Image by Martyna Starosta for The Forward
The unkindest cut: Last call for a Zabar’s lox slicer
A wonderful read that I discovered during the pandemic about the Len Berk, a retired CPA who enjoyed his second career slicing Lox at Zabar's on Manhattan's Upper West side. A reflection on the dignity of work, New York City, Food culture, and shifting norms about the expression of love and caring during the pandemic.
It was March 13. The pandemic was in its early stages. No one knew what was yet to come. I was three quarters through the slice when my supervisor came behind the counter. I stopped slicing and looked up at him.I don't think I want you here next Thursday, Len. We"ll talk later" My stomach sank. What had I done?
Later that day, I put down my knife, removed the plastic gloves I wear when I’m working, walked to a spot in the store where I could see if he was at his desk up in the perch. He was. I climbed the 14 steps and there we were.
“What’s happening?” I asked.
“Look, Len,” he said. “I love you, but you’re over 90 years old and you’re in the group that is most susceptible to the virus and if you got it, if anything happened to you, I could never forgive myself.”
Suddenly everything became crystal clear. He didn’t want me in the store because he feared that if I got the virus, I could die.
“There are over 230 people that work in the store,” he said. “The way I see it, it’s not a matter of if, but when. What will I do when it happens? Close the store for a week or two, do a major clean-up and sanitize everything? I just don’t know, but what I do know is that I don’t want you here when it happens. I told the same thing to Saul (Zabar), but I can’t tell him not to come in to the store. It’s his store! But I do have the power to let you go.”
Later that day, I put down my knife, removed the plastic gloves I wear when I’m working, walked to a spot in the store where I could see if he was at his desk up in the perch. He was. I climbed the 14 steps and there we were. “What’s happening?” I asked. “Look, Len, ” he said. “I love you, but you’re over 90 years old and you’re in the group that is most susceptible to the virus and if you got it, if anything happened to you, I could never forgive myself.” Suddenly everything became crystal clear. He didn’t want me in the store because he feared that if I got the virus, I could die. “There are over 230 people that work in the store, ” he said. “The way I see it, it’s not a matter of if, but when. What will I do when it happens? Close the store for a week or two, do a major clean-up and sanitize everything? I just don’t know, but what I do know is that I don’t want you here when it happens. I told the same thing to Saul (Zabar), but I can’t tell him not to come in to the store. It’s his store! But I do have the power to let you go.” For the past 26 years, I’ve worked at Zabar’s, the famous appetizing store located on 80th Street and Broadway in New York City. I started work there right after I sold my accounting practice and decided to do something I’d enjoy in my later years. Zabar’s needed a part time lox slicer and it turned out to be me. So since 1994, every Thursday and Friday I’ve been working behind the fish counter, slicing lox and smoked salmon, filleting whitefish, brook trout and more. Every Thursday morning I would get up, shower, shave, get dressed, have breakfast, get in my car and head off to work; just like everyone else. Waze told me how to go, but no matter what route I took, sooner or later I found myself looking, once again, at the mighty Hudson River as I approached the Henry Hudson Parkway. “What a great sight, ” I’d think when I was tied up in traffic. I’d listen to Mendelssohn’s violin concerto on WQXR and look out at the river — the freighters heading to their destinations; the small pleasure boats; the helicopters flying overhead. I’d get off at 79th street, take a left on Broadway, a right on 80th street and pull into the garage.
Read more at The Forward
Update: The story has a happy ending as Mr. Berk was able to eventually return to work there and became The Forward's columnist about Lox and all things appetizing, as he writes about here in Goin’ back to Zabar’s Zabar’s Zabar’s!.
