“What Have We Accomplished?”

A human story not about the war . . . exactly.

“What Have We Accomplished?”

I heard these words this morning wafting around the gym lockers at the Jewish community center where I have been working out. The speaker was an older man who is present every day and seems to be sort of lonely. He and I were the only two gym patrons in the locker room, and since I do not know this person, I decided – initially – to let the comments pass.

When the changing area is more crowded, the gym patrons speak about “the game” from the previous evening, or the building project in which they’re engaged. The JCC is in a heavily Orthodox neighborhood, so some of the men speak about this rabbi or that congregant. (Those are some of the more interesting conversations!) Some doctors and lawyers even speak about their clients in ways that are likely to approach the borders of confidentiality . . . but their secrets are safe with me!

But of all the conversations, purposeful or frivolous, that take place in the locker room, the comments of this solitary individual stood out to me. Again, he intoned, “What have we accomplished?” and followed with a deep sigh. He wanted to say it to somebody, so, as I dressed and prepared to leave, I began to consider a possible response.

I remembered a story that my mother once told about having a meal at a department store cafeteria just a year or two after my family moved to Los Angeles. It was perhaps 1957, and I was a toddler at home at that time. After an exhausting shopping trip which likely included two long and stiflingly warm bus rides, she sat down to enjoy a piece of pie before leaving the store.

It was crowded in the cafeteria, so rather than a table, she sat at the counter. And from the mouth of the woman next to her, she heard these words, which was more like an aside: “Wow, life here is really tough. I’d rather be back in St. Louis.” Well, since my gregarious mother was from St. Louis and since this department store was in a heavily Jewish neighborhood, she decided to turn and engage the stranger in the game of Jewish geography. As it turned out, they had known many people in common, and that brief conversation began what was to become a very long friendship. In fact, this woman became so close to my family that she is one of the signatories on my and my wife’s ketubah, signed 36 years ago.

As I got lost in these reminiscences, the gym patron’s voice brought me back to the here-and-now: “Is it worth the price? Is it worth the money?” Then added a big sigh, concluding with, “What will we have accomplished?”

I surmised that he was speaking about the war in Iran, but I was not sure. But the way that he asked the questions telegraphed to me that he’d like someone with whom to engage. So, I walked over to the sink to finish up my toilette, and in returning to my locker, I remarked to him in a very noncommittal way, “I really like your questions. You ask great questions. Keep up asking those questions.”

He was a man in his eighties, with a ponytail of grey behind his kind and curious eyes. He had an impish smile and was really considering my remarks. Maybe he didn’t realize that his asides were heard. What did he think I thought he was referring to?

He took a small step back, a deep breath, then for the next three or four minutes, we discussed – very obliquely – the situation in the Middle East, the ‘accomplishments’ made (or not), and the various categories of the ‘costs’ of the war. Again, neither one of us clearly defined the details of our discussion, as neither did we want to disclose our true political views; we were not quite ready.

We neared the conclusion of this encounter, as I began to think about my errands for the day. I held out my hand and said, “By the way, my name is Jonathan.” “My name is Herb, and I’m an original Baltimorean. Where are you from?” “I’m an Angelino; I grew up in Los Angeles.” I turned to leave. “Good talking,” I said back, “and I hope to see you again.” “Good,” he replied, “I’d like that.”

So, what did we accomplish? No solution to the situation in Iran, that’s for sure.

But he and I did succeed in creating some kind of bond that may or may not extend into the future, but certainly provided – at least for the moment – a strengthening of members of the human family.

And it’s a good incident to retell and remember.