Barbershop Alley War

There was this barber in Baltimore.

All the yeshiva guys went to his shop for haircuts.

A quiet guy. An Israeli that rarely smiled, though not out of anger.

He left Israel decades ago, driven by a broken heart. Driven by God.

On Fridays his shop was like a little beit medrash, bachurim discussing various sugya-topics, among them the Orioles chances that season. The shop straddled a largely Orthodox neighborhood, and a neighborhood one didn’t walk thru, especially at night.

Late one autumn afternoon, around sunset, Uri the barber was in the alley behind his shop; propped up by a dumpster, his mind afloat across the grey ocean, drawing on a cigarette. Out of nowhere, he was surrounded by four teenagers. They demanded his money. One brandished a small knife.

Then again, out of nowhere, five yeshiva guys were about to turn the corner into the alley.

“Wait,” whispered the first one as he half rounded the corner and then pulled back. He put his finger to his lips, “Shh, Uri’s in trouble. Four guys have him surrounded.” “Don’t stand by the blood of your brother,” whispered the smallest bachur. “But do we have to put ourselves in danger?” queried another. “It’s a machloket,” said the largest. “The Rosh Yeshiva said technically it doesn’t apply to them.”

Time stood still.

“I’m calling 9-1-1.”

“No, they’ll hear you.”

Motioning across the street, Yanki said, “I’ll call from over there.” With a tear in his eye, a voice murmured, “Shir hamalot-a song of ascents, from the depths I have called out …” “Wait,” said another, “I saw a police car outside Dunkin Donuts.”

Dovi choked out, “Too far, Uri’s in danger, no time.”

Yet another said, “But what about …”

And so they silently returned to the beit medrash; implored everyone to learn in Uri’s merit, said Tehillim, and sat down in front of their shtenders, until …

—

In memory of David Newman. David Yair Shalom. Cut down at the Nova Festival.

In honor of Let’s Do Something.

https://www.letsdosomething.com/