The blink of an eye

It had been such a long week.  Catching up after a very short trip overseas, I’d hit the ground running, barely stopping to catch my breath.  My own work, clients, laundry, reconnecting with children and grandchildren, a few doctor visits, the need for nourishing food after eating catch-as-one-can while traveling.  Sleep had been elusive and, consequently, meals and together time had become uncharacteristically quiet.  

Ronney is strong.  But at 73, he clearly cannot hoist furniture and build shelving with the same speed and grace as he did earlier in our marriage.  A few years ago he tore a tendon in his right arm while roughhousing with grandchildren and has been affected by this ever since.  Some days, the pain is unbearable.

And still. . . . . . 

We believe in work and are not seduced by thoughts of retirement.  Consequently, on Friday we spent a few hours in his small factory, categorizing and developing new systems.  Even though I have my own business, with a few personal scheduling tweaks, we created organizational magic.  I’d cooked for shabbat the night before and even set the table.  Dusty and drained, we locked up his workplace and headed for the car.

We were parked far away and my husband carried a very heavy carton for delivery to a client. The weather was stifling and both of us dripped with perspiration.  Out of nowhere, a young man wearing khakis and army t-shirt lifted the box that Ronney was schlepping and asked, “Which car is yours?”  Easily, this reserve soldier gently slid the box into the back seat and said, “Shabbat shalom.”  We responded in kind.

We arrived home in plenty of time to take showers, make a few salads and light candles.  The peace that descended was real.  How can one describe a feeling that envelops and comforts? God’s presence was palpable. A neighbor joined us for supper and this helped make Shabbat even more special.  

The next morning, Ronney and I sat on the mirpeset with our coffee, watching the sun rise over the mountains of Gush Etzion.  An Arab village and Herod’s temple peppered the landscape. Ronney attends a netz minyan, a super early prayer group that challenges the sanity of anyone who appreciates the idea of, occasionally, sleeping in.  (Call it ‘madness’; call it ‘marriage.’  I have begun to attend synagogue with him at this ungodly hour as well.)

We talked about Avraham, and his determination to perform the mitzvah of hachnasat orchim, welcoming guests. Not just the guests who look like us or vote like us or smell like us but guests who are different, those who are not necessarily front and center of the orbits in which we exist.  How does one ‘find’ such guests?  By opening one’s eyes and seeking, yearning, aching to reach beyond  ‘being’ into the realm of ‘doing.’  Doing good.  Doing kindness.  Doing honesty.  Doing God’s will.

Over this same cup of coffee, I shared some memories of Rabbi Zakon, ztl, the teacher who had the greatest impact on my Jewish education as a young child.  I did not appreciate him at the time and probably taunted and teased him along with other unruly and unappreciative youngsters.  He did his job, teaching with clarity, purity without ambiguity.  At the ages of ten and thirteen (it was my great fortune to have him twice), I could not begin to appreciate these stellar qualities.  He did his job.  He did not weigh whether or not a young, disruptive and academically challenged girl in his class might, one day, choose a life of Torah observance.  Or be blessed with many Jewish children.  Or embrace the mitzvah of aliyah.  He did his job.  Avraham did his job.

And a young soldier, spotting an older man struggling under the weight of an unwieldy carton, did his job.  There is so much holiness and we live in a world that teems with opportunities to grow closer to Heaven. 

The Jewish people were created to be a ‘light unto the Nations, but this requires humility, learning and effort.  Whether teaching Hebrew school, carrying packages for others and/or feeding strangers, all we have to do is to embrace our respective assignments.

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Reprinted with permission of the San Diego Jewish Journal, December 1, 2025.