In November of last year, I started going to the Wednesday morning Minyan prayer group at a synagogue in Lancaster City--Congregation Shaarai Shomayim. After Minyan, several of the men in the group meet at a local restaurant north of the city, Olde Hickory Grille. I joined them.
The month before, I met with the Rabbi of the Synagogue, Jack Paskoff. In the wake of the White Supremacist and Nazi rally that ended in murder, I feared anti-Semitism getting worse, especially after the President said these racists were "fine people."
One friend said, "You should see a Rabbi."
Another said, "You should see my Rabbi."
I met with Rabbi Paskoff. He invited me to come to services and hoped it would help me find peace.
The next week I went to Friday evening Sabbath service. When I got up to leave a man named Rick walked up to me and introduced himself. He asked, "Are you a cop or a soldier?" I said soldier. He was both. A retired police officer and a retired Army Command Sergeant's Major. His wife Kathy is also former military, serving as a Medic in the 80s and 90s.
Rick invited me to Minyan the following Wednesday. At the breakfast, Rick introduced me to the other four men at the table. During breakfast, I realized that four of us served during the draft. Rick was too young for the draft but was a Gulf War veteran and had served in many conflicts from the early 80s to the Iraq War. The only guy who did not serve was in ROTC after the draft and decided he did not want to complete the program. Five of the six of us are veterans. I did not expect that.
The oldest veteran, Herb, had served before the Vietnam War as a cook, roughly the same time that Elvis Pressley was in the Army. The other two were reservists who served during the Vietnam War, but were not sent to the war.
Over the last several months of going to the breakfast every other week or so, I have met a few more veterans who are members of the congregation.
I did not go to the prayer group expecting to find a veteran's group. All of my work experience after the Vietnam War said that middle class men from the northeast did not serve. I met one veteran in fifty in the white collar jobs I held from the mid-80s to my retirement three years ago.
Each of the men in the Breakfast Club told a funny story about how strange the Army was for them and how glad they were to be discharged. Which is how most people feel about the Army. Rick and I are the only members of the group who ever wear an Army t-shirt.
This week three of the veterans--Rick, David and Harvey--were at one end of the table talking intensely about congregational business. Jim and I at the other end of the table talked about documentaries and podcasts. Jim said he was nearly out of memory on his phone. I showed him how to free up some storage on his 5-year-old iPhone so he would have room for podcasts.
At this weekly breakfast, I almost felt as if I entered a time machine. I was sitting with a group who meets every week because they have faith in common and they are nearly all veterans. My Dad's generation had that experience. If a dozen men got together to go bowling or to coach football, the majority would be veterans. And like the men who served during World War II, we seldom talk about the Army, except to make jokes.
