Every once in a while our PR person in Bnei Brak urges me to
put in a good word about the Beged Yad Leyad clothing
gemach with which I am involved. There is something
about the gemach which reminds me of the mon
which sustained our ancestors in the desert. Each one
received his portion according to his merit, in terms of its
edibility, that is, the righteous got it ready-to-eat while
others had to grind it up into flour and bake it. Distance
was also a factor: the worthy ones did not have to forage
afar to find their manna, and they were freed to go and learn
Torah, while the less worthy had to search for it and gather
it up.
Time and again, we see the people who come with a prayer on
their lips and bitochon in Hashem actually find what
they so desperately need, be it a pair of orthopedic shoes, a
hat for a bar mitzva boy, a size 18 big man's shirt or a coat
for a boy who just lost his. We regard this as routine, since
it happens almost day after day.
It is the bonuses that surprise us, however. I am fond of
games, and I once splurged, perhaps it was for Pesach and
ostensibly for the grandchildren, and bought myself an
expensive game called Rush Hour where you maneuver cars and
trucks out of a jam and steer your red car through.
Not that I have too much time for playing, but when I did
indulge with a grandchild one day and lost a truck, I felt
sorry. I searched all over the house for days but the one
truck eluded me, perhaps locked forever in some fourth
dimensional time-warped traffic jam.
Then Out of the Blue comes a bag of odds and ends (erasers,
dried out markers, old batteries etc.) from a teenager who
outgrew her toys, perhaps got married. And what should I find
in the jumble, most of which was relegated to the garbage,
but one blue truck from this selfsame game. Nothing of
`marketable' value in our gemach.
But for me, this was like a lollipop from Heaven, or, rather,
manna that tastes like a lollipop. I don't presume to be
deserving, but I felt it as a pat on the shoulder from a
loving Father Who wishes to encourage His volunteers with a
special gesture that means so much, perhaps because it is so
significantly insignificant and so perfect.
Thank You, Tatte. I truly appreciate it. Both the child and
the adult in me will always treasure that blue truck, always
in my memory, even when the rest of the game becomes obsolete
and scattered.
That little plastic truck will remind me of the out-of- the-
blue of Heaven. I will try to live up to its true- blue
message.
