The laden suitcases seemed to offer silent rebuke as Batya
forced their bulging sides to accept the constriction of the
straining zippers. She hoped that the amount of time she had
invested in packing them was really justified, that the trip
would be successful and serve its purpose. As she waited for
their van to arrive, the children jumped on and off the low
wall next to the parking lot, clutching rubber swim rings and
inflatable sausages, with their sun hats perched jauntily on
their heads. In stark contrast, her husband sat immobile on
the bench, head bent over his sefer, oblivious to the
events around him. On his lap sat the precious cake, her
labor of love, enclosed in an enormous, round plastic box.
So many hours had been spent in its preparation. Batya hoped
the smooth chocolate icing would not melt before they reached
their destination. She could imagine the surprised look on
her father-in- law's face if he were to lift the cover and
see a half mushed cake surrounded by a rivulet of melted
chocolate and glazed cherries. The taxi company had promised
to send a van with air conditioning; she dreaded the thought
that maybe they wouldn't.
Batya wasn't the type to patchke; she preferred to
bake simple cakes she knew would turn out well, but this time
she had wanted to make something really special. After all,
a 70th birthday only comes once in a lifetime. She had asked
a friend for instructions for a fancy cake. As simple a
recipe as she could come up with.
Batya chuckled to herself, reflecting on the previous
evening's near debacle as she tried to give the children
supper while putting the finishing touches to this special
cake, which had obviously taken longer to prepare than
anticipated. Now it sat, glistening in the mid-summer sun,
protected by its plastic cover which her husband was
nonchalantly improvising as a stender.
"Chaim, if you're going to learn like that the whole way,
please make sure the cake doesn't tip and hit the sides of
the container. I'd hate for it to get ruined. And how will
you manage to take care of Shmueli if he feels sick?"
Her voice trailed off, not sounding as calm as she had
wanted. Smiling broadly, Chaim glanced up. "Don't worry. It's
not such a long journey. Oh, by the way, did you bring along
an extra plastic bag?"
Batya looked at him in surprise, shaking her head, but it was
too late to think about it now, as the van was already
pulling in to the parking lot and the children had begun
dragging all the bags and cases to its opening doors. After
the hustle and bustle of loading the van, making sure that
everyone was seated in his seat of preference and that the
cake was `seated' firmly on Chaim's lap, Batya breathed a
deep sigh of relief. Part One was safely navigated. Then she
sucked in her breath as she suddenly noticed that the air
conditioning was not as efficient as she had been led to
believe. "Hashem, help!' she murmured.
After the fifth head count, Batya looked behind her to check
the suitcases. Black one, green one, canvas bag, five
backpacks, four pillows, buggy, high chair, bag with water
and sucking candies for the journey, baby's bottle, Shmueli's
blanket, handbag with money. All present and accounted for,
except for the extra plastic bag for just-in-case...
She couldn't believe that so much paraphernalia was necessary
for a two-day trip. The amount of exercise she had gotten
that morning, rushing back and forth from the children's
bedrooms to her own, while transferring all the things that
needed packing, was more than she normally got in a whole
week.
She wasn't just physically exhausted, but mentally spent,
after counting and recounting six sets of pajamas, plus
Daddy's and Mommy's, ten sets of Shabbos clothing plus
changes for the baby, Daddy's shirts and Mommy's dress, with
an extra one in case of accidents, five sets of weekday
clothing, socks, diapers and wipes. Then the backpacks with
the swimming gear, each one ready packed with towel, beach
slippers, swimsuit, T-shirt to avoid sunburn, hats. Suntan
oil in hers.
Siddurim for Shabbos, books, Acamol for just-in-case --
syrup, suppositories and tablets. She could use one right
now, herself. Antihistamine for Chaim's allergies; baby
cereal, spoon and cup. Feeling quite dizzy, Batya took out a
plastic cup from the bag at her feet and carefully poured
herself only half a cup -- so it wouldn't spill.
So much time and effort just for two days! Of course, the
work was double since one of those days was Shabbos, but
still, wasn't it rather excessive? She thought back to a
different type of packing that an old friend had once told
her about. After her friend's grandfather passed away, she
had told Batya that she was sure her Zeide was enjoying his
place in Gan Eden since the cases he had taken with him on
his final journey were packed with so many mitzvos. He
had always been on the lookout to help a fellow Jew and
whenever anyone he knew had to move, he went to help them
pack. Nobody asked him, he just went. After a life filled
with these and similar acts of kindness, she felt his
suitcases were laden with only good things.
Are my spiritual suitcases laden that way, too? Batya
wondered. When it comes to the trip of a lifetime, the
trip connecting my life in this world to the everlasting life
beyond, will I be able to unpack and enjoy the reward from as
many varied mitzvos as all the varied articles I've
been packing in these earthly suitcases today?
In her mind's eye, she could see the angels reverently
opening case after case, tenderly unwrapping separate parcels
packed by her very own hands. Only the contents were now very
different. There was a big, beautiful package labeled,
"Encouragement of Chaim's Learning," together with another
labeled, "Helping Chaim to Get to Seder on Time."
There were "Chinuch Habonim" labels, and
"Chassodim, Shemiras Haloshon, Tzedoka, Chessed" and a
whole case just for Shabbos. This included all the hours
spent preparing Shabbos meals, washing and ironing Shabbos
clothing, shopping and cleaning.
There were myriad backpacks representing character trait
improvement, bulging at the seams. A bright blue one caught
her attention. It read, "Maintaining Joy in Difficult
Moments." A soft green one called, "Patience," and a
glistening gold one labeled, "Times I Controlled my Anger"
inscribed in silver letters.
How beautiful, she thought. And perched atop all the
bags, protected by a firm plastic cover, would be a splendid
cake, the chocolate icing shiny and cherries all in place. A
cake prepared with love, begging its just reward.
