Cousin Harry

Cousin Harry, A"H, was quite a character.  

Actually, he was not really my cousin.  He was my wife’s cousin.  My Father-in Law’s first cousin.  Harry Lyons was married twice, but never had children of his own.  

Harry grew up in Lexington, Virginia toward the end of the 19^th century, and during the beginning of the 20^th, along with my Father-in-Law, Sidney Lyons, A"H.  Harry went into Dentistry, and made quite a name for himself.  He was at one point the President of the American Dental Association (you know, the ones that put their seal of approval on toothpaste.  Remember those old Crest commercials?), and he was also the Dean of the Dental School of the Medical College of Virginia.  There is a whole building named after him there.  A true Virginia Gentleman (not the Bourbon).  

His sister Tillie ,A"H, by the way, became the first female Dentist in Virginia.  That was during WWI, when all the men were off in Europe.  My daughter, Tova, is named after Cousin Tillie, whose Yiddish name was Toba.  As you can imagine, Harry had his own ideas about things, and he was kind of stubborn, although always a gentleman.  He was driving his Cadillac (always a Cadillac) well into his nineties before he was finally convinced to turn in his wheels.

I do not remember the first time I met Harry.  It was probably sometime between the time my wife and I were engaged, and when we were married.  I liked him immediately.  And he liked me.  But neither of us would admit it.  It was that kind of relationship.  He would get on my case about my beard, my religious tendencies, and my dog.  As a Dental School Dean, he did not approve of beards.  Very unsanitary.  Religiously, he was Reform, if anything, but very supportive of Israel.  In fact, he went over several times in the early days of the State to help them set up standards for dentistry.  

To give an example of how our relationship worked, I once called him up on the phone for some reason, maybe just to say hello.   When he answered I said, “Hi Harry.  This is the person in the world you like the least”.  Without missing a beat, he cheerfully replied, “Oh, hello Norman!”

Harry did not mind the dog until our first son was born, and therein lies a tale.

Like I said, Harry never had children of his own.  When my wife was carrying our first child, Harry told us that if we had a son and named him Harry, he would give us a million dollars.  Now, understand that Harry was not just whistling Dixie.  He actually had the wherewithal to carry out such a gesture.  I believe that he was serious, but at the same time making it sound just enough like a joke to give him some wiggle room.  I just could not see my way clear to follow through.  Harry?  For my son?  For money?  Fortunately, my wife felt the same way.

Shortly after our son was born (David), we received a note from Harry with a check enclosed.  The check was made out for one million dollars, but was not signed.  The enclosed note said that if we had named him Harry, the check would have been signed!  I wish we had saved that note!

Nevertheless, we remained close.  Since we lived in Charlottesville, Virginia at the time, and he lived in Richmond, we would exchange visits.  He and Tillie (who lived in Oregon with her son) were worried about having a dog around the baby.  They were very sweet.

Of course, they are both gone now, along with that great generation of Southern Jews who achieved incredible success in the first half of the 20^th century.  I have done some reading about this, and it is truly a remarkable history that most of us “New Yawkas” are completely ignorant of.

I often think about Harry, and his million-dollar offer.  After years of paying Yeshiva tuition, I am sure it would have come in handy.  But mostly, I just miss him.

The real question I ask myself is: if I had accepted the offer and named my son Harry, what would that have meant about me?  Who would I have been?  Who would my son have been?  Would I now have the outstanding Daughter-in-law that I have now, and my one in a million (no pun intended) Grandchildren?

From my learning in Chasidus, I have extracted some understanding about the nature of the choices we make.  I’m talking about choosing, not selecting.  Selecting is what you do in the supermarket – Cheerios or Grape Nuts.   I had a decision to make about who I was, and who I wanted to be, and who I wanted my son to be.  I realized some time ago, while learning the Baal HaTanya’s Iggeres HaTshuva, that there is only one power in the world that can stand against the will of God.  That power is our bechira, our ability to choose.  No other creation has this ability to choose.  Not one.  This may be the essence of the meaning of being created betzelem Elokim (in the image of God).

The obvious derivative of this is that no choice is trivial.  So, back more than 30 years ago, when my guts wouldn’t let me take money to name my child, that choice created a koach in the world – a Malach (angel) perhaps – that has had a ripple effect not only for me, but for generations.  It’s scary to think what would have been if I had chosen otherwise.  And I had no idea at the time what the ramifications could be.  

How many times have I chosen poorly, and what could have been different?

There’s no way of knowing, but I wonder all the same.

Or is it just me?