Part II
Synopsis: Immediately after the shiva for his wife,
Reb Chanoch found himself the object of pity on the part of
his next-door neighbors, the Groners, who took it upon
themselves, despite his futile protests, to supply him with
his main hot meal each day.
Mrs. Groner's husband also had a lot of nachas from
this chessed. "Among the religious population," he was
saying to the salesman sitting in his office, "acts of
chessed are part and parcel of daily life. Take, for
instance, the case of the elderly widower who lives opposite
us. If we didn't send him warm meals, he would never taste
anything hot. He's not the type to prepare food on his own,
so how can I sit down to dinner in my house while my
neighbor has nothing to eat? That's why my wife cooks for
him, also, and brings him a nourishing, appetizing meal
every day. She tries to cook food which is suitable for
older people -- easy on the digestion, low on salt and not
too spicy."
"Really?" the salesman opened his eyes in amazement. "That's
absolutely wonderful."
*
Without any warning, the meals suddenly had to be stopped.
On Tuesday afternoon, when Mrs. Groner knocked on her
neighbor's door, there was no answer. Worried, she phoned
his apartment, upset at the same time that the food on the
tray was getting cold.
"Saba didn't feel well last night," a young girl answered,
"and Ima took him today to the hospital." At 1:10 p.m., she
pulled back the curtain. The street was full of people
hurrying in all directions. Children back from school were
standing by the curb while the buses continued on their way,
belching smoke from their exhausts. Mrs. Groner continued
staring out and a bitter taste rose in her mouth. There was
no choice. She would wrap up the meal and send it to Ezer
MiZion and a stranger, young or old -- she would never know
who -- would enjoy it. "Too bad," she whispered, referring
either to the meal on the tray or to the heavy clouds
outside which had suddenly covered the meager rays of
sunlight.
That Friday, the chapter of "special meals for the neighbor"
ended. Hundreds of people followed Reb Chanoch on his last
journey. Mrs. Groner cooked hard boiled eggs for his
mourning children. Without noticing, she deviated from the
standard recipe and shed a few tears into the water. This
was the last time she would be cooking for the family next
door.
"We greatly appreciate your genuine concern for our father,
and we thank you heartily for everything you did to help
him," Reuven, Reb Chanoch's eldest son told them. "May
Hashem reward you in this world and the next."
"We'll miss him very much," Eliezer Groner said sadly. "we
became very close these past ten years, ever since we moved
into the apartment across from him." At this moment, he was
especially aware of the affection that he had felt for Reb
Chanoch, the man with the warm smile who always listened and
knew exactly the right words to say at the right moment.
"I intend to daven in the apartment with the mourners
three times a day for the duration of the shiva," he
told his wife.
Wednesday morning, as Eliezer Groner was coming out of the
apartment where the mourners had their minyan, an old
man in a tattered suit and a shirt which must have once been
white, slowly mounted the stairs. He was just about to enter
his own apartment when the cries stopped him.
"Ai, ai, ai," the man whimpered. "Where are you, Reb
Chanoch?" He leaned against the marble wall of the
stairwell, shaking and crying. Eliezer was still busy
putting his tallis away. The old man continued pulling
himself laboriously up the stairs, crying, "Oy, vey! What a
great personal loss! What a warm Jew he was! He always tried
to see how he could help others! He did so much
chessed, so quietly, without anyone knowing. Did you
know, sir, that he came to me every day after two and
brought me a nutritious, dietetic meal, and he stayed with
me, making sure that I finished it all? Sometimes, I had no
appetite, but he encouraged me with such devotion to eat one
spoon after another, and if it weren't for him, I would
surely have starved. I'm not allowed to have sugar or salt;
no fats, either," he ticked off the list on gnarled fingers.
"I'm not allowed to eat a lot of things, and Reb Chanoch
would cook me dietetic meals by himself every single day,
according to my doctor's strict instructions.
"When I used to tell him how it bothered me that he was
going to such trouble for me, he used to laugh. He said that
he, himself, was getting meals from his wonderful neighbors.
Now, really, he didn't need their meals. He was an excellent
cook, himself, but they wanted so much to do chessed
with him that he accepted all their meals, and so
graciously. After lunch, we would sit and learn together
every afternoon. Then we would daven mincha and hear
the daily shiur from the Rav and afterwards, daven
maariv. But it's been a week now since I've had a warm
meal. So far, all I've eaten are a few dry dietetic cookies
I have left in the cupboard and some raw vegetables I keep
in the fridge. I certainly don't know how to cook like Reb
Chanoch. Not that I care so much about the food." His eyes
became misty again. "It's the care and friendship I really
miss, the learning sessions we will never have again." Here
he gave a loud sob, as hot tears poured down his wrinkled,
greyish shirt.
Mr. Groner's hands froze on the zipper of the tallis
bag as he caught his breath. He couldn't believe his ears.
"Are you sure that Reb Chanoch cooked the meals by himself?
How do you know?" The authoritative voice resounded like a
command.
"What is there to tell?" the old man said impatiently, as if
explaining to a small child. "Reb Chanoch cooked everything
he brought me by himself, and he promised me that no one
would know, not even his own children. When I once asked him
why he accepted the meals that the neighbors prepared if he
knew how to cook so well, he smiled his warm, familiar smile
and said, `But they want so much to do this chessed
for me. I explained to them that I could manage on my own
but they wouldn't hear of it, so you see, I just couldn't
refuse. How could I make someone lose out on a mitzva
just because of my own selfishness? It wouldn't be right. I
had to let them do this chessed for me and accept it
gratefully'."
Eliezer Groner stood there, amazed. "Is that so?" All of a
sudden, his former neighbor seemed different to him than the
familiar person he had known. Somehow nobler and larger than
life. He felt a slight twinge in his heart. It was hard to
accept the fact that the neighbor hadn't actually needed his
favors the way he and his wife had imagined, even though he
had tried to tell them. To be perfectly honest, it had
been a convenient mitzva, one to quiet their
conscience. It was certainly easier than looking for someone
further away, some seedy looking, picky old man who might be
needier than his next door neighbor and could really use a
good hot meal.
For a long moment, Eliezer Groner held on to his velvet
tallis bag, trying to calm himself down. Outside,
heavy clouds were gathering and covering the horizon. A
storm was brewing and he felt his own emotions churning
inside. He thought he had known a thing or two about
chessed until his neighbor had come and taught him a
whole new chapter. Like a flash of lightning in the dark, he
knew one thing they would have to do from now on: they would
have to take a special dietetic meal over to the old man
instead of to Reb Chanoch. No one would know about it.
Eliezer Groner opened the door to his house. The rolling
thunder could be heard in the distance, and through the
large picture window, he saw the refreshing drops of rain
falling and clearing the air.
