I

may not be proud of this fact but it’s true.

There are certain things in my life I didn’t grow up with but now that they’re here I feel lost without them.

First on the list is my cell phone.

When I was younger being able to speak to someone from the car was a dream perhaps only presidents and CEOs could afford; nowadays I cannot imagine entering my car without my phone.

Therefore when my phone died (amazing how we use this human term to refer to a phone but that’s for another article) I headed to the nearest Verizon outlet. As a responsible rav I needed to attend to the debilitated device and “reconnect” to my constituency.

In a service department of young racially diverse people Larry a white male in his early 60s was an anomaly. Over the next hour as he attempted to revive my phone we began to talk. Larry and I were about the same age. Both of us were Jews born in Brooklyn and both of us had eventually moved toNew Jersey.

That’s where the similarities ended.

Larry had ultimately intermarried and was the father of two (non-Jewish) adult children already out of the home.

When I pressed him on why a 60-year-old man would work at a Verizon store he assured me that "I don't really need the money; my wife is earning a bundle in real estate and I'm just working here to keep busy."

While attempting to fix my cellular device he noticed a picture of me and my daughter Aviva on the phone. He asked me who it was I told him it was my youngest child and he was very shocked when I told him how many children and grandchildren Hashem has blessed me with.

He seemed amused and incredulous that a person should have or want so many children.

“Larry” I asked “are your children married?”

“They have no interest in marriage and I certainly don’t encourage them.”

“Don’t you want grandchildren?”

He looked at me with a surprised look lifted his hand and turned his wrist toward me as if he wanted me to tell him the time from his watch.

I responded “Oh I see it’s late.”

He moved his wrist closer to me and said “Look closer!”

At this point I noticed the name on the watch and realized his intention was to show off his timepiece. I replied “Oh wow that’s a nice Rolex you have!”

He smiled at me and proudly said “Rabbi (in the course of the conversation he inquired as to what I do) my family moved out ofBrooklynafter my bar mitzvah. I have never entered a shul since then. I have achieved success. I have a Rolex and my wife and I travel toParisat least once a year. I have no interest in being bogged down with grandchildren and my children know that. What more can I ask for in life? I have achieved success I have it all; who needs children? I just work here to pass the time.”

Here was Larry a secularized Jew convinced he had found paradise living the American dream. I looked at him and then back down at my phone at the picture of Aviva and me smiling. I picked up my phone and slowly walked away from the store.

One part of me was staring at the photo on my display filled with gratitude at the road my life had taken.

Another part of me was crying for Larry and for what could have been.