Seymour the Mohel: One of My Favorite Characters

Sometimes, writers create characters they forget are not real. Seymour Kaufman is one of those characters for me. Readers meet him in Manhattan Grace. Born in Moldova to Jewish parents, orphaned at the age of ten, Seymour was raised by his bachelor uncle in Des Moines, Iowa. He has recently transitioned to Manhattan, New York. There’s an innocence about Seymour I find endearing.

 

The girl on the subway reminded Seymour Kaufman of the young women in the art deco posters he had seen years back at the Des Moines Art Center—fresh-faced, good-natured, and colorful. When the girl stretched out her legs and moved her feet back and forth, smiling like a preteen at her bright green shoes, Seymour smiled too … on the inside.

My! Such a simple thing as shoes can make a woman happy. I have so much to learn. And so kind she was to bless me with her smile.

“Yes, I smiled back,” he argued with the Pharisee lingering in him. ‘”What? A person should not be polite to someone dressed in colors? God created color! He would never be so rude.”

Like this young woman, Seymour was not ashamed to show his joy. He knew he was blessed. Not because of his shoes, which were plain, black, and utilitarian, but because God had a perfect plan for him.

Seymour had refused to be dissuaded from his calling as a mohel [circumciser], even when those of lesser faith pointed out conditions that might not bode well for his business: First, he had only one eye. Second, he had two fingers missing from his right hand. Despite these anatomical shortcomings, God had called him, which to him meant his abilities were more than sufficient.

His answer to naysayers had always been the same: “Hallelujah! Having one eye has sharpened my peripheral vision, and my two missing fingers merely give me more room to work. Such a blessing every mohel should have.”

 

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