Joey Left His Gloves in Sofia…

The frontman of the American metal band Manowar is in love with Bulgaria and wants to visit every year.

I received a strange email from the rabbi of Chabad in Sofia. He asked to meet him and a man whose name meant nothing to me, as he wrote, "to do business together. He works for the famous company Manowar and wants to meet you," the email read.

So, I put it in my schedule as a meeting with a representative from Manowar. It sounded like a recruitment company (a fleeting association with the global company Manpower, perhaps), and I expected a long conversation where someone would be offering me their services. I don't like such meetings; I never organize them and never offer my company's services to anyone. So, I accepted only out of respect for Rabbi Yosef Salamon.

On the scheduled day, there was heavy traffic, and I was already quite late, so I rushed into one of the conference rooms at my company office, where the rabbi was waiting with… an unusual man of middle age, wearing a long black leather coat almost down to the ground. He didn't look like a businessman, much less someone who would offer me anything.

I made myself a coffee, and while warming my hands with the cup, I innocently and rather confusedly began from a distance.

"Hi, I'm Max. What's your business, and how can I be of help?"

My conversation partner's face showed immense surprise, and he began very slowly and uncertainly.

"My work? Well… I wake up around noon, make myself coffee, sometimes even breakfast, and then sit down and start writing music."

If an earthquake had struck, it wouldn't have made such a strong impression on me. I expected to hear anything but that.

"Ha, music? What kind exactly?" I exclaimed, forgetting my initial expectations for this conversation because it was genuinely becoming interesting.

"Metal, heavy metal," he replied. "And after I write it, I start performing it with my band. It's called Manowar…"

I couldn't believe it. This answer was entirely at odds with my expectations from the previous day's email. Standing before me was Joey DeMaio, the central figure of the legendary American band Manowar. He was probably the last person on the planet I'd expect to see in the company of… the rabbi. It turned out that a friend of his from Budapest was friends with this rabbi, who in turn suggested introducing him to someone interesting when he came to Sofia, thus closing the loop of explanations in just one sentence.

"No audience anywhere is like the Bulgarian," Joey DeMaio said, handing me a specially autographed disc with the Bulgarian national anthem performed in Bulgarian from one of the band's concerts. He continued, telling me how he almost accidentally ended up in Bulgaria years ago, invited by Kavarna's then-legendary "metal" mayor. He decided this was his favorite country and his even more beloved audience.

"You know, we don't know each other, but they told me you're an interesting person, and I'll tell you honestly—what I see in Bulgaria, you don't see anywhere else in the world. I mentioned the audience already; I dream of being able to 'take' about ten thousand of your fans with me to all concerts around the world to educate fans from other countries…"

I tell him that, on the one hand, his music is excellent and popular here, but on the other hand, the Bulgarian audience is starved for world-class performers. Not to downplay the great music Joey creates, but we're excited about anyone who crosses "the boza borders" (our national beverage often signifies modest expectations) and brings us close to them…

"Max, I know this, but it's not just true for Bulgarians. We've toured all over Eastern Europe, after all. You are emotional, loyal, and devoted as an audience, and when we share a table, we visit homes, living rooms, and kitchens. We've been hosted dozens of times, even visited villages… We love Bulgaria, and I completely understand the late John Lawton from Uriah Heep falling in love with you. He came here constantly and even lived for a few years in Kavarna with his wife in a small two-room apartment. You're just… great!"

I rarely hear such praise from a foreigner, but it seems he no longer falls under this category after so many concerts and days spent among Bulgarians.

I take him to a shopping mall in Sofia to see how Manowar's albums are selling, but we can barely make it to the right store as fans stop us every ten meters for autographs and photos. Once there, Emo, a wonderful music enthusiast in charge of this section, had already gathered the albums and an accurate sales report. Joey can't believe he's so popular, looking at me questioningly, even slightly concerned.

Later that evening, I remembered it was the Jewish holiday of Hanukkah and suggested he join me in watching the first candle lighting in downtown Sofia, which he eagerly accepts. About a hundred people have gathered around the massive menorah in the square where the mausoleum once stood and is now a plain parking lot. Joey suddenly asks me about the petite lady in the front row who was invited to light the candle. "Oh, that's the Mayor of Sofia, Yordanka Fandakova, a very pleasant and intelligent woman," I reply. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him stride quickly toward her. I barely catch up to hear, "Madam, Madam, it's minus 10 degrees here. How come you don't have gloves? You'll freeze—please, take mine…"

Yordanka Fandakova's face shows immense surprise as she stammers, "Oh! It can't be! Joey DeMaio… I can't believe it. I'm a big fan! Are you really…?"

The excitement is visible on her face, and her hands tremble—not from the cold but from the unexpected encounter. "Please, put the gloves on quickly, they're yours now; I'm giving them to you. And when I return to Bulgaria for another concert, they'll be my ticket," Joey says quickly. As he's recognized, even the rabbi hears his name and is asked to help light the candle.

The next morning, we're having breakfast at the modest little hotel in the heart of Sofia, where Joey is staying. Excitedly, he recalls last night's event, whispering across a table covered with fried bread and soft-boiled eggs, "I'll be back, I'll be back—not for the gloves, but for the audience. You're amazing people, respecting Jewish traditions in minus 10 degrees; it says a lot!"

I nod in agreement with Joey rhythmically, knowing full well everything he's saying. After all, I've known it all my life.