For years I heard stories about a one-legged rabbi who roams the halls of Penn Station, but I always assumed it was an urban myth. That is until I spotted the elusive scholar by Track 14, about to board the 6:25 for Boston. I couldn’t help but wonder what forces were pulling him so far north as I marveled at his flamingo-like stability. Was it a congregation in Cambridge? A bris in Brookline? A wedding in Wenham? Only he knew for sure. I just smiled as I watched the tip of his hat slowly disappear from view as he descended down the long the escalator. Geh gezunterheit, my friend. (I just hope he remembered to order the kosher meal.)
