Jewneric: A New Platform for the Jewish Voice

Posted June 24 2008 by Rabbi Yehoshua Karsh

Candy Man

There was no one so frightening as the man who sat in the farthest back row of the synagogue. To most adults he was friendly and harmless, but we children knew better. We approached him with great care and trepidation. He never looked you straight in the eye, but he knew you were there. He was like a fisherman patiently waiting to reel you in. He did none of the work, we were lured by our own unbridled desire.

Your first time, you were led by the hand, by an older, more experienced boy or girl. They took you to an unmarked boundry, beyond which only one child could approach at a time. He was a mountain approached with awe. Once you were close enough, somehow you knew you were close enough, you stopped. He never changed his severe expression, as he slowly reached beneath his tallis into his suit pocket. Out would come one piece of candy in a cellophane wrapper. He would hold it out for you to take, but make you tug on it to release it from his grasp. Your heart pounded so loudly you had trouble hearing your mumbled thank you and you quickly left. No candy tasted sweeter. It was spiced with the thrill of having narrowly escaped with your life.

He was the ‘Candy Man.’ “Candy Men” can be found in synagogues all around the world, and in the memories of many Jewish adults. They come in all shapes and sizes. They come from every background. There isn’t a special curriculum of study, no special degree required, just an ancient tradition passed on from generation to generation.

The candy was usually the hard, sour, sugary, sucking kind; but they’ve been known to carry chewy, tangy, fruity, and even sugarless. There were even some, who afflicted with guilt about promoting ill health and tooth decay, proffered small sandwich bags tied with twisties, containing raisins and other dried fruit. Many ‘Candy Men’ kept their candy in a tallis bag or in their suit pocket. There was one I knew when I was young, who had a secret hiding place in the synagogue. The other children and I would hide and try to spy the secret location like stowaways on a pirate ship, who having followed the captain and his crew, hid among the trees, watching, as the captain and his trusted mates dug up their hidden treasure. The pirates buried diamonds, gold, and silver. The ‘Candy Man’ hid sticks of gum and hard candy.

One of my great disappointments with Sigmund Freud was his omission of any mention of the ‘Candy Man,’ when discussing the stages of human development. For the Orthodox Jewish boy, his ‘Candy Man’ experience may have been the single most important developmental factor in his life. In a showdown between the ‘Candy Man’ and a Bar Mitzvah, the Bar Mitzvah pales as a test of a young man’s courage and fortitude.

I’m now passed the age when I get candy from the ‘Candy man,’ but I’ve never stopped being fascinated by him. When I go to a synagogue I always make sure to identify the ‘Candy Man’ and vicariously relive the experience with every child who approaches him.

Perhaps the most wonderful, vicarious, ‘Candy Man’ experience I ever had, happened in Jerusalem at a small local synagogue. The ‘Candy Man’ of that particular synagogue survived four years in Auschwitz. He rarely smiled. It happened that on one Shabbat morning, the ‘Candy Man’ was the Chazzan, and was leading the repetition of the Amidah prayer. This is a very intense moment of prayer for the Chazan and he is not supposed to be interrupted. Even a mild mannered person would react sternly to someone who interrupted him during the repetition. On that particular Shabbat a young boy of four or five began his approach to the ‘Candy Man.’ Horror gripped me, someone stop that boy, was all that I could think. How could he survive the dreaded combination of the ‘Candy Man’ and the stern rebuke for interrupting the Chazan during the ‘Repetition.’ I thought to stop him, but I couldn’t. It was his coming of age. He had to experience it alone if he was to develop into a healthy Jewish boy. One part of me wanted to look away, but I couldn’t. I continued to watch with dread as the boy approached. He stopped behind the ‘Candy Man,’ just close enough, and tugged on the woolen Tallis that hung to his feet. There were no fireworks. Instead, without missing a beat, without ever turning around, the ‘Candy Man’ reached into his suit pocked and removed a piece of candy, wrapped in cellophane, and held it behind him for the boy to take. The boy reached for the candy, and for one wonderful moment, they both tugged.

Four years in Auschwitz, and yet he stood majestically before the congregation, leading them in prayer; and all the while his worn hand and the fresh little hand of a future Jewish man, tugged at the candy, engaged in the timeless ritual of the Jewish boy’s coming of age.

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