WHY I AM ORGANIZATION CHAIR OF AMERICAN DIVERSITY REPORT'S NEW BEGINNINGS

CHAPTER 14. ANGELS ON THE BRIDGE 

By Howard Gerald Comen 

THE RABBI, SAINT AND SINNER

I

 spent the next week or so waiting for God’s response, working in two different directions. In terms of the Griggs investigation, I communicated with Lori Griggs and Elizabeth. I tried to figure out what else I could find in the five thousand pages of contracts. Nothing became any clearer. I began to believe I wouldn’t get an answer. As far as my request to God, I went to the rabbi of the Conservative Synagogue. He told me to talk to the Orthodox rabbi. The Orthodox rabbi said he had only a little knowledge of Jewish mysticism. He said the Kabbalah is the mystical side of Judaism.

              “You must have studied the Torah, the Mishna, and the Talmud before you can study the Kabbalah. A man must be at least forty years old to study,” he said. Rabbi Radinsky was a man a few years older than me, and a learned man in all things Jewish. “There are Hassidic rabbis in Myrtle Beach who are into the mystical. They come to Charleston every now and then. I’ll let you know when one comes to town,” he said.

              Catherine had told me previously that I would be spending a lot of time in another city. She told me the funds from doing business with this one contact would bring in the amount I needed. I wondered if Myrtle Beach was the place. So, I decided to travel there and see Attorney Harry Pavilack. He was a Jewish lawyer; maybe he was part of my business’s future. I’d met Harry in the early ‘80s and rented an office from him at that time. Perhaps he knew these rabbis.

              When I arrived, I walked into Harry’s office and immediately took note of the mezuzahs that were nailed onto all the doorposts of his law office. Hanging mezuzahs on the doorposts of the house is a sacred ritual practiced by religious Jews. Harry was about as religious as I was.

              “Harry, what’s with the mezuzahs?” I asked the former Clemson football star.

              “I am close with the rabbi from the Hassidic Chabad. He put them up,” he shrugged. “I’m glad you are here. This is quite a coincidence. Mr. Levy, the owner of the Wings Beachwear chain asked me if I knew anyone who could help him with his shoplifting and employee theft problem. I told him about you. Let’s go see if he is there.”

              I was shocked. Perhaps this was what Catherine was talking about. Pavilack shared the building with the Wings office.

              Mr. Levy was an Israeli born, Brooklyn resident and a Myrtle Beach businessman. He started with one store, added stores and imported Israeli relatives and friends as the business grew. His main competitors in Myrtle Beach were Eagles, Pacific and Bargain and they were also Israelis.

              Levy was a slightly overweight, soft-spoken man living the American dream. He needed an idea. I gave him one. “First, I will survey your stores and come up with recommendations. I will meet with all your managers and introduce your new security operating procedures. I will have my investigators shop your stores, checking to see that the procedures are carried out,” I told him.

              Mr. Levy seemed pleased with my plan. “Do the survey and come up with your recommendations. Let me know how much money you need,” he told me. I figured the contract would bring in a thousand or so a month. I said goodbye and headed to the Chabad to talk with the rabbi.

              I drove into the modest one story synagogue with mixed feelings. I thought I would be thrown out for sure. I was a Jew, married to a Baptist. It was a sin in Judaism to marry outside of one’s religion and stop the flow of Jewish descendants. From Orthodox on up, I was supposedly a non-entity. Taking my situation into consideration and adding in that my best friends were a medium and a 640-year-old spirit of a Catholic Saint, I feared that I would be run out of the place on a rail.

              Bracing myself, I walked into the ultra-Orthodox mystical world of Hassidic Judaism. I saw the rabbi seated in one small classroom-sized area, which housed his private interior and the secretaries’ exterior office. He sat behind a folding table, which served as his desk. He was a man in his thirties, wearing a black hat, black clothing, a white shirt and a long beard.

              “Hi, I’m Howie Comen, a Jewish private detective from Charleston. I have a personal problem I was hoping you could help me with. Do you have some time?” I asked.

              He rose from behind the table. “I am Doron Aizeman. Sure I have time,” he said as he extended his hand. “What can I do for you?”

              I looked him over for an instant and then let the facts fly. “I have been conducting an investigation of a missing bridge inspector back in Charleston. My client and I have been dealing with a medium who channels the spirit of a fourteenth century Catholic nun, St. Catherine of Siena,” I told him, checking the distance from my chair to the door. “I have been told I was a very old soul, that our investigation into corruption would become national.” I looked at him. He was listening. I wasn’t asked to leave. “I also have been told that I have the gift of insight. Sometimes I do see things myself,” I said.

              I continued in earnest, “My problem is that mystery writer Mickey Spillane who is a Jehovah’s Witness told me I was breaking God’s law by talking to St. Catherine. He familiarized me with King Saul and the Witch of Endor in the Bible. I asked God to let me know if I should be dealing with St. Catherine and Elizabeth Baron, the channel. I sought Catherine’s advice and she told me to go to the authorities of my own religious background...and, so, here I am.”

              There, I got it all out and waited for the boom.

              I watched him calmly as he digested the final piece of information. It didn’t seem to leave a bad taste in his mouth nor did it upset his stomach. Actually, I think he was savoring my experiences. I decided to add a pinch more of my reality to the mix.

              “You know, Rabbi, I’m married to a Baptist woman, my kids are not Jewish and I’m certainly not religious at all.”

              “Interesting story, Howie,” he began. “First of all, you ARE a very old soul; you have been here many times.”

              I was shocked by his words. “But we don’t believe in reincarnation or talking to spirits, do we?” I asked.

              “Yes, the Hassidim believe the soul comes back many times to get the job done. We believe in many miracles. We have a mystical side to our experience. There is what we call the Kabbalah, a collection of mystical experiences in Jewish history. We see the Bible as the doorway to God and the Kabbalah as the key to that door. You have to study much before you can study the Kabbalah. And you must be forty years of age. I have very limited knowledge as I am not yet forty,” he smiled. I knew this man was a wealth of information and knew with all my heart that God had sent me to him.

              “I’ve heard of experiences such as those you are having. We know there are many spirits, Jewish and non-Jewish. I would prefer for you to be dealing with a Jewish spirit, but Hashem has his own way of doing things.” (Hashem was his Hassidic word for God.)

              “As far as the Witch of Endor problem, yes, God forbids us to call the dead. Saul violated that commandment...” (I would later learn that the Hassidim do not stop at the Ten Commandments. They followed with 619 commandments of their own) “...by tricking the Witch of Endor into bringing down the spirit of the prophet Samuel. Both Saul and his son Jonathan died in battle as the spirit of Samuel had warned him. David became King.” He told me essentially the same story that Mickey Spillane told me.

              I told him more about the Griggs case and that I was having to make quite a few sacrifices because of my lack of money.

              “But you have not violated God’s law,” he reassured me. “You’ve been working on the missing man’s case with no more than a small amount of expense money. You even spent your own money to help this family. You were operating from your heart. God recognized this in you and led you to the medium and the saint. You are bringing about justice in both the life of this man’s family and the life in your city, fighting this corruption. You do have your own free will to stop, but that’s up to you. You are not violating God’s law. You’re trying to uphold it,” he reassured me. My fears were gone.

              “Although I am familiar with much of what you are speaking, I am very unfamiliar with anyone who has the gift of vision. Look outside this window and tell me what you see,” he asked me.

              “Can’t do that, Rabbi. I’ve been warned not to use my intuition when I play poker on Thursday nights, nor to impress anyone. I am only supposed to use it to keep myself out of trouble – to know if I am dealing with the good guys or the bad guys. In other words, I have the intuition to know right from wrong,” I informed him.

              “I feel this is important,” he said. “I am being told to ask you again. It will be all right for you to answer me. Just look outside the window. I am curious as to what you see.” He awaited my response.

              I knew he was right. After all, God must have sent me there to give back to the rabbi as he had given to me, reassurance that I was on the right path. Catherine had taught us that when you take, you must also give back – be it advice, love or money.

              I looked out the window at the open lot. “I see a two-story addition to the synagogue. It has gray brick, a flat roof and dark brown trim. I also see some sort of deal to buy the adjoining property,” I told him.

              “Well, Howie, come with me.” We walked into his office. He unrolled an architect’s drawings of a building I had just described. “The brick color is wrong, but most of the rest of what you described is correct,” he smiled. “We are trying to buy the property next door, just as you said. Do you think we will get it?” he asked in all seriousness.

              The shivers began running up and down my spine. A Hassidic Rabbi had just answered my questions on the Mickey Spillane/Witch problem and solved it. I could continue. He had put me through a test of this vision business and I had passed. Now he is asking me about the future.