It was one of those days when everything goes wrong. Although
I'd gotten up real early to be the first one at my doctor,
because otherwise you can find yourself waiting for hours in
a jam-packed waiting-room, when I arrived, his secretary let
me know that the doctor was starting two hours later that
day.
Of course, after all the huffing and puffing to get there in
time, I was terribly disappointed, even annoyed, but then I
figured that instead of going back home and coming again or
sitting around for the two hours, it was a good opportunity
for me to attend to some long overdue errands. With my feet
always hurting me, it was the perfect time to finally order
the orthopedic inner soles that the doctor had
recommended.
But, as I said, it was one of those days...
Though I waited patiently my turn in the Orthopedic Supply
Store, the clerk sadly informed me that she was sorry that
she couldn't help me; the order forms that my doctor had
signed had already passed the expiration date and I'd have to
go back to him for other papers.
As the orthopedist only accepted patients in the afternoon, I
went to pay a gas bill. The clerk there informed me that
there was a penalty for people who didn't pay their bills in
time.
I was beginning to suspect that things were not so ay-ay-
ay [O.K.] in my management organizational department and
that I'd better hurry up with what was left of my two hours
to attend to more of my many neglected errands.
But what could I do, when, despite all my good intentions, my
feet were beginning to complain that they couldn't keep up
with my sudden ambition to attend to neglected chores as they
(my feet,) were already old and tired (and still hadn't
gotten the insoles that the orthopedist had recommended). By
then, I suddenly realized that I was also hungry because in
my great desire to be the first one at my doctor, I hadn't
eaten anything before leaving the house. And I was also very
hot... and miserable.
And then started the voices:
"So why couldn't you first call the doctor to find out if he
intended to start on time? You already know that he has an
erratic schedule, despite all his good intentions." And why
can't you pay your bills on time? And why, for that matter,
can't you do anything on time? Why do the children and
grandchildren always have to receive their Birthday Card when
they already forgot that they ever had a birthday??? Even
sweet Chaya Rivky...
Why is her card still sitting on your desk waiting for a
stamp when she would have so appreciated it coming two weeks
ago on her birthday when she was so sad that she was nineteen
and still not engaged?
So, there I was on that upside-down day, standing on the
corner of Yerusholayim-Akiva streets, eating myself up for
not being what I thought I should be, instead of eating the
pizza that I had finally bought to appease my hunger, and so
upset with myself for being ready to break my (lifelong) diet
with all that grease and white flour...
Those were just a few of the unsettling thoughts churning
around in my head, when I suddenly felt an arm encircle my
shoulder and a sweet, loving voice exclaim in surprise:
"Bobbee, how wonderful to meet you! And here of all
places!"
I turned to see the merry blue eyes and great big smile of a
petite blond, nineteen-year-old who still looked like
thirteen, loaded down with schoolbooks, and looking so
pleased to have bumped into her grandmother on her walk home
from Seminary.
"Mental telepathy," I told her. "Just when I was thinking of
you..." We stood there on the corner of Yerushalayim-Akiva
excitedly talking like two friends who hadn't seen each other
for a long time. I was telling her all about my upside- down
day and she was telling me about her Shabbos in Beitar, where
her married sister lived.
"Bobby," she suddenly exclaimed, "you'd never believe what
happened. You know that it's a minhag in our family
that Tattee benches all the children when he comes
home from shul on Friday night. But, if a child ever
goes away for Shabbos, he makes sure to bench him on
Friday. So there I was, all ready to leave the house on
Friday afternoon, and beginning to get nervous because Tattee
wasn't home. I kept looking at the clock but he just didn't
show up... I knew that if I didn't leave right away, I'd miss
the last bus but I didn't want to miss Tatte's blessing, or
disappoint him.
"I waited another few minutes and then reluctantly left the
house and ran for the last bus. So there I was at the end of
the line, waiting to get on the bus which was fast filling
up. The last bus before Shabbos — and it was already
packed full with men in shtreimlach and
bekeshes and ladies in the Shabbos clothing and crying
babies and adorable children of all ages running around. And
everyone shlepping boxes and bundles and holding on to baby
bottles and pacifiers and I'm the last one on and the driver
closes the door and the bus begins to move.
"All the time I keep looking out the window, hoping, praying
that Tattee would still show up. And sure enough, all of a
sudden, I see him running in our direction, waving
frantically and yelling for the driver to stop...
"I push my way back to the front steps and as soon as the
driver opens the door, I bend over so that Tattee can put his
hands on my head and bless me. When he finished, I kissed his
hand as we all do after he benches us. He wished me a
Gutten Shabbos, thanked the driver and went back
home.
"After the driver closed the door and started the bus up
again, I realized that everyone in the bus had been watching
us the whole time and I must have blushed purple from
embarrassment."
"But why be embarrassed, Chaya Rivky? What could be more
beautiful than a father running to stop a bus so that he
could bless his child before Shabbos?"
As we stood there talking and laughing, I noticed a little
boy, about five or six, a typical cheder yingele,
patiently waiting to cross the intersection. Each time he put
a foot onto the crosswalk, he pulled it back again to the
safety of the sidewalk. I could easily understand why. With
the steady congestion of traffic and honking of horns, I also
would have been frightened to cross the dangerous
intersection. Though other people, both adults and older
children did cross over, seemingly without fear, that little
boy was terrified to do the same. Yet, he never approached
anyone to "cross him" and nobody seemed to notice that he
needed help.
"Just look at that little boy," I told my grandaughter. "He's
been standing there so long and is too timid to ask someone
to take him across. I hardly blame him for being afraid to
cross alone; it's really scary. Come, let's go over and take
him across."
Chaya Rivky took the child's hand in hers. He looked up,
startled, then gratitude flooded his face. As we waited to
cross, I told him in Yiddish. "Dee darfs fraigen a mench
dich aribernemen dee gass ven dee huzt moireh alain tzu
gain."
Although he smiled to me, I had the faintest suspicion that
the child hadn't understood what I said. "Tageed li,"
I continued in Hebrew, "ata mayvin Yiddish?"
"Lo" he said, smiling back michievously and the sound
of the three of us laughing was music to my soul.
With a sudden love of the child, I repeated in Hebrew: "When
someone needs help he has to ask for it." This time I saw
that he had understood.
When the traffic light changed, Chaya Rivky, still holding
tightly to the little boy's hand, pecked me on the cheek, and
said that she'd continue home after the two of them
crossed.
I stood looking after the two of them till I could see them
no longer in the bustling crowd, then glanced at my
wristwatch, turned around and headed for my doctor. But I
kept thinking about the little boy who had been too timid to
ask for someone to take him across the dangerous intersection
and to whom I had said: "When you need help, you must ask for
it."
I had said the words but wasn't sure that in the adult world
we did so ourselves, whether from shame or pride or the
suspicion that the help we asked for would not be
forthcoming. Despite the unsettling thought, as I hurried
through the streets, I suddenly realized that there was a
spring in my walk, a smile on my face. and I was feeling
overwhelmed with joy.
And why not, I asked myself, when there was so many wonderful
things going on in the world; a loving relationship between a
grandmother and grandchild, a father running after a bus to
bless his daughter, a frightened child being 'crossed' a busy
intersection by someone who noticed that he was too timid to
ask.
And despite the awareness of my many shortcomings, I was
truly grateful to be alive, even on that upside-down day . .
.
