The sun began to set. Orange-red spots spread through the sky
creating a splendid colorful mosaic on a fall evening. Moshe
wrapped his coat around him, wished his family a Shana
Tova and turned to leave the house. He stopped for a
moment, his gaze examining with incredulity the dozens of
Jews filling the street, striding, in their holiday clothes,
to the local synagogues. The commotion was at its peak and
Moshe felt himself being swept into the circle of general
excitement. Erev Rosh Hashanah, he thought to himself, the
Day of Judgment, was at the threshold. He shuddered
slightly.
Soon he would have to stand trial before the King of kings,
Hakodosh Boruch Hu.
A chilly wind whistled suddenly and swayed the treetops to
and fro. He huddled in his coat. At the next street he turned
right and before him were the welcoming lights of the
synagogue winking and blinking. He hurried in, feeling how
the light wrapped itself around him, warming his heart. Here
he felt peaceful; here he felt at home.
The shul was buzzing with people. New and old faces
greeted him, all excited, each one wishing the other,
"Shana Tovah, Shana Tovah". He turned with a smile
towards his regular seat while exchanging greetings for a
good year and shaking hands with his friends and
acquaintances. When he reached his place, he sat down, opened
his siddur at the appropriate place and waited
patiently for prayers to begin.
Suddenly, an unfamiliar man, standing in the doorway of the
shul, possibly waiting for somebody, caught his
attention. What had caught Moshe's attention, he still
doesn't know. Perhaps it was the man's appearance. He was
tall and thin, wearing a white shirt, blue pants, with a
bright blue kippah perched atop his head. Or perhaps
it was the look in his eyes, thought Moshe. He had beady
black eyes and they darted restlessly here and there.
Suddenly, Moshe realized that the man was in distress. He
continued scrutinizing him as he stood there uneasily in the
doorway, trying to figure him out. And then, without
hesitation he decided to approach him.
He quickly sprang from his place and made his way towards him
from between the congregants. He approached him with a smile
on his face and simply said, "Shalom." The man, who hadn't
taken note of Moshe's proximity, was momentarily taken aback
and then answered with open suspicion, "Shalom."
Moshe wasn't offended by his suspicious look; on the
contrary, his smile widened and he said warmly, "Shana
Tova to you, my friend." But the man didn't soften and
again answered carefully, "Shana Tova to you, too."
Moshe hesitated for a moment. deliberating how to continue
this conversation; the man took the opportunity to turn his
gaze towards the congregants, ignoring Moshe's presence. But
Moshe still refused to let the man alone. He cleared his
throat, requesting his attention again and asked gently,
"Excuse me, do you have a place to sit?"
The man looked surprised by his question. His eyes returned
to Moshe and he focused his gaze on him and then said
embarrassed, "The truth is, I don't," and averted his gaze
again, discomfited by his confession.
"Ah," said Moshe with a smile now understanding his distress.
"No problem."
The man turned to stare at Moshe, this time in amazement. "No
problem?" he echoed Moshe's remark, amazed, shaking his head
from side to side, uncomprehending.
Moshe laughed in relief and said, "Really, there's no
problem. Come with me and you'll see." The man was still
doubtful regarding Moshe's intentions but nodded his assent
as Moshe led him among the congregants to his usual place.
When they got there, Moshe told him, "You can sit here." The
man surveyed him a moment and then said, "And where will you
sit?" But Moshe hurriedly hushed him, pointing to the
chazan who had begun the Rosh Hashana prayers, and
hurried off to find himself a chair in the last row. After
all, what did it matter where he sat? The main thing was that
the Jewish guest should feel good, at home in the
shul, and have a comfortable place! The Rosh Hashanah
service was emotional and touching. He prayed and his heart
was elated from the intensity of his closeness to Hashem on
such a holy day. His eyes glowed from spiritual elevation and
love of Hashem and he desired with his whole being to
subjugate himself to the burden of Heavenly Kingship. He was
so immersed in and concentrating on his prayers that he
didn't notice the covert glances that the other man stole
from the distance of a few rows. At the end of prayers, Moshe
kissed his machzor emotionally, closed it and turned
to go home. He wanted to approach the stranger, but the man
had disappeared and he didn't see him again.
*
Two years later, Moshe was humming to himself contentedly. He
was in a good mood. Baruch Hashem, his business was
booming and his income, even if it wasn't much, sufficed for
his family's expenses. The small stationery store which he
had bought with the last of his savings had begun to flourish
and showed a nice profit. Lately he had even succeeded in
raising his yearly profit level. He was grateful to Hashem.
And then, when it seemed that everything was going so well,
something happened that shook his sense of security. Rumors
began circulating that in the business center where his store
was located, the Internal Revenue Service was making surprise
visits in the hope of catching a storeowner at something
fishy and serving him with a heavy fine or closing down his
store, as they saw fit.
Moshe was very nervous. This kind of surprise visit could
endanger his livelihood. Everything was aboveboard and he was
clean, but who knew what they could dream up to pin on him if
they really wanted to? In this country of gentiles, you never
knew . . . What would happen if the authorities demanded
from him amounts he just couldn't pay? And what would happen
to his family if he were forced to close his store? No, Moshe
refused to drive himself crazy. He sealed his ears against
the frequent rumors that reached him from the neighboring
stores and strengthened his faith in Hashem. "Everything
Hashem does is for the best," he repeated to himself, hoping
that Hashem would indeed help him.
And then one day, the thing he feared most happened. The
saleswoman in his store came running to his office, her face
white as chalk and her eyes beclouded. He was in the middle
of a telephone call and motioned with his hand for her to
wait. But she shook her head nervously, even a bit
hysterically. He looked at her, frightened, never having seen
her like this, and hurriedly ended the call. Breathing hard,
she whispered to him "Internal Revenue." And when she saw
that he wasn't reacting, she raised her voice and cried in
terror, "The Tax People!"
It took Moshe one long moment to digest her news. While the
saleswoman was waiting with obvious impatience for his
response, he continued sitting, thunderstruck, and the only
thing that entered his mind was that the moment he was so
dreading had finally arrived.
Slowly, he got up from his chair and said, "Tell him that
I'll be right there." She nodded her head wildly and left the
office in a whirlwind. Moshe was also upset. He closed his
eyes in silent prayer and murmured a verse from
Tehillim, "Hashem, heed my prayer . . . Do not hide
Your face from me . . . " then he turned and entered the
store.
A tall man was standing in the middle of the store looking at
him arrogantly as if trying to size him up as he walked to
meet him. Then he took one step towards Moshe, held out his
hand to him and coolly said, "Hello." Moshe held out his hand
and returned his greeting. The man stood there, self
importantly, and fixed his sharp gaze on Moshe as he
introduced himself and explained the purpose of his visit in
a cold and apathetic voice.
Moshe nodded his head occasionally, but wasn't able to absorb
a word because he couldn't stop thinking about how all his
hard work was going down the drain. Then the man asked to see
his account books and Moshe led him with a heavy heart to his
office. When they got there, they both sat down and Moshe
started showing him the books. The man began perusing them
when suddenly his finger stopped on a certain spot. He raised
his somber gaze towards Moshe and examined him again
thoroughly.
Moshe checked where the man's finger had stopped and then,
not understanding, he raised his eyes to meet those of the
man. He couldn't bear the horrible tension anymore and with a
slightly trembling voice, he asked, "Is something wrong?"
"Everything's excellent," the man announced suddenly with a
triumphant tone, "It's just that I suddenly remembered where
I had seen you before."
"What?" Moshe said shocked from the strange turn the
conversation had taken.
"Yes," the man added and got up. His eyes shone suddenly and
he said enthusiastically, "You're the man who gave me his
seat in the synagoge on Rosh Hashanah, remember?"
Moshe stared at him with vacant eyes, still not understanding
what was happening. "You know," the man said without waiting
for Moshe's reaction. "I still haven't thanked you." His gaze
swept Moshe's face with open sincerity and then he patted him
on the shoulder lightly and whispered, "Thanks, friend."
Moshe still hadn't digested what had transpired. He sat
speechless, looking in shock at the account book over which
they had both pored, and which the Internal Revenue inspector
had just closed with a bang, leaving the office, whistling
happily.
He remained sitting there for some time, staring at the book
that was opened and now closed, trying to make sense of
things and feeling, mainly, incredulous. When the saleswoman
ran in and asked breathlessly, brimming with curiosity, "So
what happened?" he stared at her in silence. He didn't know
how to explain what happened. He wasn't sure he understood
it.
In the end, he murmured, "Cast your bread upon the waters . .
. "
