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26 Cheshvan 5765 - November 10, 2004 | Mordecai Plaut, director Published Weekly
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Home and Family


Half Full
by Ruth Fogelman

A sequel to last week's rainy day saga in which Ruth's dryer was repaired, only for her to discover that her stove had also sprung a gas leak which cannot be repaired...

This week: a lesson in thanking Hashem for the `bad' as well as for the good.

A mitzva tows a mitzva, a blessing tows another blessing... and one broken machine tows another. I take out a bag of shnitzel from my freezer to cook, two at a time, in my fleishig toaster oven. Ever since my stove broke down weeks ago, this is how I've been preparing for Shabbos: one electric ring that we hauled out from our Pesach ware and converted to everyday use, on which I cook rice or pasta, saute onions or simmer vegetables, and my toaster oven for the shnitzel and small roasts.

Strangely enough, the plastic shnitzel bag is covered with a thin sheet of ice. I place a couple of fingers into the box where ice is automatically made. Instead of grasping a hard, slippery ice cube, my fingers sink into a pool of water — not even ice cold. I carefully pull out the box, praying not to spill the water any place but into the kitchen sink. The pool could even hold a couple of swimming ducks!

The freezer thermostat is obviously out of commission. Why on a Friday morning, of all times! I empty out the shelves one by one onto plastic chairs, more plastic packages coated with ice, and a couple of soggy paper bags of cookies. Oh, the days when I baked... You can guess where they (the cookies) went.

I dry off more packages of shnitzel, corn patties, burekas and the chocolate chip ice cream that my husband bought as a Shabbos treat. A couple of inches of water also fill the freezer's bottom bucket.

"This, too, must be for the best," I say to myself. It needs a cleaning. I wash out the breadcrumbs, burekas crumbs and cookie crumbs. How did all this get here, anyway? I place the bucket upside down across the railings above my courtyard to dry. By now, I've soaked all the kitchen towels. I put the packages piled on the chairs in dry plastic bags and go down the twenty-five steps to each of my neighbors in the courtyard.

"Do you have room in your freezer?" I ask each one. Now I understand why this had to happen on a Friday morning: so my neighbors would all be home. They all help me out; each moves her own freezer products over to make room for some of mine.

Relieved, I climb back up the steps, stick a second pair of shnitzels in the toaster oven, and go up a further twenty- five stairs to see to the laundry. I gasp: my bathroom cum laundry room floor is flooded. A whole flock of ducks or a gaggle of geese could happily glide here.

What shall I do first? Empty the bed sheets from the washing machine into the dryer (luckily, they are spun), or dry the floor? My portable clothes rack is still full of damp clothes. I'm thankful that at least my dryer works. Either way, I'll have to stand ankle deep in water.

I often opt to do the more difficult chore first, but today is Friday and I need to get those sheets dry fast in order to get them back on the beds before Shabbos. I shove them into the dryer and hear it churn as I slosh water into the dustpan and pour it down the drainpipe. Don't I need to wash the floor for Shabbos, anyway? It's getting cleaner than I ever imagined I'd get it.

With a fatigued "Boruch Hashem!" I squeeze the last drops of water from my floor rag.

I'd better get downstairs for the next couple of shnitzels. Truth is, I'm on the verge of frustrated tears. But then I hear my good friend Miriam's calming voice in my head. "Why should a leaky machine, freezer or washing machine wash out my morning's decision to be happy today? Why should I allow a mere machine exert such power over me? Thank G-d the toaster oven's working. Thank G-d the dryer's working! Thank G-d for Shabbos!"

I flip the light switch at the top of the steps. They always seem darker going down than up. Nothing happens. Then I remember: we tried to replace the flourescent light two days ago but the new bulb didn't work.

"It must be the starter that needs changing," my son said. I tried to pull out the starter, but it wouldn't come out. I called my son. He twisted, twiddled, but it wouldn't move. I called my husband to pull it out, but he was no more successful. Exasperated, I called my neighbor's son, but he didn't succeed in pulling it out, either. He called in his dad. He, too, fussed and fiddled with it.

"You'll need to replace the fixture," he told us.

That was two days ago.

Thank G-d the light in the hall works.

I go back down to the kitchen, put the third couple of shnitzels in the toaster oven and set up the Shabbos candles in the dining room. Mr. Fixit, who came to us before Yom Tov to replace the dimmer switch, still hasn't returned. The old switch still lies on the bookshelf and a hole in the wall marks its place. I need to give him another call. For now, I arrange twice as many candles on my Shabbos candle tray. May twice as much inner light grace our Shabbos table!

For some reason, I recall the peanut butter and jelly sandwich I ate for breakfast. Not so much the sandwich itself: an ordinary whole wheat sandwich, but benching after it.

"Ve'al HAKOL... anachnu modim Loch — and for EVERYTHING, Hashem, we thank You and bless You."

Not only for all the things that are working, but also for all the things that are not...

 

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