Penina grasped the local flyer tightly, looking with
animosity at the laughing face of the boy looking up at her
so sweetly. Well, Okay, he really isn't to blame for the plot
that his mother cooked up. "Your prince deserves more,"
screamed the ad. Yes, it screamed at her since it had been
lifted from her.
"How does she dare, that Tzila, without an ounce of shame, to
do such a criminal thing!" For the past two months, Penina
had been taking a course on small business promotion. There,
among friends who are looking for a source of profitable
income, the women, at the request of the lecturer, propose
ideas, dreams and not a few illusions of how to extricate
their financial wagon from the mud of budget cuts without
impinging on the Torah study of their husbands.
After each class, Tzila had been accompanying Penina and in a
sophisticated manner, had been milking her of professional
secrets. It all sounded so innocent, so concerned and caring,
that Penina had let her guard down and slowly, but surely,
had let slip all her original ideas on which she had been
building her hopes of selling children's original clothing at
cut-rate prices.
"It won't be one of those stores with cartons stuffed with a
thousand identical tricot shirts. This will be a store of
quality clothes but at popular prices."
"It sounds kind of complicated," Tzila reacted matter-of-
factly, just to be polite.
"Right, but I have an exclusive sales agent who imports
clothes from the Far East. My father-in-law knows him and has
arranged a business meeting. He's willing to meet me halfway
on price and credit."
"Sounds very nice," said Tzila. "I'm very happy for you."
"The only problem is its location. It's up north. I'm trying
to figure out how to get to him. If I have no choice, I'll
have to take a special taxi for this project."
"Oh, you know what? If you don't mind waiting a day or two,
we're popping by to see my husband's parents at the
moshav and it's right near the place you mentioned. We
can drop you off at the agent on the way."
"Really? Oh, thank you!" Penina gushed.
"It's nothing," Tzila answered simply.
It really wasn't `nothing', especially since Tzila insisted
on driving Penina right to the agent's exact address, in
order to save her extra minutes of searching. But Penina
couldn't imagine the price she'd have to pay...
In the last lessons, they had discussed advertising and
marketing techniques.
"What do you think about `Your prince also deserves more?' "
Penina asked Tzila. Tzila, as usual, was non-commital.
"Hmmm. Don't you have a more original idea? It sounds a bit
cliche for something so de luxe?"
"You're right." The ad suddenly did seem to her pale and not
especially enticing. "I'll have to think of something else,
more original, something that grabs you."
*
Penina slammed her fist on the poor table. Drops of bitter
coffee sprayed everywhere, leaving sticky traces. She
photographed her son with this outfit, the most unique one I
chose at the agent's. The `exclusive' Tzila has simply gone
and ordered merchandise from him! And who's to blame? Just
me. Why was I tempted to include her in my professional
secrets? With my own mouth, I created a serious
competitor!
Penina still had no idea how much her competitor would cut
into her profits. Gritting her teeth, Penina phoned Tzila. If
she was expecting her to stammer out a weak apology or some
confession to the tune of "I'm really sorry. I gave in to
temptation in a moment of weakness," and so on -- she was
sorely mistaken.
"Oh, Penina," Tzila enthused, as if she were waiting for a
compliment. "Did you see the ad in Everything for
Everyone? Did you like it? Didn't it come out great?"
"It was my idea," Penina gently wedged in a word edgewise.
"Really? You know, I couldn't even remember where the idea
for the ad popped into my head. But wait a minute," Tzila
recovered. "In the end, you decided to go for another idea,
didn't you?" Tzila wouldn't let the embarrassing facts
confuse her. "The agent up north agreed to sell to both of us
so that we can share the deliveries and it'll be cheaper.
(How considerate of her!) Maybe I'll also call you for
advice on how to open a file at the income tax department. We
can pool our information, O.K.?" Tzila continued, not missing
a beat. "So what's new, otherwise?" she added, suddenly
remembering her manners.
What's new? A storm is brewing, that's what, with danger
of flooding. But better to remain silent. Better be safe than
sorry.
The next call was to her sister-in-law, her usual address for
venting.
"You have to put her in her place!" her sister-in-law said
heatedly. "You can't just give up your exclusivity! Maybe you
should get some advice from the course teacher about what to
do and how. Discreetly, of course, without mentioning
names."
"Tzila may be hurt," Penina hesitated.
"Oh, really? She's got the skin of an elephant. If she's
capable of acting like that without even apologizing, she
simply doesn't know the meaning of hurt. She's developed a
dyslexia for tact. Besides, you have no choice. It's a matter
of survival. You've invested money and energy in your store.
How can you risk losing everything because of some nice
friend?"
*
"If your prince deserves more, that's what he'll get," said
Penina's husband, trying to dam her flood of tears. "No Tzila
is going to cast a shadow on our happiness and our lot in
life."
"What? Just give up? Is that what you're saying? She took
away the very heart of my business, my exclusivity. Even
without her, the market is bursting with competitors!"
"Everything is from Heaven," he noted calmly, "and no one can
take a penny of what's decreed for you, right? This is not
some quaint cliche, but a saying of Chazal. It's reality!"
"Let's at least ask a Rov. I don't want to give up without a
fight."
"Okay, okay, as you wish," he sighed. "But in my opinion, the
only thing we'll get out of it is a headache. She won't be
able to do you any real damage, if in Heaven it hasn't been
decreed."
Another pool of tears gathered on the table, this time, tears
of investment and building. A seed of faith sprouted in the
salt water, took root and grew a strong stem of faith in
Divine Providence.
The next few days were almost unbearable. Especially when,
true to her name, Tzila stuck to her like a shadow and
actually demanded attention for herself and her store.
Together they filled out the long and complicated income tax
forms; together they negotiated with the editor of the ad
flyer -- but not together did they reap the profits.
Tzila had a crowd of devoted, enthusiastic customers. Her
sisters made sure to send her all of the Who's Who for her
`exclusive and original sale.' And Penina? Penina had plenty
of time to arrange and rearrange her shelves and to
straighten the unseen wrinkle in a pair of pants that had
been tried on by dozens of babies and returned to rest in
peace on its shelf.
At night, Penina tried to balance the budget. Soon, as the
red circle on her calendar foretold, it would be time to pay
the creditor and soon the season would be over and what
hadn't been sold by then would have to be sold at a loss, if
at all. No one would look at the stuff next year, that was
for sure.
Penina tried to rid herself of the thought of what would have
been without her Siamese twin of thirty-something, especially
since kind souls took it upon themselves to update her again
and again about Tzila's whirlwind success, and to pass on
warm regards that were heated up by the frenetic pace of her
sales.
"We have to pay our debt at the end of the month," Penina
reminded her husband grimly one evening.
"Nu, nu. Hashem will help," he repeated the familiar
reassuring tune. But this time, Penina remained distressed.
"We have to find a gemach. We can't remain so
complacent, so blase. This agent is far from the Torah path;
we can't put him off by even a single day."
"I'll look into the matter next week," her husband promised
and turned back to his energy source, his beloved
shtender.
That night, when Penina saw Tzila's number on her phone ID,
she decided to ignore it. She didn't have enough emotional
energy to deal with her, to hear how the last stock had been
grabbed up and to respond to her "When are ordering more
stock?" and then to hear her amazed reaction, "What? You
still haven't sold the first shipment? Are you serious? Nu,
well listen, Hashem will help. I am sure it will all work
out." Tzila's condescending tone and her pseudo-comforting
reassurance grated terribly on Penina's frazzled nerves.
"Oh, Penina, I'm so glad I caught you!" (Which, of course,
begged the question `Why?') Tzila began a long-winded
monologue at rapid fire so as not to be cut short. "Listen,
we have to fly abroad for a long time. Don't ask why. The
point is that I'm closing my store. Boruch Hashem, I managed
to sell off all my stock so I won't be losing out. But I
promised my clientele that I'd soon have some new stock and I
feel bad to disappoint them. (Oh, really? Interesting. I
thought that concept did not exist in your lexicon.) So I
wrote the address of your store on the door of my shop. You
can expect a deluge in a few days."
By the end of the month, Penina found herself exhausted but
satisfied. One afternoon, she left the store in the hands of
the capable saleslady she had hired to help her deal with the
flow of customers, and made the long trip up north to pay off
the debt and to make a double order of new stock.
*
So, dear reader, you're sighing with relief. A suitable story
worth sharing to strengthen our readers in faith and Divine
Providence. From chessed, one never loses out and
whoever has faith, sees it with his very own eyes. If so --
tell this to Penina and give her a boost in emuna.
Why? Are you surprised? After such an ending, she needs more
strengthening in faith?
Well, yes. Our Penina is still holding at the end of Chapter
One, before the solution has materialized to the problem of
paying off her debt. She is still worrying and the table is
still drenched with tears of anxiety and prayer. She still
hasn't turned the pages to the Happy Ending and in the
meantime, she is fighting for survial, despite the unfair
competition that her colleague foisted on her.
She probably will see the good ending, hopefully sooner than
later. Then again, perhaps not. What is certain is that
whoever trusts in Hashem doesn't really need to hear the end
of the story in order to play the tune of
bitochon...
