Bright sunlight broke through the haze of the night and Lea
Attiya, a widow, woke up abruptly. She looked through her
window to the hills and exclaimed, "It's Friday. I must
hurry!" The sun, a ball of red fire, was inching its way up
over the top of the mountain-horizon. Its rays, like red
arrows, spread all over the sky.
Lea sat up and gazed at the beauty of the world. A moment
later, she jumped out of bed. "It's Friday," she said again,
and began rushing through the routine morning motions of
washing and dressing. The first thing she did afterwards was
to pray.
Her prayers completed, she then began preparing for Shabbos.
At this point, all she could do was clean and polish: wash
the floors and windowpanes, polish the cutlery and silver
Kiddush goblet, dust and oil the furniture, and all these she
hurriedly accomplished, her hands moving faster and faster,
until the pendulum clock on the wall rang seven chimes; it
was time to stop. Finally, she breathed a sigh of relief.
"Boruch Hashem! Everything is clean and ready for
Shabbos!"
She hurriedly gulped down a cup of Turkish coffee and bit
into a dry crust of bread, the last of what was left from the
day before. Her meager meal soon over, she blessed Hashem for
the food and was ready for the day's work. It was time to go
to the family that she helped out, the friendly Dwaik's, and
start cleaning there for Shabbos. Once more, she began the
process of cleaning and polishing up the whole house. Here,
too, she worked hurriedly, capably and accurately, and soon
her tasks were over.
The pendulum clock on the wall chimed noon and it was time to
stop. She gulped down a cup of tea, bit into a slice of cake,
and was paid her week's wages. She rushed out and headed to
the market. There was no time to waste; so much work still
awaited her.
Now that she had money to spend, she loaded her basket with
chicken, fish, flour and eggs, as well as fruits and
vegetables. This food would last her for much of the coming
week, as well. Arriving home, she attacked the chores in
proper sequence: first to kasher the chicken, then to grind
the fish, mix in the spices and put it up to cook. Sifting
the flour and preparing a dough to rise for challos
came next, and finally, to peel and cook the vegetables. Soon
the aroma of Shabbos food filled the small kitchen. All
afternoon she worked diligently and soon everything was
ready, like clockwork.
*
Lea filled the lamp with kerosene and lit it. She filled the
small glass cups that she used for Shabbos lights with olive
oil. After lighting them and saying her prayers, she lay
down, falling asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.
"Shabbat Shalom!" her young son, Ezra, called out as he came
home from shul. She looked proudly at him and couldn't
help remembering how she and her husband, of blessed memory,
had prayed for a son such as this. Back in Aram Tzova, Syria,
they had gone to the tomb of Ezra Hasofer and their prayers
had borne fruit: this diligent, upright Torah scholar, a
young tzaddik. What a pity her husband was not here
to take pleasure in that!
The meal over, Ezra settled down to study, his voice ringing
pleasantly throughout the room. But as soon as he saw his
mother's head nodding, he stopped. Lea jumped up suddenly.
What had woken her? The quiet?
"Why did you stop learning?" she asked her son. "I filled up
the kerosene lamp to the top so that you could learn as long
as possible!"
"But you are tired, Ima," said Ezra gently. "Go to bed.
You've worked so hard today. I just learned that I am not
permitted to study by the lamplight without someone watching
over me. That is the law. I might inadvertantly move it or
adjust the wick to improve the light without realizing that
it's Shabbos. But I will stop now so you can get to
sleep."
"No!" Lea exclaimed emphatically. "I filled up the kerosene
lamp so that you could learn. I want you to learn. I am not
tired. I will sit here and watch you with pleasure until the
light goes out by itself."
Ezra smiled and opened his sefer once more and his
voice rang out again with the lovely chanting of Torah study.
Many hours later, the lamp sputtered and the room finally
became dark. Tired, but happy, Lea and her son Ezra retired
for the night.
*
Many years later, as Rosh Yeshiva of Yeshivat Porat Yosef,
Rabbi Ezra Attiya would reminisce about those Friday nights
during which he had acquired so much knowledge in
halocha, both in the Sefardic and Ashkenazic
traditions. His skills, coupled with his diligence and
devotion to Torah, enabled him to lead a generation and
transmit Torah to many hundreds of thirsty students.
He was forever grateful to his widowed mother for her
encouragement and sacrifice, which had made him what he
was.
