Many years ago. MANY years ago. I was a 15-year old sophomore at a high school in Waco. It was 1972. One of my classes was driver's ed.

When the time came to take the written test, all the driver's ed students were brought into the homeroom class. Probably 200 of us. Our instructor, one of the basketball coaches, told us to all be at school cafeteria by 7:30, the next morning, for the test.

If you're not in the seat by 7:30, not 7:31, you don't take the test.

And like it was yesterday, I can remember him ending his 20-minute warning not to be late by saying, "So, I'm saying this for the last time. I want everybody in here by 7:30 tomorrow morning.

Then, he whirls around, points his finger directly at me, and says. "Brickman, I want you here at 7:15."

Well, what he wanted me for was to help pass out the test books.

But, to this day, I'll always remember the peace of my world that day, comfortable in my own anonymity, shattered when, for no apparent reason, I was singled out. A high school driving instructor had pulled the covers on me, robbing me of what I wanted most at that moment, faceless obscurity.

I relate that story because of something that happened a few weeks ago.

A letter came in the mail from the Temple. We were in the process of moving, so the letter sat, unopened, for a few days. It looked like an ordinary letter from the Temple, I didn't really give it much thought. So, it came as a real surprise, totally out of left field a real jolt when the rabbi asked me to speak for a few minutes on Yom Kippur.

Speak? In front of the entire congregation.

It shocked me because ever since I can remember, the High Holidays were a time for blending into the crowd. Time to walk in, says a few Good Yom Tovs, and fade into an anonymous congregation of faces. Standing. Sitting. Praying. When I was told to do so.

This all came to me when the Rabbi asked, in that letter, that I discuss, for a few minutes, how Judaism effects my everyday life.

In so many ways, I realized, that being anonymous and being Jewish sometimes go hand in hand. Not out of being ashamed or even fearful, just not wanting to take the time and explain things, sometimes.

How we can live so much as Americans and still, so often, be on the outside looking in.

All of us, at one time or another, probably, alot, face a situation I had just a few days ago. I do some private work, outside of TV, and have an office near Wurzbach and Vance Jackson.

One of the women from an office down the hall came in and asked me if I wanted to beat the crowd and by some Christmas wrapping paper. I wonder, sometimes, do you say:

1 ) "No, thank you" And just leave it at that.

2) "No, thank you. I don't celebrate Christmas, I'm Jewish, but thanks for asking. Possibly embarrassing the person who asked.

Then, there's always the radical approach.

3) "No, I'm Jewish. And how dare you ask."

4) "Sure. I'll buy some."

Anonymity. Fading into a crowd. Coping, sometimes, by just not standing up. Or, just not being there.

To me, that sometime struggle of anonymity came to an interesting crossroad two years ago.

I was called into the office, at the TV station where I work, by the man, whom at the time, was my boss. I never liked those meeting. They were rarely good.

As I was sitting down, my mind was racing through the thousand things it could be. What was I going to do? I hadn't had any time to figure how I would answer the charges.

So, when he sat down, I was completely unprepared to hear what he had to say.

Totally floored by what he asked.

"Would you", he said, ............. "like to go to Israel?"

Now I'm thinking, "I wish it had been what I thought." Mouthing off to a viewer. Using the cellular phone too much that month. Missing a good story.

I had no answer "ready" for "would I like to go to Israel?"

I left the office, a few minutes later, with a promise to give him an answer the next day. If not me, he would find somebody else.

Ten days, at company expense, with lots of side tours by the government, and other groups. Including a trip to the West Bank. A trip to the Israeli Knesset. A military tour of the Golan Heights. I had never been to Israel before. Why did I want a day to think about it? All they asked me to do in return was take a small camera and file a few reports when I came back. That was easy.

But, in my own mind, I came up with some terribly flimsy excuses. Well, it's in December. I can't go in December. Uh, I'll miss work. Hey, what if mom and dad need me in Waco? I won't be able to get back.

Why in my mind was I doing this? Come on, now. Since my first days of Hebrew School we had learned the HaTikVah, the Israeli National Anthem. Yerushalayim Shel Zahav. Jerusalem of Gold.

Even as a youngster I loved television news, and remember watching hours of coverage as a nine-year old when Israel went to war in 1967. Vivid memories of the Yom Kippur War in 1973.

And how I felt early on a July morning in 1976, alone at an Austin radio station, signing on for the day, and hearing the first news reports of an Israeli commando raid to free the hostages held by terrorists in Uganda. The now famous raid on Entebbe. Despite an Israeli casualty and the loss of a British woman, I was jumping for joy. To this day I still get goose bumps. This Israelis had done it again.

Well, I knew why I had hesitated taking the trip. The old game of being a face in the crowd. Anonymous. News stories about Israel had always hurt me inside. But, I had never seen Tel Aviv or Jerusalem. I had never seen an Israeli soldier. An Israeli aircraft.

Israel, and with it Judaism, were always strong in my heart. But, I had never had to look it straight in the eye. The anonymous face, hiding in the crowd. We often report on Israel, but only short pieces to fill time between local news. So, I guess that's where the apprehension was. It wouldn't just be a small ambush, just a couple of soldiers or people killed. I knew I would be like the Israelis, where even one casualty is too many. What if I knew the one soldier shot? The one civilian killed.?

Well, of course, I did go, though nervous and apprehensive. Part of that probably the 18 hours of flight time over there, including a stop in Paris.

So, there I was, in December, 1993, headed for David Ben-Gurion International Airport.

It's hard to land at Ben-Gurion Airport and not feel a lump in your throat. To get off the plane and see hundreds of Russian refugees, with all their worldly belongings, there in the terminal with me.

For a lot of us here, today, that's you and me in that crowd. My grandparents and probably lots of yours just got out earlier. We're those same people, tired and scared, just luckily somebody paved the way. Ushered us in.

I looked over at that crowd and there was my own grandmother and grandfather. The way they must have looked in Galveston almost 80 years ago. I never met either one. They died long before I was born. But, I knew they were there. And because they were there, I'm here, enjoying the good life America has to offer.

So, the rabbi asked how does Judaism effect my day-to-day life? Well, it's more complicated now. A day doesn't go by that I don't see those baby-faced boy-soldiers mugging for the cameras in Jerusalem.

And those same baby-faced boys in Bethlehem, just days after a riot, grim-faced. Stern. Prepared, not scared. Jittery. Their fingers on a trigger. One thrown rock. One bullet from being the next day's news story. Paying a tough price to keep Israel on the map.

They pay. We watch.

Of course, I'm glad, nay ecstatic that I went. And look forward to going back.

On one of our last afternoons of the trip we were given a few unsupervised hours to shop in Tel Aviv. Believe me, on this trip of 6am to 10 or 11 at night days, these few hours of Free time" were treasured.

Still, to this day, the trip haunts me. Because Israel is so full of life. A new country in a modern era. Where democracy and their 20 or so political parties mean so much more than they do here in the U.S.

How, then, does Judaism effect my everyday life? Well, in a lot of ways.

Maybe G-d said you've looked in the window too long. It's time to go inside and see who does the work. Go see who pays the piper in Israel. Who writes the checks that keep peace. Who keeps the songs "Hatikva" and "Yerushalayim shel Zachav" alive.

Anonymity. I guess it works, sometimes. But, it rarely solves anything.

Just as the Temple has its "Day of Caring", and the rabbi has us greet those around us at every service, G-d has his way of getting us in the game.

Sometimes, we want to go in.

Sometimes, we have to be pushed.

And, at times, we have to be pulled out.

But, if you only want to be a face in the crowd, one day, when you least expect it, you'll get called.

Now that I've been up here, I've enjoyed it. And I thank the Rabbi for asking. It feels good. And I can say it to everybody at once. Good Yom Tov.

Home