Here I was, all alone in the wilderness with a pen and paper as my sole witnesses — which was both terrifying and thrilling

As told to Yosef Zoimen

“W

here did you get that tick?” the young doctor manning this small-town emergency room asked.

It was late Thursday night — 12:30 a.m., so actually early Friday morning — and I’d driven a while before finally finding an emergency room in the sleepy town of Clare, Michigan (population 3,127).

It had been a long day. I’d left the beach abutting Lake Superior in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula at 3 p.m., intending to make the 12-hour drive home with minimal stops. This four-hour pit stop in the ER was not in the plans — is it ever? — but the bug feeding on my body was growing by the second, and I knew I couldn’t wait any longer to have it removed.

I live in a small, friendly, out-of-town Jewish community. We’d moved there in 2019 after learning about its existence in a publication like this. Though my wife and I are both from bigger frum cities, in our hearts, we’re out-of-towners. We wanted our kids to grow up in that environment, where every Yid is cherished and the mailman would know our kids’ names.

I’m an outgoing, friendly guy. After two years in Israel at the start of our marriage, I began my career in the credit card processing industry, selling businesses on the amazing rewards our company could offer, like providing cutting edge payment technology that improves their costs while offering them top-of-the-line service with a personable hands-on approach.

I’ll be honest: It was rough. Sales is all about being able to get past rejection — typically 95 out of 100 phone calls end with a “no” right away. Every rejection stung. But I stuck it out until a guy asked me to call him back at exactly 4:30 p.m. He’d sounded honest, but then he didn’t pick up my call for seven straight weeks.

I got out, moving from sales to managing a kosher restaurant, making and selling kosher food on my own, and then joining a large frum-owned real estate company. Finally, I thought, I’d found my way away from the sales that had haunted me.

But then Covid hit. In the ensuing downturn, I was let go and left with almost no income. I say “almost,” because I was still receiving “residuals” — commissions from the clients I had closed with back in my credit-card-processing sales days. Every time I cashed them, those checks dared me to go back into sales.

“Sign them up and keep cashing the checks,” they said.

And the people around me agreed: “You’re a natural. How can anyone say no to your smile?”