A Letter to Jail: Stories of Inspiration

by David Kilimnick

The age of the inmate is not accurate in the picture.

Beryl Horowitz. A Holocaust survivor, never married, living alone in Brooklyn. He owned a little bookstore. You would think he would be depressed. But he wasn't married, so all was fine. He would sometimes do acts of kindness, stay later in shul and Daven with Kavanah, because he didn't have anybody hounding him, constantly asking "where were you." He was even able to eat deli sandwiches every night, as nobody cared about his health. Life was good. But he cared. Beryl was a very kind soul. He was even able to own a bookstore, because he didn't have a wife bothering him with this concept of "We Need Financial Stability."
It was a Jewish bookstore. You don't move to Brooklyn to open a boutique bookstore for Mennonites.

Beryl knew a rabbi that worked in a prison. Beryl wanted to do something kind. The rabbi was shocked. He'd never heard this from a congregant. Most questions addressed to the rabbi were, "How much can I save on the hall for the Bar Mitzvah?!" To quote the rabbi's response to Beryl's, "I can't pay you for your kindness." Beryl said, "I still want to do something nice." The rabbi suggested, "Going down to Florida is a nice thing to do during the winter. That's what most of my congregants do." Beryl told the rabbi, "I want people to know they're important. I want to do a true Chesed. A true act of kindness. People are lonely. I want to help them." The rabbi was in shock. People caring is not something the rabbi was used to. This purity of kindness made the rabbi uncomfortable. The greatest act of kindness he had witnessed till that moment was a community member paying their dues on time. 
The rabbi suggested Beryl send letters to inmates. The rabbi could've suggested sending letters to women, but the rabbi didn't think very much about Beryl's needs. He didn't even shop at Beryl's bookstore. He went to Eichler's for his Judaica. This is why the rabbi was suggesting Florida. To get Beryl to close his bookstore. At least to get Beryl out of town, so he could shop at Eichler's without feeling guilty. 
Beryl would've been married if the rabbi thought for a second about his love life.

Beryl started sending letters to inmates every Friday. Letters of encouragement. Stuff like, "It's not any better at Coney Island. I'm shvitzing here. The hot dogs aren't even Kosher."
One letter reached nineteen year old, David, in Florida. David was in for armed robbery. It might have been shoplifting. Not sure. I heard something about forgetting to ring up the tomatoes at the register. Maybe he had tomatoes in his red shopping cart, camouflaged, and then he was carrying a pocket knife. That stuff will get you locked up. 
David was planning to take his own life that morning, but the letter came in. I believe the letter came in the morning. Some say it came in the afternoon. He was planning to take his life that morning, but hadn't gotten to it yet. David was a procrastinator. He saw the paper, thought about the damage a paper cut can do, and remembered he was supposed to take his life. Instead of paper cutting himself, David opened the letter.
David was down. He was locked up. I feel that explaining why David might be down is important to the story. He was behind bars. Now you understand the psychology behind why David might have been down.
The letter read, "You matter. You are more than your worst mistake. Gd believes in you and so do I... Beryl Horowitz." Beryl signed it. I am not sure if it was with a "love" or a "sincerely" or a "thank you." I do know he signed it. I believe it was cursive.
There was no return address. Just a name. He didn't want to get robbed. He wanted the guy to know he cared. He didn't want to be a victim.
David broke down. He started crying. David started learning Torah, he got out of jail and married, and became a teacher. How crying leads to Torah learning, I am not sure. I do know that David wanted the Kosher meals. When you're locked up, that airplane packed Kosher food is a joy. It gives you a reason to live.
David was touched. Somebody cared about him.

Thirty years later, now a grandfather, David was in Brooklyn. He went into at tiny Brooklyn bookstore and a nameplate was on the counter. It read "Beryl Horowitz Owner." It could've read, "Beryl Horowitz Guy Who Likes To Shop Here." But Beryl owned the place.
Standing there in a moment of true connection and gratitude, David asked, "Are you Beryl Horowitz?" Beryl was already around ninety, and he had already been through communism, pogroms, the Holocaust, losing every job because of his name. Thinking he can't get fired now, he said, "Yes. I am Beryl Horowitz." 
David asked Beryl, "Did you ever send letters to inmates?" Beryl responded, "I did. I used to do it all the time. Every single Friday. Why?" Beryl was now worried he was going to be arrested for contraband.  
David pulls out a letter from his wallet. It was his electric bill. He forgot to pay it. He said, "Thank Gd. I have to go to the post office and pay this." Then, he pulls out another letter. A faded letter. Answering Beryl's question, "Because this letter saved my life."
Beryl, filled with tears. At this point, of course he cried. This was a moment. Watch a drama. This is when you cry. Beryl said, "All of these years, I just sent them. I didn't know if any of them made a difference."

Lessons of What Followed
Beryl never got a letter.
After that meeting, I do not believe that Beryl went to jail. He did think to go to jail for Shidduch reasons though. It worked for David.

For some reason, those moments of connection make you cry. Almost as much as a kidney stone.
Just the fact that somebody cared about him, helped him turn his life into one of meaning. One where he learned Torah and never enjoyed a decent cheeseburger again. One where he had to report to his wife where he was, every moment of every day. David was touched. All he needed was to hear he mattered.

Letters by hand are meaningful. They leave an impression. A high school kid heard this story, started writing a letter by hand and swore she would never do that again. She told her parents, "Nobody should have to hurt their hands that much to text a message." 

Torah allows one to see each moment as important. Even when locked up in jail or prison it's a chance to do Mitzvahs. A chance to help somebody with their contraband. Kal vChomer, even more so, when your family locks you up in a nursing home. We can learn from David to find that meaning in each moment, even in those places where it's hard to see how important we are. And we can learn from Beryl that letting those people know you love them may remind them how important they are, even if they don't have much money. Even if it doesn't look like you'll get a decent inheritance.

David made a lot more mistakes. Thanks to Beryl, he felt good about them. He started messing up crossword puzzles. He was fine, because he had that letter reminding him that Beryl and Gd believed in him. Unlike his parents who thought he was a Yutz.
Beryl then asked, "What was your worst mistake?" David said, "Getting married and having kids. I'm broke, and on a teacher's salary, having to support these people. I should rob a shop." When Beryl asked about getting locked up for armed robbery, David went on. "Wait. An even worse mistake was being a teacher. These kids nowadays need to be locked up." Then, in a moment of epiphany, David continued, "That letter changed my life. Mr. Horowitz... Thank you. Torah truly killed my plans. I was going to be a doctor." Maybe he didn't say that. I am not sure if that was their conversation. Quotes can be wrong sometimes.

I don't think David invited Beryl to Florida. Though, he did buy a book. A softcover, to save a bit of money.
If Beryl's rabbi would've shopped by him every once in a while, Beryl might have felt that having a bookstore was a good idea. Your actions are important. They do make a difference. Gd believes in you. Beryl needed to hear that too.
Is this not why we're all here in this world? To help each other. To be the most important to somebody? To let them know they matter. To remind them they make a difference. To ruin their good times the next time they're out drinking, thinking "Gd believes in me." Try taking down a few beers with that and the mortgage in the back of your mind. We all need to hear we matter, that we can make a difference, and somebody cares about us.

***Not sure if that's exactly the story word for word. To hear it in shorter, probably more correct form, check out realyaakovcohen on Instagram.