide for Hiding Places

Rabbi Shmuel Berkovicz, the rebbi we feared most, and loved most, drove the school van on Sundays for the kids in my neighborhood. There was always some sort of contest — questions or Jewish history trivia — and somehow every kid always earned a prize. That Sunday, it was red Tangy Taffy, in a box between the front seats.

But that day, it was out of reach for me. I had messed up, after multiple warnings, and my father had asked Rabbi Berkovicz to withhold my treat. And so I sat huddled in the back, awaiting my deserved humiliation.

As we pulled onto Warrensville, the distribution began. Rabbi Berkovicz did everything with a flourish — each child’s name was called as the candy was passed back. I sank deeper into the cold upholstery.

“Shloimy Hoffman,” he boomed.

I sat bolt upright. The candy slipped into my pocket, almost like it fit.