Rabbi Ron Eisenman
I am probably the only Orthodox rabbi who every year is identified and approached with certainty as “Santa.”
My shul is next door to a public school, and this time of year, as I walk to and from shul, the children run up to me and shout with glee, “Look, everyone! It’s Santa Claus!”
I imagine my long-and-getting-whiter-by-the-day beard and my girth are the two most compelling reasons for the kids to assume I am no doubt the man (in the flesh) who will be bringing them their toys and gifts come December 25.
I always smile, and even when their parents or teachers attempt to silence them, I tell them, “It’s fine, I’m not insulted.” And I’ve learned to utilize the misidentification as an opportunity for kiddush Hashem by being especially nice to the children.
About ten years ago, as a class of youngsters passed me, one shouted, “It’s Santa!” and I smiled and waved.
One young boy dropped behind his classmates and waited. Then he walked over and bashfully asked, “You really are Santa, aren’t you?”
“I’m really not. In fact, I’m Jewish, and I’m the rabbi of that synagogue on the corner.”
“Does that mean you don’t believe in Santa?” he asked incredulously.
“No, I don’t believe in Santa. However, I do believe in helping children. Even if I’m not Santa, is there something I can help you with?”
“Well, even if you’re not Santa, can I ask you for something?”
“Yes, of course.”
“I want to be a policeman when I grow up. Can you help me?”
I looked at the boy and said, “If you always try to help people and be nice to them and you study hard, you can come back to me when you want to go to policeman school, and I will try to help you.”
“Wow, thanks so much, Santa! Whoops! I mean, Rabbi!”
I totally forgot about our conversation, until about seven years later, a lanky Latino young man of 19 showed up at my office.
“Don’t you remember me?”
I looked at him quizzically.
“I’m Juan Martinez. Seven years ago, you told me to study hard and help people and then I could become a policeman. I took your advice and now I’m applying to the academy. Can you please write me a recommendation?”
I indeed recalled the boy of seven years before.
I took the paper and wrote a warm and supportive letter of recommendation.
Recently, on a cold night, I walked to the local convenience store called Quick Check. Many of the local policemen stop off there for coffee. As I entered, a teenage boy said in a scoffing tone, “Hey, everyone, look! Here comes Rabbi Santa!”
His friends began to laugh while I ignored the taunt.
Suddenly from seemingly out of nowhere a young, muscular, blue-uniformed man appeared. He went over to the teens, and with a wave of his hand said, “You guys cut it out! It’s because of that rabbi that I became a cop. He believed in me and pushed me to work hard and become someone. You guys better show him respect, because without him I’d be stacking the shelves in here instead of being out there helping the community.”
I beamed as I looked up at him, and said, “Thank you, Officer Martinez, you are indeed a special man.”
“Rabbi,” Officer Juan Martinez said, “don’t worry about a thing. I got your back!”
Between his promise and Hashem’s presence, I felt pretty safe on that cold night in Passaic.
