It was Thursday evening. Batya was pleased with herself; the
house was clean, the challos were baked, she had
managed to bake a cake as well and the salads were just
waiting to be seasoned in the morning. She had left very
little for the relatively short winter Friday.
Looking forward to a good night's sleep, Batya went to bed,
tired but content, knowing that she would feel relaxed when
she went to work at eight o'clock in the morning. But man
proposes and. . . Her baby woke up at around three in the
morning, gasping for breath. Batya had acquired a large
amount of experience while treating her older children who
had breathing problems; fortunately they had an inhalation
machine in the house. However, she realized after a while
that the little boy was not responding to treatment and that
she would have to take him for first aid. The one-year-old
was in danger of asphyxiation.
At six o'clock in the morning she woke her oldest girl, Dini,
and asked her to get up so that she could get the other
children off to school. She told the fourteen-year-old why
she was taking the child to the hospital, and left her with
precise instructions for the last minute Shabbos
preparations. "I have put the soup on; when it boils, all you
need to do is to let it simmer for a while. I had no time to
prepare the cholent, but have written down exactly
what you have to do. Here are the beans and barley which I
checked, potatoes and dumplings, and I left all the seasoning
on the counter for you. When it comes to the boil, you could
leave it on a tiny flame, lock the door, and go to school. If
things don't work out, you can always call me on my mobile
phone. We must dash."
A taxi took them straight to the casualty department of the
nearest hospital, where the child was put on oxygen
immediately, and given intravenous medication. Everyone knows
that you need an endless amount of patience in any casualty
department. However hard you try to hasten the procedure,
time seems to stand still. But this was Friday, and Batya and
her husband were on tenterhooks. The baby seemed much better,
yet they insisted on keeping him in for observation. At long
last, they were told they could take him home.
The wonderful smell of cooking met them as they entered the
house. It would only be a few minutes until the children came
home from their various schools. Batya put the drowsy baby,
who was breathing normally, into his cot and went into the
kitchen. She took the lid off the chicken soup saucepan, and
tasted the contents. It was excellent. She ladled out a
little of the mouthwatering cholent for herself and
her husband. They had not eaten today and besides, we are
encouraged to taste some of the Shabbos food.
Without waiting for her husband to sit down, Batya took a
generous forkful. She screwed up her face and rushed to the
sink to swill the taste from her burning mouth. It was so
sharp that it was quite inedible. Still coughing and
spluttering, she signed to her startled husband that he
should not start eating. He asked what was wrong; but it was
quite a few minutes till she could answer him.
Dini would be home in a moment and then she would have to
think up some explanation. What could the girl have done to
produce such an inedible mess? She would have to help her
start another pot of cholent. She would have to check
another batch of beans, peel some more potatoes and prepare
some more dumplings.
Batya had a headache; her lack of sleep was catching up with
her. And the baby had started crying again. What had
possessed Batya to add so much pepper? Her anger grew by
leaps and bounds, The thought crossed her mind; they had just
reviewed the chapter in her Shemiras Haloshon group, 'Judge
your fellow man favorably.' How could she possibly judge this
daughter favorably? She could say. . . The girl is only
fourteen, she wanted to help. . .
Just then Dini came running in, breathing in appreciatively
at the mouth-watering smell. First she asked how the baby
was, and then she asked how the food had turned out. Dini was
almost in tears when her mother told her she had thrown it
out.
"Mommy how could that be? I followed your instructions to the
letter."
"Perhaps you added some black pepper, or something else?"
"No, really not, Mommy, I measured out all the ingredients
very carefully." Batya was pleased she had controlled her
anger since the girl was visibly upset as it was. She set to
work, peeling another batch of potatoes, adding all the other
ingredients and salt. She took a heaped spoonful of ground
paprika and just as she was about to add it to the pot, she
noticed the label on the container.
Sharp red pepper. Now she realized that the fault was
entirely hers, and hers alone. Yesterday when she had been to
the supermarket, she must have bought a container of hot
pepper, instead of the usual sweet red pepper.
Not only had she blamed her young daughter, she had almost
done the same thing herself. The sharp timely lesson was as
sweet as honey to her. It would teach her, and many others,
that it always pays to give people the benefit the doubt.
