There are some people who love to get involved in the lives
of others. Somehow their own existence doesn't seem
fulfilling enough if it doesn't bring them into contact with
a large number of acquaintances. They want to help everyone
they run into with whatever the second person is doing.
It can be bothersome to spend time with such people. They are
always on the lookout for some excitement and are likely to
get interested in any affair which crops up around them. One
could become quite embarrassed walking around with such an
individual, especially if it happens to be a parent. I happen
to be one such person and my children have told me time and
again, "Please don't get involved!" Perhaps, they are right.
Often the parties whom I would like to benefit regard me as
if I had just landed on the planet from who-knows-where.
Well, last week I was granted a modicum of success without
having to embarrass any of my loved ones. It all happened
because I decided to make a `head' start on my New Year
resolutions: I `traded' in my wig for a tied head kerchief.
Not that I care to look like everyone else and tie it the
same way each time I leave the house. No, I have a free
spirit and I find a different twist, usually subdued, with
every occasion.
This particular day, I had been playing Bubbie at my
daughter's house, far away from home. She had agreed to pick
up some safety pins for me while she was out on her errands
with one child and I babysat with the leftover grandchildren.
She also had the distinct honor of finding me an elegant, but
not too expensive scarf to don with a suit I had bought for
the upcoming weddings of several friends. I enjoyed my
limited hours and all too soon, was on my way home.
As my interurban Mehadrin bus swung on the long northbound
expressway, I was neatly ensconced on the right side, which
was the side without the sun. I settled in as the searing,
setting sun began to shine into the bus and hit the faces of
those on the left side. The passengers quickly responded and
pulled the shades down. All but one section, the one just
ahead of me. The young lady who sat nearest this area was
busy leaning over to chat with a friend across the aisle on
my side and was oblivious to the discomfort of those around
her.
These passengers turned to her and asked that she pull down
the shade. She inspected the site and couldn't find anything
to pull down. It was simply missing. One woman changed seats
immediately. Nine of the others directly discomfited by the
situation slowly began to turn to the young lady to ask her
to pull down the shade and each of them in turn got the same
answer.
As we continued on our not-so-merry way, I began to think.
If I were the one to suffer, I'd be looking for some
solution. It's no picnic sitting in the late afternoon with
no rescue in sight. I would have looked for some piece of
cloth to drape over my head or some newspaper to hold up in
the window: anything to escape the relentless heat and glare
of the setting fireball. Of course, not everyone would do
such a thing, even if they thought of a solution... What
would it look like?
Luckily for them all, none of my children were accompanying
me. I started to brainstorm for an idea which might help them
and still not be too embarrassing to facilitate. Then I
remembered: I have two scarves in my bag. One is my
Shabbos scarf and one is the new, elegant one which my
daughter bought. Perhaps I could help! Then the yetzer
horo stepped in and reminded me that the blazing sun
bleaches color.
I tried to set him aside by countering that this was the
weaker, setting sun and the ride wouldn't last long enough to
drain any of the dye in my two precious scarves. Duly self-
convinced, the next obstacle was more profound. How could I
hang them up? I didn't want to make a spectacle of myself
spending a lot of time explaining complicated technical
details with the other passengers while we got these two
piece of material suspended.
No. It would have to be a swift and successful maneuver with
no glitches. The technical equipment available at the site
was less than encouraging. The hooks which catch the shades
point down. The shade holders were non-existent. One could
perhaps have jammed the tips of the scarves between the
windows and their frames, but that seemed too complicated,
flimsy, and would, perhaps, ruin the corners of my scarves.
Besides, until I got them adjusted, it probably would have
taxed the nerves of all of those already edgy passengers.
How could I assess the gap which needed to be covered against
the length of my scarves? Would they be too long or too
short? Then I remembered the safety pins which my daughter
had bought for me. I looked once more at the battleground and
discovered to my delight that the war was won!
The overhead strip which provides the passengers with
individual light and ventilation was covered with a thick
pile upholstery. No problem! I could tack the ends of the
scarves at any distance along this strip, close to the
window, by simply jabbing the open safety pins against the
pull of the fabric.
I quietly prepared my weapons and then jumped up for the
kill. In no time and with little explanation, the two scarves
spanned the space without a shade and provided nine
passengers with a comprehensive sun block.
The lady with the baby, the young couple, the young ladies
chatting, an older woman conversing with another in a blonde
wig who was obviously on her way to a simcha and the
woman with the novel, whose nose was buried deep in it, after
a brief assessment of the miracle, were all protected from
the glaring sun and the inconvenient heat by certain articles
which I, until a mere day before, hadn't even possessed.
These two headscarves, which were bought to strengthen the
walls of modesty, plus a handful of safety pins, provided
protection and comfort for a small group on the road.
A woman can use her head for more important things than
beauty. Hashem had provided me with the opportunity to make
my mark without even opening my mouth.
When I removed the scarves upon arrival, I was proffered
several salutations of gratitude.
And nobody seemed embarrassed in the least...
