I hoped the kehillah would welcome Luzzy, see past his shabby appearance, and understand that here was a lost soul who desperately needed our kindness
I know Luzzy from way back, so far back that I can’t really remember him not being part of our lives. I always thought of him as old, but technically speaking, he must’ve been only around middle-age when I was a child.
Luzzy ate with us almost every Shabbos. He walked funny, like he should’ve had a cane but couldn’t afford one. His clothing smelled bad, and I used to wonder if he ever changed shirts. He also had these weird habits, like checking the peephole before leaving our house. He was suspicious and strange and sometimes aggressive, but my parents treated him like a prince, and we kids grew up with Luzzy at the table as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
When my parents decided to fulfill their lifelong dream of aliyah, my father didn’t forget about Luzzy. He made me promise I’d continue the Gluckstein tradition — host Luzzy for Shabbos meals and make sure he was okay.
“He lives alone, no family, he’s had a geferliche time in life,” Tatty said, shaking his head. “Without Shabbos invitations, who knows if he’d ever get a decent meal?”
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