SHABBAT RESOURCES | THE LAST JEW IN ALVARADO

The Last Jew in Alvarado

I only know three facts about Mr. Tobolowsky: his last name, his religion and his business. Still, I think about him a lot. In the 1920s, he ran Tobolowsky’s General Store on the north side of the Alvarado town square. Alvarado is a small town an hour south of Dallas. Before I moved there in July 2005, Mr. Tobolowsky was probably the last Jew who called Alvarado home. Mr. Tobolowsky is one of thousands of Jews who lived and worked in small town America before World War II. If he immigrated to the states, he probably brought an extra suitcase of traditions with him. Even if he came to town as a secular Jew, he certainly understood that he would never fully fit in.

That’s because Alvarado is a Sunday-Sabbath town, and Mr. Tobolowsky’s Sabbath came on Saturday. So does mine. For the year I lived and worked in Alvarado, Judaism confronted me daily. Most people assumed I belonged to the large Seventh Day Adventist community seven miles South in Keene. Others thought of Jews the same way they thought of Romans: rarely and as something that existed only in antiquity. It took that extreme to really understand Shabbos.

Growing up at Temple Emanu-El, my mother used Shabbos as a breather for the week. As God had used the day to rest and recount, we required everyone at the Shabbos table to play “Best and Worst.” What were the high and low points of the week? And what were you looking forward to in the weeks to come? The rest of the day had no defined religious structure. At the strict orthodox high school I attended, Shabbos came with magnetic intensity. The strictest interpretation of Jewish law allows for such a narrow range of proper activity that there is a saying that no one is learned enough to follow all the commandments. Packed so dense with meals and prayers, Saturday spilled over on either side. We were let out of school early on Friday to prepare and started school late on Sunday to recuperate.

Although each story expresses an extreme version, both are the same story: Jews among Jews. Being a Jew among gentiles, though, means having to carve out Shabbos and its rituals for yourself. There is a Hebrew phrase Sh’viti Adonai L’Negdi Tamid, meaning “I place God before me always.” There is a mental parking space reserved for the most important cargo, and this four-word phrase recommends God. Making that reservation changes the view of the world. It is like colored lenses.

Holiness comes from reservation and separation. We separate the day from the week, and we reserve it for certain activities. The steps needed to make that separation are different for everyone.

On the most formal Shabbos, I head over to Whole Foods for the best-looking piece of fish. We bless the candles, the wine and the Challah, and we talk about the week. On the most laid-back Shabbos, I spend the day cleaning out the garage Either way, Saturday is never simply another day of the week. It is always Shabbos. Once you understand that the day has been set aside, it becomes impossible to forget. I’m sure Mr. Tobolowsky never forgot Saturday was Shabbos. I can never forget either. It is before me always.

--Eric Lidji
Eric Lidji is an alumnus of the Temple Emanu-El
Pre-School and currently is a writer living in Alaska.