"I know you prefer that the girls not wear white," my mother
said. "but they may as well enjoy it while it lasts."
My mother pulled out the cream colored dress from the
suitcase.
It had been snugly packed with many other surprises. Three
board games, eight books, one dress shirt, pajamas, three
girls' outfits, children's jewelry, crafts projects and bath
salts.
"It's such a lovely dress," my mother continued. "I'm sure
one of the girls can get some use out of it."
The floor length dress was a print of tiny pink and pale
blue flowers with a cream jumper, two lace tiers, a ruffled
collar and ruffled cuffs, and a wide bow gathered at the
waist.
This was the DRESS I had worn at my big brother's Bar
Mitzva. I can still see him standing at the bima. He
looks nervous. So many people are here. They tell me I look
like a princess. Now he's reading from the Torah for the
first time. I make funny faces to make him giggle. My mother
doesn't notice. Neither does he.
I loved the fact that my mother had preserved this Dress for
so long. And now, upon her visit, she had brought it to
me.
*
Later, as I gazed at my Dress hanging in the closet, a whole
stream of memories flooded my mind, some totally unrelated.
I'm in the backyard as my brother teaches me how to hold a
football. The grass is green and feels good under my feet.
My mother watches from the kitchen window as she rinses the
dinner dishes. The sun is still high. We have lots of
time.
Now we're at a picnic for the whole community. I want a
balloon. I see a man doing a puppet show. My father imitates
the puppet's funny accent. I look down and see that the
puppet's shirt happens to be almost like mine.
Now it's Seder night and the gefilte fish tastes so good. I
get to wear my cream Dress again because Pesach is special,
too. I'm twirling round and round.
*
"Mommy," said my eleven-year-old. "Who's going to wear this
Dress?"
"Can I?" asked my seven-year-old. "Will it fit me?" Soon it
would fit her and in a few years, the four-year-old would be
big enough, and then the next girl in line. After that, it
would be hard to imagine my dress -- the Dress my mother had
kept in perfect condition for over two decades -- on
anything but the rag man's shoulder. I didn't want to
imagine that...
How could I let them ruin it?
Oh, don't be selfish, I thought. Think how happy
they'd feel to wear this Dress.
Phooey! It's My Dress. I don't have to give it to them.
Instead, I'll wrap it in plastic and put it away like good
china.
When you live far from your birthplace and can seldom visit,
you forfeit the luxury to sit in the backyard where you once
spent many summer afternoons. You can't walk through all the
rooms in the house or sit on the couch or open the
refrigerator. You can't pop in early in the morning and hear
your mother hum as she dusts the furniture. You can't hear
the neighbor's dog bark.
I feel fragmented without physical connections to home.
Picture albums, letters, diaries, and now -- the Dress --
are what connect my old home to my new one.
But pictures, letters and diaries are meant to be kept in
safe places. A dress is not. When I turn eighty, will I
still be taking this Dress out of the closet just to take a
look? A dress is meant to be worn.
I wanted to share this Dress -- but I also wanted my Dress
to last forever. I wanted the best of both worlds.
*
The next day I called my friend and asked her to take the
Dress with her to work. She helps at one of the dozens of
clothing gemachim in Jerusalem.
I have given my Dress away -- to a family with a little girl
who needs it at least as much as I do. Very likely, her
brother is also becoming Bar Mitzva. I trust that she will
cherish it. And thereby, I have preserved it intact in my
memory.
These are the precepts whose fruits a person enjoys in
This World but whose principal remains intact for him in the
World to Come. The best of both worlds: gemilus
chassodim.
