The Roving Rabbis And The Roving Doctor

A view of the North-West corner of Connecticut.

While visiting patients in Sharon Hospital on Friday we drove past a house with a sign hanging in the front:

Dr. Schwartz -Podiatrist

I stopped Mendel,
"Schwartz is a Jewish name . . ."
So we pulled into the driveway and parked.
The front porch had a swing with a little girl curled up on it; a black dog at the foot of the porch-swing watched us with its two large golden eyes as we entered the door of the practice.

The room's walls were covered with pictures of various people, several Soviet-Russian alcohol posters (Beer, Cognac and some other drink that I couldn't make out), a large Coca-Cola button and about a dozen flags from various countries. In the middle of it all sat a tan, broad shouldered man with the words 'Northwest Wrestling Club' written on his t-shirt; a pen in one hand and a phone pressed between his ear and shoulder. Looking up he flashed us a smile, gave us a thumbs up and then motioned for us to take a seat.
"How can I help you gentlemen?"
"We were in area and saw the name Schwartz outside - we figured with a name like that you most be a brother."
"You bet! Me? I'm 200% Jewish . . . both of my parents!"

Within the first few minutes of conversation Dr. Schwartz had told it all to us,

"There are a bunch of Jewish doctors around here, but I don't speak to them much - we have nothing in common!"

And it wasn't hard to see why, for the good doctor was far from a humdrum chiropodist - he had been to 21 countries before turning 21!

"Let me show you guys something."

Schwartz darted to the back of the office and returned a few seconds later with a blue, well traveled backpack. The front of the pack was covered with badges and flags from various countries and cities around the world, and a survival knife hung from the side.
"Where ever I went, I would barter and trade to get these patches! I didn't have a big budget -I would go to, let's say, Ireland and live off a loaf of bread and stick of butter for a week . . . But in the meantime I would find people, speak to them, get invited for some dinner and then crash in their houses - it was great! My philosophy in traveling was that since to truly appreciate a city one needs to spend months there, which isn't happening, you might as well only spend a day and pack in as many places as you can."

Our conversation meandered like the doctor's travels - he not only fixed feet, but cars and roofs as well.
The phone rang.

"Yah, bring over a couple of beers and we'll fix the car tonight."

At one point he asked us why we traveled in a Ford . . .
So we went back behind the practice to see his set of wheels - a large bus that the family travels in (He has five kids).
What had once been a run of the mill yellow school bus was now a silver schwartz machine . . . the inside floors had been tiled and most of the chairs had been removed - instead there was a bed, a sink with a fridge, a small library of books and a large dreamcatcher.
"You drive around in one of these guys, and people will be standing in lines to come in!"

Frankly, I couldn't agree more . . .

We came back in and told the good doctor that it was time to 'talk business' as they say.
"When was the last time you put on tefillin?"
"If I knew what they were, I could tell you." He responded.

We made a Bar-Mitzvah on the spot.



He's my kind of Doctor.

Of note: President Lincoln's chiropodist was a Jew. Read about him here


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