"Well, that's it," Gila said as she re-examined the letter
she had written to the family section of her favorite
magazine. "I just hope it hits home."
What did that letter she had worked so hard to perfect say?
What was bothering her?
"Dear Editor," she had written. "I would like to address a
problem which I feel demands immediate correction. I just
moved into a new neighborhood and am very dismayed by my
neighbors' attitude toward me. Of course, when they see me in
the hallway or on the stairs, they greet me with a 'Hi!
What's new?' But before I can even answer them, they whoosh
away. I think that they couldn't care less how I feel, and
that their questions are merely routine
"True, when I moved in, they swamped me with chocolate cakes
and cooked meals. But I think they felt that they were just
doing their duty.
"And that's not all that bothers me about my neighbors.
Nearly all of them are kollel wives. Yet their
conversations are so humdrum.
"`Moishe ate five teaspoons of baby food today!'
"`Kiddi-Market has a sale on outfits this week.'
"Suri and I want to dress the kids alike at Chashi's
wedding.'
"I'm not saying that they should study mussar on the
park benches. But I really think they should try to raise the
level of their conversations. Nearly all of them are
graduates of top-notch seminaries.
"I can't find even one woman in my building with content, one
woman with whom I can carry on an intelligent conversation.
All of them are interested only in diapers, yeast cakes, soap
suds and pacifiers.
"Ladies, answer me: Am I the only one who feels that way, or
are there others like me? If so, what can we do to improve
the situation?
"I hope this letter will arouse you to strive for perfection
and to maximize your potential."
She signed: "Striving for Perfection"
Gila placed the letter in an envelope, and sent it off to the
magazine. Now that she had let off steam, she felt much
better. She hadn't planned on being a "fixer of the world."
She had merely wanted to air her gripes and express her
disappointment with her new environment.
Until then, she had lived in a tiny apartment near her
parents and hadn't been particularly interested in the
intellectual and spiritual levels of her neighbors. She was
grateful that her upstairs neighbor's maid, who clumped about
in her clogs, came only once a week, and happy that her green-
eyed next-door neighbor went to sleep relatively early.
But then, she and her husband were still a young couple who
ate lunch at her parents' home every day, and supper in the
privacy of their home-sweet-home. Then too, her relationships
with her neighbors were cool. But that didn't bother her at
all. When she gave birth, her neighbors interested her even
less, and when she was bored or lonely, she would pop over to
her mother (which she did nearly every day).
However, when she moved into her own apartment in another
city, she was lonesome, and yearned for companionship during
the long days in which she was at home alone.
"If there was only one neighbor here on my wave-length, I
would be so happy," she would often tell her husband. "Just
one! When we bought the apartment, the contractor told us
that the neighbors were super-duper, the cream of the crop.
Why didn't we check that out? True they're all nice. But none
of them are my style."
Her next-door neighbor was European, and seemed snobbish and
cold. The woman who lived underneath her was very warm and
friendly, but she was very shallow and laughed all day over
the silliest things.
Mrs. C., who lived two flights below her, was also not her
type. Her husband was abroad nearly all week, and she spent
most of her time working in an office, neglecting her
children's upbringing. Whenever Gila heard two knocks on the
door and then rolling laughter, she wouldn't open it. She
knew that the C. kids were playing tricks again..
One neighbor had studied in Gila's seminary. Her husband was
a prominent avreich, but she was very introverted and
barely said a word, so that Gila had nothing to do with
her.
Gila actually liked the lady on the second floor, Mrs. G.,
but she was nearly twice Gila's age and had a large family.
Mrs. G's next-door neighbor, Mrs. L., also had a large
family, and the two were best friends. They kept their doors
open, and their kids were always running back and forth
between the two apartments. It didn't seem like Mrs. G. and
Mrs. L. were interested in expanding their close-knit "club,"
and Gila kept her distance from them.
There was one empty apartment in the building, and Gila hoped
that someone her type would move in.
*
The bus driver opened the back door, and Gila lifted her baby
carriage, and scrambled inside. Since she had a monthly pass,
she didn't have to pay, and parked herself beside the back
door. She didn't even bother to collapse her carriage,
because she only had two stops to go. However, when the
driver yelled: "Lady, fold up your carriage," a sweet high
school girl got up and gave her a seat.
Although the supermarket was only five minutes away, Gila
couldn't contain herself, and took her copy of Bayit
Neeman out of her purse, leafing through it quickly,
hoping to find some reaction to the letter she had written
two weeks earlier. Suddenly, she noticed a letter which
read:
"Dear `Mrs. Striving for Perfection.'
"I read your letter and was shocked to the core.
"I don't know where you live, and it could be that your
description of your neighborhood is true. But in my
neighborhood, and especially in my building, the situation is
quite different.
"I also moved into a new apartment a few weeks ago. As soon
as I arrived, each one of my neighbors sent me a cake and
offered me meals.
"None of my neighbors are alike, but we're all on good terms
and are very friendly with each other.
"All of the families in my building are Torah oriented, and
the women are interested in improving their middos and
in raising their children the Torah way.
"It's true that in the park we talk about our families and
kids, as do all ladies. But all of the women have unique
personalities, and are very far from shallow.
"I really feel sorry for you."
Gila looked up, and saw that it was nearly time to get off
the bus. Stuffing the magazine into her pocket book, she
said: "I'll read the rest at home. I wonder where that lady
lives?"
In her mind's eye, she envisioned herself phoning that lady,
whose name was withheld, and asking her where she lived. She
knew she would never go so far, and laughed at herself, but
wondered what her husband would say about that letter.
"There's nothing perfect in this world," he would tell her
whenever she complained about her neighbors and their new
neighborhood. "Everyone has faults, and one simply has to
accept people as they are."
"He doesn't understand me," she would then muse. "In an
excellent kollel like his, it's easy to put up with
small flaws. But I'm disappointed. Yet that's the way I am
— always searching for perfection, and simply never
finding it."
However, that letter made her feel that somewhere there were
people who stressed values and who were feeling and
caring.
Rice . . . click; pretzels . . . click; flour . . . click;
bleach . . . click; crackers . . . . Click; oil . . . click;
diapers . . . click; spaghetti . . . click; margarine . . .
click; chocolate bars . . . click; peas and carrots . . .
click.
Ronit, the cashier, felt that she was unable to look at any
more food products that day. Whenever she got home from work,
she would lose her appetite, due to her having checked out so
many items at one time. This time, she was exhausted, and
wondered why on Erev Succos people made huge orders, which
would suffice until Chanuka. The line seemed never- ending,
and the customers were on edge. The packer who had gone to
get more cartons had left half an hour ago, and still hadn't
returned. She begged the manager to send a new packer to
Counter Three, but felt that she was talking to the wall.
In the meantime, the customers blamed her for everything.
"It's erev yom tov today!" "Is this what you call
service?" "Hey, I'm ahead of that lady." "Hurry up." "Why
don't you leave your kids at home?" "Tell them to send a
packer, already!" "I'm not a spring chicken anymore. How long
do I have to wait?"
At last the packer arrived, sipping a cup of coffee. Slowly,
he packed the orders, at first with one hand, while the
patience of customers in line nearly burst.
Gila was also in line, and many people were ahead of her.
Shevi was seated in the shopping cart's front compartment,
munching cookies, and Gila had time to think about the
letter. "I wonder what that lady would say if she saw what
was going on here," she mused. "Everyone is thinking only
about themself and their shopping cart, while the cashiers
are indifferent to the tumult, and are moving at a snail's
paces, like robots."
Two-year-old Shevi suddenly stretched out her hands and asked
Gila to take her out. Gila moved the shopping cart aside, and
tried to pick Shevi up. However, she soon realized that
Shevi's feet was wedged between the cart's bars. Gila pulled
her again and again, but with no success. Shevi screamed.
Gila bent over, and tried to shove Shevi's feet back inside.
"Try, Shevi; try hard," she urged. But Shevi continued to
scream in pain. Gila tried to pull Shevi out from behind, but
couldn't.
"That's all I need now," Gila mused. "This is so
embarrassing."
"Is something wrong?" a lady in a different line asked
her.
"My daughter's feet are wedged between the bars," Gila said.
"What should I do?"
The lady left her shopping cart, even though she was liable
to lose her turn.
"Poor thing," said the lady who had just complained about
having to wait in line. "I'll push her feet from up front,
and you'll pull from behind. One, two, three, hooray!" she
laughed. "Just one more try, and she'll be out." But Shevi
still remained trapped.
"Wait a second, lady," a thirty-year-old guy behind Gila
called out. "I'll grab her, and you'll push. What's needed is
koach."
But a young avriech on another line rejoined: "Not
brawn but brains." Then he left his cart and gently tried to
release Shevi's feet, also to no avail.
Suddenly Gila was surrounded by concerned people, many of
whom seemed familiar to her. A young woman she recognized
removed some Vaseline from her cart, and rubbed it on Shevi's
feet. The woman who had shouted that she was in a rush, wiped
Shevi's face with moist wipes which she had bought for
herself.
Someone gave Shevi a chocolate bar; another person gave her
cookies. But Shevi pushed the goodies aside, and continued to
scream.
Ronit got up and said: "Wait a second. I'll call the manager.
Maybe the cart can be taken apart. The child is in pain!"
"I don't want to make everyone wait," Gila protested. "Keep
on working, Ronit."
"That's okay. We can wait," said the lady who had told Ronit
to hurry up. "Go to the manager."
"Don't worry about us," a few other customers in line added.
In the meantime, candies and ideas were tossed back and
forth.
"Call someone to take the cart apart. "
"She'll be okay in a moment."
"Honey, would you like some orange juice?"
"Peek-a-boo, Sweetie Pie."
"Should I take her for a walk?"
"How about a banana or some Gerber's?"
"Are you alright?" Gila's seemingly cold and aloof European
neighbor asked her. "Do you want a drink?"
The manager arrived. "What a mess. I think the cart has to be
sawed apart."
"I have a friend who can do the job. I'll call him right
now," the neighbor who was away all week offered, as his
children massaged Shevi's feet.
"Ah, it's you?" Ada Rosenheimer, the new neighbor who had
just moved into the building asked. "We live in the same
building, but I hardly know you." Then, without much ado, Ada
transferred Gila's groceries into a different cart, and said.
"Take her for a walk. Maybe she'll calm down outside."
"Go ahead of us," another woman said.
"Is that okay with everyone?" Gila asked.
"Of course. Of course."
Everyone surrounded her, and all were like one warm,
supporting family. Each one tried to help, even though it was
erev Succos. Shevi continued to cry, frightened by the
mechanic's sawing.
*
Gila sat on the bus headed for home.
Shevi slept, her eyes still moist from her tears. She smelled
of Vaseline and baby wipes. A sawed cart stood at the
entrance to the supermarket, testifying to the strange drama
that had taken place only a short while beforehand.
Gila read the remainder of the letter.
"I'm sorry that you live in such a neighborhood. Why don't
you move to mine? But then, I think that it is hard to
believe that everyone in your neighborhood is so cold,
inconsiderate and boorish, while everyone in mine is so nice,
so kind and Torah-oriented. It makes no sense.
"I think that how one views his neighbors depends on his
outlook on life. A detractor looks at his fellow through dark
eyeglasses. A person with a good, kindly eye sees his
fellow's positive traits. I hope that you find the good in
others, no matter where you live.
"Yours truly,
"Ada Rosenheimer"
