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The boys' ignorance about their own backgrounds extends to religion. All were surprised when Markovitz told them that Christianity sprouted from Judaism. Until last year, three boys attended church regularly, but none could name his own priest. Nevertheless, Markovitz gave untiringly to his students, not once expressing any rage over their crimes. In return, the boys marveled at this forgiving little man who lavished so much talk and kindness and humor on them. "The rabbi is one of the nicest guys you could know," says Mike. The teens' parents concur, but they are also bitter about the public attention that surrounded the case. "My son received more punishment than drug dealers with guns," laments Mike's mother, a Clifton housewife.
In the end, Markovitz offered to provide the boys with letters of recommendation for future jobs or schools. "They were not very expressive, yet each had something to say," he noted. "When you deal with children their age, they may seem not to be listening, but you leave their young minds with images and symbols. They see that the rabbi and priest are good friends. The mystery of Judaism is removed, and they see its commonality with their own religion. They don't have to love Jews, but they've learned to respect them."
For almost two years Markovitz couldn't bring himself to clean the profanities from his garage. The rain washed away a top layer of cream, but a legible residue was left behind. "I could have painted it 100 times," he says, staring at a fading swastika. "How could four kids from the neighborhood, whose parents are fairly prominent, do this? I decided I would try to bring some cure to it. Then I'd repaint."