Friday afternoon — one hour before Shabbos. The entire
building, twenty-six residents in total, suffered a water
stoppage.
One hour before Shabbos. No water. Perfect timing.
When, you may ask, did the water eventually come on again?
Approximately fifteen minutes after candlelighting. Too late
to wash the last few dishes that were not needed for Shabbos.
Too late for last minute cleaning. Too late to take a shower
lekavod Shabbos.
Too late.
Fortunately, I was not one of those who were in the middle of
cleaning my floors when my water supply suddenly ran out.
Nor was I in the middle of taking a shower — after the
soap, before the rinse. My heart goes out to those who
were.
Nobody knew for how long the water shortage would last.
Perhaps the entire Shabbos? And so, with nothing better to
do, other than dress the children and my non-showered self, I
looked out the window and watched. Neighbors were
frantically scurrying back and forth to different buildings,
requesting to fill their buckets with water. Apparently, it
was only our building that suffered the lack.
For all those other buildings in the area, and in fact, in
the entire town, Erev Shabbos preparatiions continued as
usual. It was only for residents of number seventeen that
life came to a halt.
Just at the peak of our activities.
Only after the relative calm of Shabbos began, did I reflect:
Isn't that how life in this world is?
Let me explain.
Everybody is always so busy. Hopefully, we're all engaged in
living Jewishly productive lives. Whether it's taking care
of our families, or working to help our husbands learn, it's
all for the ultimate sake of accumulating mitzvos. We
visit our sick, sew up our clothes to make them modest and
babysit for the neighbor who's just given birth. All this
and more, besides the chesed of taking care of our
homes and families.
Busy, busy, busy.
And then, without any prior warning, it ends. In the next
world, we have no more opportunity to do any of these acts.
Our "water supply" of good deeds gets cut off. All we can
do, is "watch" and "envy" those below, scurrying back and
forth to fill their pails with more and more achievements.
Let's take this analogy one step further: had I known that
my water would have been cut off so suddenly, I would have
filled and stored as much as I could beforehand. I would
have used up all the available pots and pans, containers and
bowls. The trouble was, I thought my supply was never-
ending.
I think my life — time — is never-ending, too.
With thirty years behind me, I have at least another ninety
ahead of me, don't I? I certainly hope so.
Without thinking too morbidly, I'd better do as much as I
can, while my taps are still full!
