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29 Av 5760 - August 30, 2000 | Mordecai Plaut, director Published Weekly
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Home and Family
With One Heart
by Bruchy Laufer

Baalebusta vs. relaxed mother on Erev Shabbos is an issue we have dealt with recently, with champions for both sides. And this how it rests, as you will see in the charming story. The only point we would like to stress concerns a letter sent in regarding candlelighting time in Jerusalem, an ancient custom firmly established at forty minutes before sunset by our gedolim.

Miriam Friedman from Beitar writes:

"Lighting candles is one of the three special mitzvos given to women. Chazal say: `Be careful with the candles!' They didn't say it is a free-for- all. Your article, in which a reader states that candles are lit `more like 18 minutes before sunset' is a Chillul Hashem. Anyone who makes any aspect of `avodas Hashem' lighter in another Jew's eyes is causing that."

We truly hope this rectifies the wrong impression.

Considering the circumference of this planet Earth, each of us agree that it must have been more than mere coincidence that made Rivky Perfectstein and Henny Amerifeld next door neighbors. Both had come to Israel shortly after Succos and were busy unpacking their belongings before they got a good look at one other. After which, culture shock set in. Make no mistake, both were chareidi. It was just the different places their ancestors had resided in during this long and painful golus that made these two good women look so different from the outside. But since the outside is what we see, that is what we judge.

Rivky Perfectstein hailed from a small religious settlement outside of New York City. Although she was an intelligent woman, she didn't have much contact with other kinds of Jews. Henny Amerifeld came from a city in mid-western USA and while she had been to many places and seen many kinds of Jews, she had never been to Bedford Hills, N.Y. They both spoke English, yet these two good women did not understand one another. A typical conversation between them would start out in a friendly manner, yet it didn't take long for them to be staring at each other in total bewilderment.

"Hi! Good morning! How are you?" Rivky, dressed in a tie-by- yourself kerchief and matching housedress greeted Henny.

"Good morning!" Henny was bouncing about in her white joggers, full length skirt, striped shirt with tails out.

"How did the unpacking go at your place? Are you all done?"

Henny and Rivky were both picking up their daily supplies of groceries at the local supermarket.

"I already unpacked everything. I still have to find the right niche for certain items and haven't gotten around to arranging the soaps and bows in the linen closet."

"What bows are you talking about?" asked Henny.

"You know the way they do at the linen stores."

"You mean you actually bother with such things?"

"Oh, yes!" answered a puzzled Rivky. "Why not? It makes such a difference."

"Well, don't you have more important things to do?"

"My home is a very important priority for me. And how about you? All done?"

"More or less, though I couldn't promise the children we'd go to the zoo today."

"Go to the zoo TODAY? But it's Friday!"

"So what? The day is long enough. Before we moved, we always went on trips Fridays and we hope to start again very soon. The children love it and we all look forward to family fun on Erev Shabbos," ended Henny with finality.

"But what about all the cleaning and cooking?" asked Rivke with piqued interest. She had certainly never heard of anything so outrageous. Why in her apartment, it seemed almost as if Shabbos had already come. They certainly wouldn't travel anywhere unless it was of utmost importance.

"The cleaning," explained Henny, totally unaware of the turmoil she had created in Rivky's order of priorities, "gets done on Thursday. I don't make too much of a fuss with it, and the cooking is really no big deal. I make a cholent casserole by just throwing some things together like chopped meat, vegetables and tomato sauce. On Friday night we have chicken soup with the boiled chicken and lots of vegetables as one course. I put everything into pots as soon as we get back and both meals are cooked by the time we're all bathed and dressed for Shabbos."

Rivky was almost besides herself. "What about fish and kugel and dessert? And cake?"

"Oh, no problem. I buy jars of fish. Sometimes we'll have tuna salad or herring. Kugel is just for Yom Tov and dessert is also usually store bought, like parve ice cream. And the bakery does a better job than me."

"I would never do such a thing!" Rivky was convinced that Hashem made her live next door to Henny in order to teach her how to be a real Yiddish Mama, the way it was meant to be. Henny, on her part, wanted to know when the Perfectsteins ever had family fun.

"When I peel vegetables for soup or potatoes for the kugel, we have family fun. Everyone pitches in. I also clean like that. Everyone gets a shmatte and a pail of soapy water and we all have lots of fun. Of course, I do the refrigerator and windows on Thursday but the kids do walls, doors and any washable surface. They're so content in their busyness and feel so accomplished afterwards."

"What? You do the refrigerator and windows every single Thursday?" Henny was really getting perplexed. "My windows get done twice a year, or three times max!"

For the life of her, Henny couldn't understand Rivky. Henny started a secret campaign to normalize her neighbor. To get her to see the light. Families were meant for fun. Togetherness, that's what counted.

And so, with calculated nonchalance, the agenda would be pushed.

"Hi, Rivky!" Henny was in the hall of their building, shlepping a picnic hamper, surrounded by her children, each carrying various containers, games or drinks. "We're headed for Ganei Yehoshua this time. See ya later."

*

A different day, it would be Rivky's turn.

"Hi, there, Henny. Come see my huge challa. I baked it for a bris. It has 3 kilo of flour and 150 grams of yeast. I made the brocha and the kids were thrilled. It's a real beauty!"

Henny entered the kitchen reverently. A challa of such proportions deserved the proper respect. It was really magnificent.

"How did you get such a beautiful shape?"

"I braided it with twelve strands." Rivky proudly gloried in her handiwork.

On different occasions throughout the year, they would quietly press their respective issues. All in the best of spirits -- and intentions.

"Would you have an extra package of tissues?"

"Yes, of course. Here you are." Rivky graciously handed them over. Henny was on her way out when she stopped short.

"Oh, isn't that gorgeous!" she said.

She was staring at the drapes which covered the huge living room windows. The couch was upholstered with the same fabric.

"Thank you," Rivky beamed. "I did this myself. I worked on it for the past three months in the evenings."

A different time Henny offered to take Rivky's children to Park Gilo. That Friday night Rivky sent Henny a delicious Schwartzwald, complete with cherries, home baked, of course.

Things would've continued like that for as long as none would see a change in the other. But something happened which taught both of them a lesson. They each learned that all Jews are the same. If all paths lead to fulfilling our mission of bringing Hashem's Torah into our daily lives, it really doesn't make a difference how one goes about it.

It happened on an Erev Shabbos. Erev Shabbos of Parshas Zochor, to be exact. The metamorphosis came about by an old Hungarian custom with which food is used as a way to eradicate the name of Amolek.

In two kitchens in the same building on the same floor, two women were preparing to send a platter to their neighbor.

Henny put a finishing touch on the tray and handed it to Yenti. "Here you are, Yenti. Be careful and don't let anything fall off. Knock on the door, then lay this paper on top of the tray." Henny handed her daughter the paper she had prepared the evening before. "That should bring the point across about family fun," she thought smugly.

At the same time in Rivky's apartment, the same scene repeated itself with variations: Rivky dusted some confectioners sugar over some parts of the tray. "Here you are, Zeldy, Take this next door and then give them the card."

At precisely the same moment, both doors opened and out marched two little girls headed in opposite directions. They crossed paths midway in the hall, smiled bashfully, and stopped to stare at each other's tray.

Henny's tray was covered with a big colorful paper on which were the words, "Mocho timche..." Amolek was spelled in large letters, under which was added the name of the corresponding food on the platter. Ayin was for adashim, or chocolate lentils, mem for marshmallows, lamed for licorice and kuf for kiwi. Rivky's tray had beautifully arranged pieces of different pastries: Apple kugel, Mushroom turnovers, Lokshen kugel and Custard tartlets.

The card Zeldy held explained that each of these pastries began with a letter of AMoLeK's name, prepared especially for this Shabbos when we obliterate his memory -- in this instance, by consuming all of these tasty treats.

Both little girls proceeded on their way and knocked at each others' doors. At the exact same moment, they announced: "My mother sent this . . ."

That evening, while enjoying each others' treats, both women reached a unanimous decision: "My neighbor's family is really just as Jewish as my own."

 

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