One of the perks of being the rabbi of a shul that attracts many different types of Jews is the privilege to meet these diverse members of the Tribe.

Over the years, the shul has maintained a reputation I am proud of — as a place where every and any Jew, irrespective of whatever personal level of observance they retain or whatever crisis of faith they are struggling with, is welcome.

In the last two decades, Jews of every color and from faraway places like Japan and the Philippines have graced our shul with their presence.

Erev Succos is a hectic and busy day. At about four in the afternoon, the house began to quiet down. Just as I had opened Maseches Succos, there was a knocking at the door. Standing in front of me was Maury Schwartz (name changed). In his arms were a lulav and esrog.

Maury, a nonagenarian (he would never reveal his real age, although he did admit to voting for Truman in the 1948 election) was a newcomer to the shul. I befriended Maury while never compromising his apparent desire not to disclose his sudden awakening to Judaism. Over the last few weeks, I’d noticed him at Shacharis asking one of the younger mispallelim to assist him with putting on tefillin.

Now, Maury confided in me that in all of his 90 years he had never once shaken the lulav and esrog, and he asked me to instruct him in the proper movements to perform the mitzvah.

The next day, Monday, the first day of Yom Tov, Maury was in shul proudly holding his arba minim, and with boyish enthusiasm, he shook along with everyone else at the prescribed times.

The next day, Tuesday, I arrived early in shul.

I noticed someone in the small beis medrash. It was about 6 a.m. Maury was sitting there wrapped in his newly acquired tallis and tefillin. He hadn’t realized that Succos extended past Monday.

I went over and sat next to him and gently explained to him that we don’t put on tefillin today; instead, we continue with the shaking of the lulav and esrog.

He asked me if he did a sin by putting on his tefillin and I assured him that Hashem in His ultimate compassion certainly looked lovingly on his attempt to perform a mitzvah.

Unexpectedly Maury said, “Rabbi, are you wondering why all of a sudden at age 92 I began to come to shul?”

I nodded.

“I’ll tell you; however, please don’t take offense, because it has nothing to do with any of your speeches or sermons.”

I continued to listen.

“Two weeks ago, I received my insulin for my diabetes from UPS. I know the driver, as he’s had this route for quite a while. It was a hot day. I felt so sorry for the driver. I said, ‘Can I give you a drink of water?’

“He said, ‘I’m good. I deliver to the temple on High Street and the rabbi there, you know him? He’s a big guy with a big beard. He always gives me two cold bottles of water. So I’m really good.’

“Rabbi, that’s when I said to myself, ‘If the rabbi of the temple gives the UPS driver water every day, this is someone I must meet.’

“And that is why I come here. I cannot hear your sermons, my hearing is shot. But, I like being here. I like being with people who care. That’s why I come.”

I looked at Maury Schwartz and once again realized there is not a Jew in the world in whom pure holiness cannot be uncovered.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 729)