I go out only one evening a week, to volunteer for "Lev
L'Achim." But that single evening has changed several things
in my life, reorganized my outlook on life in general. Before
that, I used to think that our kitchen table was an old piece
of junk (which, in fact, it is -- inherited from my husband's
great-grandmother!), and that we also needed a couch
urgently.
What foolishness!
The one time a week that I sit in the home of `our lady,'
upon her plush, light banana-colored velour couch ensemble,
by a glass-and-nickel coffee table of the most recent design,
suffices me for the whole week. Ostensibly, we study
hilchos Shabbos together, but in the process, she asks
us where one buys a neigelvasser cup, because she's
looked for one in all the stores of her local shopping mall,
in vain. And another question: is one allowed to brush one's
teeth and put on makeup before the morning handwashing? We
tell her, no, since it is necessary to wash one's hands
immediately after saying Modeh Ani. As for the washing
cup -- we promise to buy one for her.
"Thanks ever so much. You are marvelous. I'll pay," she
assures us and we laugh. Such a plastic cup can't cost more
than three shekel, if I'm not mistaken.
We leave this elegant house and return to our respective
cramped little and disheveled apartments. I must admit that
on the evenings that I go out, I don't manage to straighten
up beforehand. But my heart is filled with joy. Boruch
Hashem, in our house we have a handwashing cup, in fact
quite a few! In my children's room the triple bed is open
full width, alongside the playpen/bed and crib, with a row of
plastic basins and washing cups neatly awaiting the morrow's
use. I really have no urgent desire for that glass-and-nickel
coffee table in my living room, I convince myself.
In fact, I have decided to love my husband's elter
bobbe's old kitchen table. It's this one evening out that
has changed my perspective on lots of things in life.
O.K., so forget about the table. Either, or, rather, both.
But there are some things that one really needs... My oldest,
seven-year-old daughter really needs a coat. This past
winter she's been wearing one that could easily be passed
down, as is, to her four-year-old sister. She wants a nice
coat, and preferably, a new one. And with justification.
"Maybe I could buy her one at the end-of-the-season sale?" I
ask my husband. "It'll be only half price."
"This month? Absolutely impossible!" he answers.
"But the season sales will be over by next month. Next year
they'll cost at least double, if not triple. Don't you think
it's worthwhile?"
"I didn't say it isn't. But that doesn't make it possible,"
he answers tersely.
"So what will be?"
He shrugs. "Hashem will help."
A typical kollelnik answer. And I am called upon to
strengthen my measure of bitochon, I know. Otherwise I
wouldn't have left the house tonight with a somewhat heavy
heart...
We studied the laws of Shabbos, as usual, and went off on
tangents for the dozens of pertinent questions that arise
from everyday life, which is also usual. Here, for example,
was a typical question regarding child education:
"My son in the sixth grade wanted a cellphone and we bought
him one. He ran up a bill for two hundred shekel the first
month, which is bad enough, but the following month it was
already four hundred! Don't you think this is
exaggerated?"
We definitely agreed with her. Then there was a more
practical question: "I cook huge amounts of food for Shabbos,
only to throw most of it away afterwards."
"Why throw it away? Why not serve it on Sunday?"
"Because the children only like freshly cooked food."
"So cook less."
She probably thought it was an honor for the Shabbos to cook
quantities and throw away quantities. We explain to her the
prohibition of bal tashchis, not wasting.
"What about clothing we no longer need?"
"You pass it on to someone else. To needy families, for
example."
"Oh, but there aren't any needy families in our neighborhood.
Perhaps you wouldn't mind taking a bundle and giving it to
someone who can use it?"
"Gladly."
She got up, went over to her walk-in hall closet and brought
back a huge plastic bag, stuffed to the gills.
"Thanks so much. You women are wonderful."
I took the bag home and thought of sorting it through before
I gave it to the gemach. I was sure that half of the
clothing wouldn't be suitable: short sleeves, too flashy or
`street-smart.' Most of it really was not up to our
standards, but deep down inside, at the very bottom of the
bag, was a beautiful blue polyester coat with maroon piping,
nice and subdued. A gorgeous girl's coat, imported, brand-
new. It must have been put there by mistake. I called her and
apologized.
"There was a coat there that looks new to me. You must have
put it there by mistake."
"It was no mistake, but you're right. It is new. I bought it
for my daughter at the beginning of the winter but she didn't
like it, so I bought her a different one. It was a pity to
throw it away! If you can find someone to give it to, I'll be
so happy."
"I think I already have someone."
I placed the coat on the dresser in the children's room and
waited for morning.
The next morning, my seven-year-old burst into the kitchen,
her eyes shining.
"Ima! You bought me a new coat! How wonderful!"
I told her that I hadn't bought it but that the woman from
Lev L'Achim whom I visit gave it to me. It made no difference
to her. She put it on and it fit her perfectly.
"Look, Ima. It's light blue. Just like my school uniform!"
"Yes, it's truly perfect!" I replied with a smile. "It even
matches your school uniform..."
This was a moment of chessed, of Divine
lovingkindness. A moment of Heavenly grace. The next time, I
told `my lady' this story, mainly to thank her. She is always
the one who feels grateful and appreciative, at the receiving
end. I thought she would be happy to see our roles reversed
and feel what it was like to give, too.
Af first I wasn't sure that she would truly understand what
it meant that there was no money to buy a coat. With a
designer living room and the story of the cellphone, and a
second coat because the child simply didn't like the first
one... Perhaps she would conclude that chareidim are
all poor and nebich.
Nevertheless, I told her, because I felt obligated to thank
her. She listened attentively and then said, "I am so
envious. You are so fortunate!'
And how true it is. We are, indeed, so fortunate!
