Mario X. Martinez

The trip to Kansas City, which turned monotonous at times, revealed new wonders to Abran. Mountains and endless prairie passed by at an astonishing rate. His uncle pointed out many landmarks from his days on the Santa Fe Trail and regaled Abran with stories of the frontier towns and diverse people he encountered. Soon, it was difficult to distinguish one Kansas rail town from another. But Kansas City proved to be the most fascinating of any of them including Topeka, the railroad’s headquarters. The sheer size and commotion was incredible for Abran to behold, as was the Missouri River whose breadth dwarfed the entire Rio Sagrado Valley at its widest point.
After they checked into a hotel, Don Moisés and Abran explored the thriving city hoping to expand their supplier network over the next four days. Abran observed his uncle’s interactions with the americanos, some of whom spoke English with unusual accents, and analyzed each outcome since this responsibility would someday fall upon him. However, a few surreptitious contacts were made for purposes other than the family business.
The following morning, Don Moisés and Abran found themselves in front of Isaac Cohen’s Tailor Shop. Rabbi Cohen noticed the two unfamiliar men while straightening some fabric on a large counter. The older man held an indistinguishable parcel under his left arm. A rusty door hinge squeaked as the men opened the door; an unusual metallic piece brushed against a hanging bell that signaled their entry. The strangers studied the bell for a moment – the older man said something inaudible which elicited a laugh from the younger one.
Rabbi Cohen approached the pair, “Gentlemen, how may I help you?”
Don Moisés retrieved a piece of paper from his vest pocket and struggled with the proper pronunciation, “We are looking for Izak, I-sock Coh-hen.”
The proprietor smiled momentarily, “I am Isaac Cohen.”
Don Moisés extended his right hand, Rabbi Cohen reciprocated. “My name is Moisés Espinosa. This is my nephew, Abran Espinosa.”
Abran shook hands with him as well, “Con mucho gusto, I mean I am pleased to meet you, sir.”
“I welcome you both. Your manner of speech tells me that you might be visiting from someplace different.”
“New Mexico. We have a family business there,” replied Don Moisés.
“How may I serve you?”
“One of the business owners we visited suggested that we talk to you. Are you a Jewish priest?”
The stranger’s question caught Rabbi Cohen by surprise. He stroked his beard for a few seconds before he responded cautiously, “Who mentioned me to you?”
Don Moisés consulted the piece of paper again, “Mr. Goldberg. He owns the glassware factory.”
“Chaim Goldberg? He is a member of our new congregation. But gentlemen, I am a rabbi, a teacher of God’s Law.”
“You are the head of your Jewish church, yes?”
“I lead the worship services and study God’s Laws and Teachings. The Jewish ways are different than the Christian churches. Why are you so interested in finding me?”
Don Moisés walked over to the countertop, set the parcel down, and uncovered it. He placed the Bible and journal next to each other. “My nephew and I discovered these. It seems that our Spanish ancestors were Jews. We need someone to teach us the Jewish ways.”

Rabbi Cohen studied the books for a few moments, “This one appears to be a Bible, but what is this other book?”
“It is a family journal that dates back to 1492 when the Jews were expelled from Spain.”
“Fascinating, I have heard about your people.”
Abran placed his hand on the Rabbi’s shirtsleeve, “Then you’ll help us?”
The young man’s abrupt manner startled the rabbi; he involuntarily backed away to gather his thoughts. None of his academic or spiritual training had prepared him for this event. His spiritual knowledge was limited to the world of the Ashkenazi, the Jews of Germany and Eastern Europe, and simple matters like one is either a Jew or not a Jew. Now he faced a divine conundrum.
“I am not sure how our congregation would react if they find out about this. They are Jewish by birth and tradition.”
“But we are Jewish by birth. We have been robbed of our tradition through no fault of our own,” responded Don Moisés.
Rabbi Cohen walked over to the front of the window and stared out at the bustling street. Perhaps he could consent to their request as a mitzvah, an act of human kindness.
“How long will you be here?”
“Three more days. We are locating suppliers for our mercantile stores back home.”
“There is only so much that I can teach you, but I am willing to try. Can you spare two to three hours every day?”
“Of course. What time should we arrive?”
“My afternoons are slow sometimes. How about two o’clock this afternoon?”
“Wonderful. Thank you, Mister Cohen.”
Abran inspected a suit that hung on a nearby rack. He gently fingered the fabric and looked back at the rabbi, “There is something that I would like to ask you.”
“Yes?”
“Would you make my wedding suit?”
“I would be honored.”
“Could you measure me now?”
Don Moisés scolded his nephew, “Abran, I’m sure Mister Cohen has other business to tend to right now.”
The rabbi pointed to a small, raised platform near the counter, “It is no bother at all. Step up here while I get my tape measure.”
Normally, the return trip would have been a tedious affair, but with the benefits secured by Don Moisés and Abran, it was a pleasant, exhilarating journey. An expanded line of merchandise ensured a brighter future while the new suppliers welcomed the opportunities to expand and diversify their markets. But most importantly, Rabbi Cohen had provided them with welcome insights and wisdom that they never dreamed possible. The generous rabbi filled a spiritual void that would provide a direction for their future pursuits.

Copyrighted text. Can only be used with written permission from Gaon Books.

gaonbooks.com

Gaon Books

Excellence in Publishing