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Books, Books, Everywhere
“I’m sure the rabbi would be disappointed if word got back to him that you were being this disrespectful,” scolded the elderly man on the phone. He was attempting to donate an indeterminate number of books for my temple’s annual Bazaar, but on the conditions that I drive to his residence…in Manhattan…with empty boxes…pack everything…and carry the boxes down three flights of stairs to my car, wherever I managed to find parking.
“Which Rabbi?” I replied, “the one you’re thinking about retired 10 years ago.” While he was flustered, I added, “If you have a family member, friend, neighbor, or volunteer who can box things up, call me back to arrange a pickup.”
The Bazaar was the temple’s big fundraiser and the book sale had grown to encompass more than 30,000 items, including CDs, DVDs, VHS tapes, records, magazines, and video games. It had become my purview after an accidental tontine: the sale was originally run by three married couples who retired, one pair at a time, every two years. When there was one final couple, I happened to volunteer with monthly pre-sorting of donations into boxes. These were later transferred to bookcases and tables over the two week period surrounding Thanksgiving, just prior to the three-day event.
On opening night at that year’s Bazaar, they announced “Jeff will be taking over next year.” A book vendor (many professionals…
