Dei'ah veDibur - Information & Insight

A Window into the Chareidi World

26 Tishrei 5761 - October 25, 2000 | Mordecai Plaut, director Published Weekly








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Shema Yisrael Torah Network
Shema Yisrael Torah Network











Home and Family

Small Change

Why, I wondered, as I heard the following true story, is it that these miracles seem so commonplace and everyday when they happen in Jerusalem, or in Eretz Yisroel, for that matter? Possibly, because being our living so much in the focus of heavenly attention, they ARE commonplace, and we are used to them. Life is lived on a different plane, here, so that we almost take them for granted... And if we made a big fuss over those miracles, they wouldn't happen so often. Like the miracle of the oil and the vinegar.

But we can't help making a small fuss, just to impress our own selves and keep us on our best behavior. What a privilege it is to be part of such an everyday happening. And what an obligation to live up to.

"I was making my weekly purchase for challos and cakes at our local bakery in Givat Shaul," notes a Jerusalemite figure. "My children await the treats I bring home lekovod Shabbos and I generally do not spend too much, just enough to make the day special and beloved. This time, I piled my shopping basket with all sorts of products and when I reached the checkout counter, could not understand what had made me splurge beyond my usual budget. The clerk rang up an even two hundred shekel bill.

"I was about to return some of the more expensive items in the basket when the man at the cash register, not a religious Jew by any means, held up his hand in an arresting motion. `Don't you know that Hashem pays you back for your Shabbos outlay?' I was taken aback, not expecting to hear such words from this bareheaded, if genial, person. Not wishing to look as if I were lacking in faith, I took out a two hundred shekel bill and handed it over. I gathered up my purchases and took them to my car.

"I decided to visit the gravesite of my father, who had passed away that year, since Har Hamenuchos, where he was buried, was only a short ride away. He had been a holy person, a true Torah sage and leader, and I felt that a few moments of prayer would uplift me for the coming week.

"Just as I was about to walk away, a man approached me and begged me to come with him to recite Kaddish for a deceased parent. He had a large group waiting. I protested that it was already late, and that he could say it himself, but he said he was not familiar with the words, and so, I agreed.

"It didn't take very long, and as I turned to rush home, he pressed a bill into my hand. I demurred but he thrust it into my pocket. In my haste, I forgot all about it until I returned home and took out a



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