The Diary Of Joseph Steinberg

THE DIARY OF JOSEPH STEINBERG

In the summer of 2020, as the coronavirus pandemic raged, the country was caught in the grips of another pandemic, one involving a virus just as destructive, racism.

Ruth Steinberg sat glued to her television, her mask securely on as she watched the protest for the George Floyd murder. She had just recently buried her husband of fifty -one years, Joseph. He had survived the holocaust as a young baby, his family making it to America in the nick of time. He had lived through horrible anti-Semitism, the Red scare, the Korean war, the Vietnam war, the Civil Rights Movement, the AIDS epidemic. But he couldn’t outlive the pandemic.

Ruth watched as young people of all ages and races marched in support of George Floyd and The Black Lives Matter movement. Watching intently, she slowly removed her mask. The tears made it uncomfortable. She grabbed a tissue and softly wiped away the sadness, however the memories of Joseph remained.

As she continued watching she felt a strange kinship with the protesters. She felt their passion, their anger, their heart. She felt that they were fighting for their lives as she and Joseph had, so many times throughout theirs. However, instead of feeling powerless, she actually felt very empowered in that moment.

She began to wonder what she could do to help the protesters. A donation would be nice, she thought, but she felt the need to do something that not only helped change a life, but made a life matter and in doing so, would honor the memory of Joseph. She felt that unarmed African Americans being murdered was no different than what had occurred at Auschwitz. People being persecuted and murdered for the color of their skin, the race, their religion. It was no different. She knew where that kind of thinking could lead, and she hoped that this country would not go down the same road. She never thought that it would even be a possibility in America, but here she was, actually concerned.

Ruth rang the small gold bell that was positioned near her sofa. Seconds later her housekeeper Gloria appeared. She asked Ruth if there was anything she could do for her. Ruth informed her that yes, in fact, there was. She told her to bring her the small black notebook in which Joseph used to keep his favorite inspirational quotes from people such as Martin Luther King Jr., Gandhi, Mother Theresa, Nelson Mandela, and Anne Frank. And also, some quotes that he himself had written. It was on top of the dresser, where it lived. He called the notebook his diary.

As a young boy and up until his death, he felt a kinship with Anne Frank. He believed that she was a divinity sent to earth to illuminate mankind’s flaws and to remind them that one must always be ever so diligent against lurking evil.

Gloria went into the bedroom and fetched the notebook off of the chest. She then quickly appeared in the living room and handed it to Ruth.

Ruth opened the notebook, slowly turning the pages. With each page turned her eyes twinkled brighter and her smile widened. She came upon a page that caught her eye. The page said: Beware of the past, for it can surely be repeated. But we have the power to keep that which may destroy at bay. Ruth took a breath and continued looking at the protesters. Her eyes narrowed. She called Gloria back into the living room and informed her to get her bank on the phone.

Shameka Lewis sat behind the register at Whole Foods waiting for customers to arrive. Her mask was a bit uncomfortable although she was getting used to it.

On this day, she couldn’t wait to get off so she could go hug her two young children. The shooting of Breanna Taylor had really rattled her. She often wondered how differently her own life would have been with a father who was present and a mother who was capable.

But against those adds, she had managed to stay out of trouble, hold down a job and support her kids. She dreamed of going to community college one day, getting her degree, opening her own nail salon, and moving into a better neighborhood. She had the dreams and desire, often weighed down by her circumstances.

She would look at the customers who came into the store, thinking how lucky they were to be able to afford to shop there. She often struck up conversations with some of them. Some great, some merely pleasant. One of her favorite customers was an elderly couple whom she thought were extremely nice.. They always took the time to ask her how she was doing, particularly interested in the well-being of her children. In that moment, she remembered that she hadn’t seen them in the store lately.

Whole Foods was beginning to fill up. Shameka worked diligently making sure to keep the lines moving. She smiled, helped pack the bags. Engaged in small talk.

Hours later, she looked up and a Fed Ex delivery person approached her. Shameka’s eyes widened as she continued to ring up groceries.

The delivery person, asked her name, then studiously looked at the name on the package. He then asked for her identification. She looked around suspiciously, handing the i.d. to him. Her co-workers were beginning to notice. The delivery person handed her a piece of paper to sign, which she did, and he then gave her a package.

She placed the package behind the register and continued working, all the while wondering what it was and just as importantly from whom.

As her shift ended, Shameka grabbed the package and headed downstairs to change. Keeping a close eye on the package.

When she arrived home to the Marcy projects in Brooklyn, the first thing, she did was hug her kids tight. Thankful that they were alive and healthy. She hugged her mother, thankful that although she wasn’t able to be the mother Shameka needed, here she was now able at this point in her life to be a great grandmother to her children. Shameka felt blessed.

She took off her coat and went into her room. She closed the door.

She slowly and meticulously began opening the package, breathing deeply, struck with anticipation. Once opened, she reached inside, and she felt something. She pulled it out. It was a black, velvet bag. She wondered what could possible be inside. She slowly began to unzip the bag. Her eyes widened, her breathing became labored, she felt as if she was on the verge of collapsing. There in the bag were stacks and stacks of hundred dollars bills. She could not believe her eyes. She looked at the Black Lives Matter poster on her wall. The picture of Breanna Taylor on her desk. She stopped; she took a deep breath. She thought it was some kind of mistake.

She looked deeper into the bag and saw that there was a small black notebook. She pulled it out. As she opened it, she could see that there was a note. It read, Here’s to a new beginning, a new journey, a new life. One that really matters. Because, always know that you matter. Ruth and Joseph Steinberg.

Shameka, began repeating the names Ruth and Joseph over and over, until it dawned on her who they were. They were the elderly couple whom she liked so much. She slowly began counting the money and realized that there was twenty thousand dollars in the bag. She put her hand to her mouth to stop the screams from escaping because in her neighborhood, it was usually not a good sign. She immediately burst into tears. She could not believe what someone had done. For the first time in her life, someone had not only seen her, but had seen inside her heart.

Shameka wanted to thank Ruth and Joseph. She searched Facebook, but they were not to be found. She found many with the same names, but none looked familiar.

Months passed when one day a man showed up at Whole Foods and inquired about Shameka. The manager sent him to her. There he found Shameka on her break, studying for her upcoming exams that she was taking online due to the pandemic. The gentleman approached her. He began to inform her that he was the son of Ruth and Joseph Steinberg and that they both has passed. Shameka felt the wind knocked out of her. She quickly sat. The man, Seymour, began to tell her that his mother had told him about her and that he wanted Shameka to come to the memorial that was be given in both of their honor. It was small, due to the pandemic. But he knows his mother would have wanted it. Shamika agreed, telling him she would be honored.

As the mourners passed to pay their respects. Shameka came with her two children. She wanted them to see the woman who had forever changed their lives. As they waited in line, Shameka noticed something near the dozens of flowers, pictures, and Jewish symbols. She saw a picture of Ruth and Joseph Steinberg. They were smiling and in the picture Joseph was holding a small black notebook. Shameka look closely, almost sure it was the same one that had been given to her. She squinted, getting closer as she could see there was a title on the picture which read: The Diary of Joseph Steinberg.

Shameka looked to the sky, she crossed her heart. She wiped away the tears with her handkerchief, and she hugged her children, tightly.