It didn’t take long for my Father to play an integral part in the life of Michigan City, and he spent the next 25 years of the rabbinate in that lovely community situated on the shores of Lake Michigan. In the beginning years, there was an exclusive lakeside neighborhood called Long Beach. It was a favorite spot for summer homes for the Chicago Mafia, and driving through one could see men with big guns patrolling those homes. Mafia was welcome, but no Jews could buy homes there. It was a remnant of the old Indiana Ku Klux Klan thinking. However, the permanent residents admired and loved my Father, so this was a true conundrum for bigots. One day, my Dad was speeding through Long Beach, when a policeman stopped him. He said, “Rabbi, Do you know you were speeding.” “Yes,” said my Dad. “This is a restricted area, and I wanted to get out of here as fast as I could.” He didn’t get a ticket. Eventually, the barriers came down.
When Dad visited one of his congregants, Mrs. Cohen in the hospital, he said, “I asked her how she was feeling, and she said, ‘I can’t complain,’ and then proceeded to do so for the next 30 minutes.”’ “However, in the next bed I saw Mrs. Ida Johnson, and visited with her for a few minutes. She told me, ‘Rabbi, I am so proud of my Jewish blood.’ I said to her, “Mrs. Johnson, I didn’t know you are Jewish.” “I’m not,” she replied, “But I needed a transfusion and Mr. Siegel, who volunteers at the hospital, was the same blood type as me.”’
Dad was invited to speak at a Catholic School. The woman who introduced him was quite flustered, and after a few nice words, said, “And now, I’d like to welcome Father Richter.” Dad stood up, faced the audience and said, “Biologically, Yes. Theologically, No.”
Shortly before he retired, he was asked to officiate at a funeral, but the deceased was to be buried in a cemetery in Chicago. Mr. Carmichael, the funeral director, picked up my Father, and they drove to the cemetery in Chicago where Dad conducted the burial service. On the way home, Mr. Carmichael said, “Karl, I am really hungry. Let’s stop for dinner at that famous restaurant where the waiters are rude but the food is really good.” Dad agreed, so they proceeded to the Rude Restaurant. As luck would have it, Mr. Carmichael found a parking place right in front of the restaurant. Before he could turn off the engine, the waiters ran out of the restaurant, shouting, “No! No! No! You can’t park that hearse in front of our restaurant.” Whereupon, Mr. Carmichael said, “If you give us a good table, I’ll move.” It was a done deal.
After my Father retired, he and my Mom moved to a Senior Residence in Florida, and for awhile, Dad became a “Cruise Rabbi.” In those days, every ship gave a free cruise to clergy and their spouses. My parents were fortunate enough to take a cruise around the world. On this cruise, my Dad befriended a young priest. One day the young priest came to my Dad quite upset. The night before he had participated in some lively group dancing, and some busybody had criticized him for doing so. He said, “Karl, do you think I did something wrong?” Dad said, “Did you have impure thoughts?” “Not at all,” said the priest. “I was just having fun.” “Well, then,” said Dad, “You go to your priest and tell him you had special dispensation from your Rabbi.”
An elderly lady, called my father to come to her cabin. He really didn’t want to do that, but she insisted that she needed him. So reluctantly, he went. He was very relieved when he returned and told my Mother, “She needed someone to help her flip her mattress.”
And, when the ship got to the China of Mao Te-Tung, where the crew was treated better than the passengers, because they were part of the proletariat, a crew member urged Dad to put on a sailor hat and join them. When they left the ship to attend a banquet, a Chinese official pointed to Dad and said, “He doesn’t look like crew.” An officer, replied, “He is our Celestial Navigator.”
Always the Celestial Navigator, Dad was the first person to comfort a woman at their new Senior Residence after her husband died. He said to her, “Would you like me to say a prayer for you?” “Karl,” she replied, “You know I am an atheist.” “Well,” he said. “I could always say, To whom it may concern.”
When he died, a busload of Catholics, a busload of Methodists, and many Episcopalians from his Senior Residence arrived at the synagogue for the funeral. He was a man for all people--- a man of mercy and justice---and a man who walked humbly with his God.
Esther Blumenfeld