In Jewish mysticism, there is the belief that there are a minimum of 36 wise people on this planet at any given time, known at the “just souls.” If the number ever drops below 36, the world comes to an end. So they say. Whoever “they” are.

We are in the middle of a wonderful Jewish Film Festival here in the Pioneer Valley of Western Mass. Yesterday’s offering was a short locally created film called “Seeking the 36.” A teenaged girl, Nico Lanson, goes on her own quest to learn about the 36. She interviews persons-on-the-street as well as well known spiritual leaders.

What defines one as a Vamed Vov? In the movie, the question is asked, “Have you ever met someone who had something magical and wonderful about them?” I find it really fun to think about that. Someone posed that there might not be 36, but rather 3,600, or why not 36,000? After all, the world’s population was way smaller when this number was settled upon. Does it have to be a big name person like Ghandi or Martin Luther King, Jr, or Barack Obama? One man in the movie was asked this, and he very simply said: my wife. Wow. There was a flash of this little old shoemaker in Northampton. The reaction of the audience was hilarious. Everybody knows him and we all know he is a wise man in the disguise of a traditional old world shoemaker.

Does someone have to be magically wise all the time in order to qualify? What about that one kindness that someone did for you, that touched you, surprised you? Or your own act of generosity, of understanding, that time when you listened with perfect attention and someone felt truly heard? I like that the movie made me think about this. I would say that we all have the capacity to act as a Lamed Vov. Some show is more often than others. I know that my Aunt Mary was one. She was a light that shown brightly and startled people into waking up, whether a taxi driver or a diplomat. I sure see this brightness in the wisdom in my own daughter’s blog!

I will tell you a story and then shut up. Maybe Juliana remembers this, or remembers my telling this story. It was many years ago, a brown bag supper at the Unitarian Society. We were maybe 15 people around several tables pushed together. A stranger walked into our basement supper and stood at the doorway. There was a dignity about this homeless-looking man that we all took note of. He said he was just released from jail and needed money for bus fare; were we a church? could we help him? “I read my bible every day,” he said, as a way of giving himself validity in our eyes, I guess. We laughed and welcomed him in, told him we didn’t care about his bible reading, not a requirement for UU’s, was he hungry? Ross went into the kitchen and got him some soup and bread. Victoria, the minister, went upstairs to get him a bus voucher for his safe passage to his brother’s in Maine. We opened a place for him at the head of the table.

Then he started to ask us questions. What do you believe here? Turning to each of us, making eye contact, one at a time around the table: What do YOU believe? I know that I was not alone in feeling on the spot. UU’s don’t answer this readily. But there was this aura about the man that you knew you shouldn’t mess around. Answer the man, as well as you can! Pay attention. Be present. This matters.

He left after he ate. We all sat there. Stunned. We looked around and sort of rubbed our eyes like we were waking up. Who was that? Was that Elijah, come to test us, to see if we were worthy of the Messiah entering our midst? Was he one of the Lamed Vov? If he had evaporated after walking out the door, I would not have been at all surprised. Magic takes many forms. Stay awake. Keep your eyes open. This matters.