assessing the shape of his finances. Accounts must be paid, and books must be balanced. Yet in cases of need, his compassionate nature led him to forgive a debt.
As a little girl, I sat on a wooden stool in the corner of the shop, hidden behind heavy overcoats and cloaks. The shop cat, Karina, curled up on my lap for a nap. The aroma of cured leather filled the air. I watched and listened as my father dealt with each customer in turn.
Whole families entered the shoe shop together, and Father treated each family member differently. By carefully observing my father interact with the customers, I learned that every person has a personality unique to himself, a special way of being in the world.
The Value of a Man
O NE DAY MY MOTHER went to nurse a sick relative in a nearby village. Since she would not be able to return home until early evening, she left me at the shoe shop for the entire day. As the shadows lengthened and the sun hung low in the sky, I heard racing footsteps on the pavement outside. My eldest brother, Simon, stormed into the shop, slammed the door behind him, and angrily threw his school cap onto the floor.
“Father!” he cried, “Ten
grosze
have been stolen from my pocket. Without money, I am worthless. Without money, I am not a man.”
Father pulled down the shades of the shop and turned over the window sign to CLOSED . He sat down on a high stool by his worktable and motioned for Simon to sit facing him, so they could look into each other’s eyes. It was time to talk father-to-son, to meet mind-to-mind. My father spoke to Simon kindly. “There is no scale on which the value of a man can be calibrated. The human heart is beyond measure.”
“Father,” asked Simon, “how do I know who is honest? Who can I trust?”
“Pay heed to the actions of a man,” answered my father. “Does he keep his word? Does he compromise his integrity in times of crisis? Does he honor his wife, respect his elders, and teach his children moral values? Is he compassionate in his relationships with all people? Pay heed to his demeanor. Does he look you straight in the eye, or do his eyes shift and wander about? Pay heed to how he handles his money. Does he give to the unfortunate? Is he fair and honest in his dealings? These are some of the considerations in assessing the character of a man.”
As father and son sat in conversation, I listened from my seat behind the overcoats. As I pondered the advice of my father, my eyes wandered over the row of leather working tools—awls, punches, knives—neatly laid out in a line on his worktable. I admired the precision and specific function that gave each tool its identity. I wondered if each person in the world had his or her own special function or task to perform, if each person had been given talents and abilities to fulfill a certain purpose in life. At the age of five, I already sensed that I was born to this Earth for a special reason.
My Moral Code
M Y PARENTS TAUGHT ME many things—to keep my mind open, to tell the truth, and to develop self-discipline, perseverance, and determination. They taught me compassion and tolerance, kindness and gentleness. Most importantly they taught me respect and reverence for life.
Nadia and Benjamin Pelinski were independent thinkers, not conforming with the mainstream of Jewish thought. I was encouraged to think in universal terms beyond the boundaries of our religion and culture. It was not until years later that I realized the values and beliefs that laid the foundation for my moral code were considered unorthodox.
“Do not submit to outside authority,” Father warned me. “Do not give your power away to the printed word, nor be fooled by the clever rhetoric of politicians.”
“Go within to find the Truth,” Mother counseled me. “Listen to your heart.”
Uncle Jacob
T HE GLORY OF MY childhood years was my relationship with Uncle Jacob and our family visits to his farm in the country. Uncle Jacob was respected as
As a little girl, I sat on a wooden stool in the corner of the shop, hidden behind heavy overcoats and cloaks. The shop cat, Karina, curled up on my lap for a nap. The aroma of cured leather filled the air. I watched and listened as my father dealt with each customer in turn.
Whole families entered the shoe shop together, and Father treated each family member differently. By carefully observing my father interact with the customers, I learned that every person has a personality unique to himself, a special way of being in the world.
The Value of a Man
O NE DAY MY MOTHER went to nurse a sick relative in a nearby village. Since she would not be able to return home until early evening, she left me at the shoe shop for the entire day. As the shadows lengthened and the sun hung low in the sky, I heard racing footsteps on the pavement outside. My eldest brother, Simon, stormed into the shop, slammed the door behind him, and angrily threw his school cap onto the floor.
“Father!” he cried, “Ten
grosze
have been stolen from my pocket. Without money, I am worthless. Without money, I am not a man.”
Father pulled down the shades of the shop and turned over the window sign to CLOSED . He sat down on a high stool by his worktable and motioned for Simon to sit facing him, so they could look into each other’s eyes. It was time to talk father-to-son, to meet mind-to-mind. My father spoke to Simon kindly. “There is no scale on which the value of a man can be calibrated. The human heart is beyond measure.”
“Father,” asked Simon, “how do I know who is honest? Who can I trust?”
“Pay heed to the actions of a man,” answered my father. “Does he keep his word? Does he compromise his integrity in times of crisis? Does he honor his wife, respect his elders, and teach his children moral values? Is he compassionate in his relationships with all people? Pay heed to his demeanor. Does he look you straight in the eye, or do his eyes shift and wander about? Pay heed to how he handles his money. Does he give to the unfortunate? Is he fair and honest in his dealings? These are some of the considerations in assessing the character of a man.”
As father and son sat in conversation, I listened from my seat behind the overcoats. As I pondered the advice of my father, my eyes wandered over the row of leather working tools—awls, punches, knives—neatly laid out in a line on his worktable. I admired the precision and specific function that gave each tool its identity. I wondered if each person in the world had his or her own special function or task to perform, if each person had been given talents and abilities to fulfill a certain purpose in life. At the age of five, I already sensed that I was born to this Earth for a special reason.
My Moral Code
M Y PARENTS TAUGHT ME many things—to keep my mind open, to tell the truth, and to develop self-discipline, perseverance, and determination. They taught me compassion and tolerance, kindness and gentleness. Most importantly they taught me respect and reverence for life.
Nadia and Benjamin Pelinski were independent thinkers, not conforming with the mainstream of Jewish thought. I was encouraged to think in universal terms beyond the boundaries of our religion and culture. It was not until years later that I realized the values and beliefs that laid the foundation for my moral code were considered unorthodox.
“Do not submit to outside authority,” Father warned me. “Do not give your power away to the printed word, nor be fooled by the clever rhetoric of politicians.”
“Go within to find the Truth,” Mother counseled me. “Listen to your heart.”
Uncle Jacob
T HE GLORY OF MY childhood years was my relationship with Uncle Jacob and our family visits to his farm in the country. Uncle Jacob was respected as
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