It was such a relatively minor incident, but upon reflection,
quite significant. The last time I was in Geula, I had put on
some extra walking mileage in order to purchase a particular
brand of sugarless sucking candy.
Anyone who has had the zchus to step out into
Jerusalem's sizzling summer sunshine knows how suddenly
parched and dry one can feel. Drinks aren't always available,
portable fans not too practical, and so, succulent sucking
candies seem to suffice. Therefore, whenever I was nearby, I
generally replenished my supply. It is only recently that I
discovered the same brand, with the same hechsher,
well represented in my own neighborhood grocery.
Once in the candy shop, I directed my roving eyes to the low
calorie department. As I automatically reached for the
familiar red package, for some reason, my hand shifted, as if
of its own volition, and picked up a green package instead.
Even as I paid for my purchase, I was perplexed. What had
possessed me to take the mint, when it was the strawberry I
desired?
As the pace increased and the temperature climbed, it wasn't
long before I started discreetly struggling with the
hermetically sealed peackage. By the time I managed to
liberate one solitary candy, I felt well on the way to
dehydration. At the first taste, I was overwhelmed by the
shockingly sharp flavor. It had the very distinct tang and
aroma of the cough drops of my childhood. The smarting eyes,
the stinging throat, I vividly recalled, but it did silence
the cough. Now, rather than quenching my thirst, it had
filled me with nostalgia for that innocent, pre-antibiotic
era. The small paper packages of sulphur mixed into a cup of
water was the common cure-all. If one could survive, with
Hashem's kindness, a glassful of that terrible tasting
medicine, then it was most likely that one could conquer the
illness.
Memories flooded me regarding the daily unofficial `war'
between parent and child. The battle centered around the
imperative consumption of a spoon of super-oily cod liver
oil. This was America's great equalizer. Small matter one's
religious beliefs, financial standing, social background --
one had to swallow a spoonful of cod liver oil. No excuses
accepted! Whether the ultimate goal was reached through
bribery, coaxing, threats, treats, reason or force was
immaterial.
Uneblievable how on that crowded Geula street, the entire
range of medical memories was evoked by one simple mint
candy! Deciding that it didn't fill the purpose for which it
was purchased, I pushed the whole bag down to the bottom of
my fathomless purse.
One week later, I found myself on an intercity bus, traveling
towards Rishon LeZion to visit my son and his family. Having
left home for work on Sunday at 6:30 a.m., as usual, and been
confounded by the computer, as usual, I was a bit weary.
However, closing my eyes wasn't an option on these weekly
trips. What a shame to miss even a moment of our beautiful
country! A variety of lush, leafy trees, a flash of flowering
gardens, handsome homes huddled along the highway -- even
after almost three decades -- it never ceased to fascinate
and fulfill.
Then, as if through a fuzzy fog, I became aware of someone
coughing persistenly two rows down. The older woman brought a
bottle of water to her lips, in between spasms, but to no
avail. The hacking cough continued for long minutes.
Sympathetic eyes turned towards her -- there was yet a long
ride ahead. Suddenly, a thought occurred to me and I began
actively excavating in the depths of my purse, no mean feat.
At last I managed to extract two neatly wrapped candies.
At first she shook her grey head vehemently. But I persisted,
urging them on her. Apparently, in spite of her relentless
cough, she was reluctant to take them. A Russian language
newspaper rested on her lap and she obviously wasn't used to
encountering caring gestures from strangers. Finally, she put
one into her mouth. Several passengers in the immediate area
nodded their approval. Within two minutes, a serene silence
reigned, maintained for the rest of the ride. As we left the
bus, I pressed yet another few into her hand. This time she
responded with a grateful smile.
No longer did I wonder why I had purchased the green
package.
Editor's Note: Although she did not say so, we assume that
the author asked the woman to make a brocho.
