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HaRav Yirmiyahu Fox was not a Rabbi of any congregation I ever belonged to. He was simply my friend, who fulfilled the role of confidant and, in large measure, adopted family.
I knew Jerry Fox in high school. He was one of the really smart kids. He spoke several foreign languages, hung out with the erudite top-of-the-class types, and was gifted in the arts and letters. We hung out in different crowds. He helped to start a Reform Synagogue in Great Neck, Temple Isaiah. My crowd were the more religious types, and our paths rarely crossed. In fact, I am not sure that we liked each other very much in high school.
At New York University, he was granted a full scholarship, including spending money. He deserved the credit, having graduated at the top of his high school class in Great Neck, and, more importantly, he needed it. His father passed away when he was very young. I never knew his father, but I remember hearing that he was a cartoonist with an office at the Empire State Building. That always impressed me.
Mrs. Fox was a seamstress, originally having hailed from Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania. She was an incredibly hard-working, devoted mother, a woman with an iron will and strong hands. She and Jerry sometimes butted heads, and I was a receptive sounding board for the future Rabbi's expressions of frustration now and then.
We met frequently on the Long Island Railroad, commuting to NYU. We said nasty things to each other, but, for some strange reason, we frequently sat next to one another anyway. Jerry was on such a strict budget, that he would wait for the train to arrive at Penn Station and pick up a New York Times discarded by one of the rich banker commuters. I would exit the train promptly, and I told Jerry that sooner or later the doors of the train would close, and he would be trapped inside. Well, finally it happened. He was looking for a barely read copy of The New York Times while I waited for him on the platform outside. The doors closed, and, sure enough, he was banging to get out. I managed to flag down a conductor, and rescued Jerry from being carried away into the long, dark tunnel leading to nowhere.
One day, Jerry said to me on the train, "You know, we ought to stop being so sarcastic to each other. After all, we are both doing this commuting thing together. Let's be friends." From that moment on, we did indeed become close friends.
One fine spring day, we were standing on the corner of Fifth Avenue and Fourth Street, or perhaps it was Waverly. Across the street was a great looking blonde woman, whom Jerry said that he had met in class and would love to date. In my typical no-subtleties fashion, I encouraged him to introduce me to her. He did, they dated, and eventually they got married. I was best man at their wedding.
Carol was the perfect antidote for Jerry. Thoughtful, kind, quirky to some, beautiful and tolerant. Jerry hit a home run and he knew it.
Shortly after they got married, I went off to law school and Jerry to rabbinical college. I was invited over to the first dinner Carol made. I still remember that dinner. She did not put enough water in the pot to cook the spaghetti, and what she presented to me was a lump of undercooked, congealed spaghetti, with a little red sauce on top. It was barely edible, but I did my best to lie and say that it was the greatest meal I ever had. They were such a cute couple.
I regret that I did not go back to our high school reunion, when Jerry asked me to attend with him. At that time, there was a lot going on in my life. My mother was at the end stages of her own life, having surpassed the age of 100. When Jerry was back in Great Neck, he did not miss the opportunity to visit with my mother. He was the last Rabbi she saw, and it meant all the more to the family that it was Jerry Fox. Jerry had been a regular in our home, in years bygone, and while I am not sure that Mom recognized Jerry, I have to believe that, at some level of consciousness, there was an awareness based upon a long and caring relationship. Jerry was one of my parents' favorites, and for good reason.
We did not always agree on politics or religion, but we grew closer with the passage of time. Notwithstanding the differences we had when we were younger, from the time we decided to be friends until Jerry's passing, we overcame any differences with mutual respect and the kind of love which only grows when planted in the soil of experience and the ability to accept others who are different.
As we say in Hebrew, Baruch Dayan Ha'emet, "Blessed is the True Judge".
I have no doubt that, as Rabbi Fox sits with the great and wise sages in Gan Edan, he will have thoughtful and meaningful repertoire of thoughts to convey. He will be one of the honored guests at the Shabbat table, and will be respected by all his peers, as he should be.
While I have lost a great friend, the memories of his decency, humanity, and caring for others will never be forgotten.
Clifford A. Rieders is a board-certified trial advocate in Williamsport.