My Dinner with Abe Lebewohl at The 2nd Avenue Deli
“Strange to see how a good dinner… reconciles everybody.”
Diary, Samuel Pepys (1665)
The year was 1975. My medical student group, stuck working in Bellevue for the weekend, decided to eat at The 2nd Avenue Deli.
Good news for me being orthodox, it was kosher. Bad news, it was Friday night. I couldn’t pay for it.
Good news, I had been told that the owner, everyone called him Abe, was a good guy. Talk to him.
Bad news, when we arrived, he wasn’t there. Good news, as I was pleading with the manager, he walked in. I explained my predicament, asked if I could pay him the following evening.
To my dismay, he shook his head no. I turned red. I had no idea what I was going to do now. My friends were already seated.
Then, he smiled. He said I would be his guest.
When he saw how little I ordered, he served us himself, mushroom barley soup with matzo balls, a giant cold cut platter, enough Kishke for the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, apple strudel for dessert, kosher wine for Kiddish, no bill for anyone. (I became very popular with my classmates.)
Twas an unforgettable dinner.
Bogie’s words from Casablanca, it was also “The beginning of a beautiful friendship.” He, like my parents, was an Auschwitz Survivor who immigrated here. He said that made us “Mishpacha.”
Whenever he had a medical question, or needed a referral, he called me. Whenever he saw my wife and I waiting on line (there was always a line), he informed us he needed to talk to us inside, brought us in and cleared a table.
Three of us sat down; he quickly got up. As with my first meal, he ordered for us and there was never a bill. When I complained about that, he acquiesced, giving us a bill “$5 – Assorted food.”
(I tipped the full amount, so whenever we entered with him, every waitress rushed over to invite us to sit at their table.)
If he had someone in the hospital, I would visit after hours in my white coat. He would be there after hours, as well, allowed in because he was also wearing his white coat. Of course, he always happened to have food with him for the staff, which he offered me to take home.
21 years after God (in a sense) brought him into my life, someone who didn’t fear God removed him. He was murdered going to the bank.
Two years later, The New York Times had an essay contest on “A Meal That Played an Important Part in Your Life.” I wrote about that first dinner with Abe. It won first prize. My prize was an inscribed book by the restaurant reviewer, Ruth Reichl. It’s title was Tender at the Bone, in my mind, a perfect description of Abe.
25 years after that, subsequent to October 7, another person who didn’t fear God saw fit to paint a swastika on his deli. He had escaped the Nazis, but their successors had followed him, and his family, here.
Whenever my family comes here from DC, they want to eat at The 2nd Avenue Deli.
There is no longer a line, but the food is the same.
Most importantly, I get to see Abe again. It might only be in framed photos of him with celebs on the wall, but it still makes the meal unforgettable.
I feel I am again his guest. Shabbat shalom, Abe Lebewohl.
