The Maggid of Bergenfield

Metsora: The Evil Ooze

Vayikra: 14: 33-57

 

The house was fifty-two years old. It was beautiful, but much like its new owners, it was starting to show its age. It was only natural that a few things might need fixing. The Schwartzes repainted the walls and installed new countertops in the kitchen when they moved in a year before, but problems kept creeping up. The electrical panel needed replacing.The roof needed repairs. Nothing too surprising.

But when the brown sludge started oozing out of the bathtub drain in the children's bathroom,that was more than Penina had bargained for. It was so, so--

"Gross! It's totally gross! It's downright disgusting. Actually, revolting is the word that comes to mind."

"Penina, calm down," her husband Barry said. "You're acting hysterical."

"No I'm not! O.K., maybe I am, just a little. But let me tell you something, Barry.This stuff in the bathtub? It's like something out of a bad movie. It's the slime that swallowed Fairlawn, or something like that. It's completely awful."

"I get it. It's bad."

"No, it's not bad. It's almost like it's alive. I feel like my house is possessed by some evil force. It's like a poltergeist or something."

"What on earth is a poltergeist?"

"Actually, I have no idea, but I'm pretty sure it's really, really bad."

"You definitely need to calm down."

"Fine, I'll calm down. But first tell me what you're going to do about the brown slime that is taking over our house."

"Me? I'm a bus and two subways away. I can't do anything until tonight. Besides, plumbing is not exactly my strong suit. Do you know what I would do if I was there?"

"What?"

"I would pick up the phone and call a plumber."

"But I don't know any plumbers in Fairlawn."

"Just open the Yellow Pages and dial the one with the biggest advertisement. Hey, isn't there a plumber who goes to our shul?"

"I think you're right. What's his name?"

"I think it's Katz."

"Right. Maury Katz."

"Maybe it's time to give him a call, before the brown ooze overflows the tub and swallows the whole neighborhood."

"You so wouldn't be making jokes if you were here and witnessed first hand how vile and malevolent this stuff is. In fact, maybe I'll save some for you, in your coffee cup."

"Call the plumber."

Katz and Katz Plumbing and Heating was not the largest ad in the phone book, but it had a nice graphic  where the letters K-A-T-Z formed a bright red monkey wrench. Penina left a message on their emergency line, and Maury Katz called back ten minutes later.

She recognized him immediately when she answered the door.

"Oh, hi," Penina said. "You look different when you're not in a suit."

"What?"

"What I mean is, the only other time I've seen you is at Shomrei Emunah, on shabbat."

"Right," Maury said with a shy smile. "I hear you have a clogged drain."

"It's not a clogged drain," Penina explained. "It's an evil brown slime from the underworld that has come to possess my house."

"Um, sure," Maury said politely. "Let's have a look at the bathtub, shall we?"

Penina led Maury to the bathroom but stopped at the door, letting Maury go first.

"After you,"Maury said--ever the gentleman.

"Oh, I'm not going back in there," Penina explained. "I don't think I can bare to look at it again. Besides, it may try to suck me down the drain, or something."

"It?"

"Didn't I make myself clear?" Penina said."It's not just a clog. It's some kind of nasty ooze. It's like it's alive."

Maury walked into the bathroom and surveyed the bathtub. "Nice," he muttered.

"Am I right? Is it evil?" Penina called in the doorway.

"Well, it's unpleasant looking, I'll give you that, but to be honest, it's not really out of the ordinary. Just your garden-variety pipe clog that backed up from your toilet into the bathtub. I'll get out my snake and have it unclogged in a jiffy."

"Well I still think it's a living, breathing entity from the nether world," Penina said.

"You know, there is precedent for a house to be spiritually impure and oozing with ritually unclean slime," Maury said.

"Really? Are you talking about some horror movie?"

"No, I'm talking about the Torah. Parshat Metsora has a whole section that discusses how to manage a house whose walls are dripping with impure slime. But I think that most of the commentators suggest that it's not the house which has the real spiritual issue. It's the inhabitants of the dwelling who need to search their deeds to make sure they have been acting correctly."

"So are you saying that this malevolent ooze is my fault because of my family's sins?"

"Not exactly. I think that the Talmud* suggests that in all of history there has never really been a house that qualifies for this distinction. It's just symbolic of inpurity and sin. Still, if  your house did have a malevolent, sin-laden ooze, I would be the one you would need to call."

"A plumber?"

"No, Mrs. Schwartz, a kohen," Maury said, coming out of the bathroom and closing his toolbox. "The clog's all gone."

"Oh thank you, thank you, thank you. That is a big load off my mind," Penina said.

"Can I pay you now?"

"No, I'll  mail you the bill. And don't worry. There's no charge for the spiritual cleansing."

"Really? How much would that have cost?"

Maury smiled as he climbed back into his truck. "You can't afford it."

*Gemara Sanhedrin, 30A

 

Shemini: The Fire

Vayikra: 9: 4, 23-24

 

Safety Warning: The Israel Consumer Product Safety Board is ordering a recall of a candle made at a factory in Be'erot Yitzchak, Israel. The company, Neirot of Be'erot, produced a candle in the shape of the Kotel Hama'aravi, or the Western Wall (also known as the Wailing Wall) that has manufacturing flaws. Apparently the candle's external coating can catch fire, and there is risk it could ignite nearby combustibles. The company has reported one incident of this candle causing minor property damage. We urge that if you have one, please stop using the candle and return it immediately.This candle is item #3425, and can be returned to its place of purchase for a full refund. For additional information, please contact beerotneirot.com or ICPSB.org.il.

Aaron had been dreaming of his trip to Israel for years. He had been saving money to go after college, but the money was never enough, and then something else always took priority. His car needed repairs. He needed root canal. His girlfriend wanted a necklace for her birthday. Sometimes he thought he would never make it.

Then Aaron heard about  Birthright Israel. Much to his amazement, this organization paid for people just like him to travel to Israel for the first time. They covered airfare, food, hotel, the works. It was like a dream come true. So he signed up for the trip with a few of his friends and was accepted to the program within a month.

Of course he wanted to see the whole country, but what most attracted him was Jerusalem. He wanted to see the old walled city and walk in the footsteps of his forefathers. The Wailing Wall held a special fascination for him, but even more than the Wall, he yearned to go on the Western Wall Tunnel Tours.

From what his friend Mark had told him, you can go through tunnels deep under the buildings of the Moslem Quarter of the Old City and explore the extension of the two-thousand-year-old Western Wall as it runs under ancient Jerusalem. It was like a live-action adventure movie (Indiana Jones and the Temple of the Jews). There are ruins there from many different periods of Jerusalem's history, all the way back to the times of the Second Temple. You even see the bedrock of Mount Moriah. Cool.

The Israel trip was everything Aaron had hoped it would be, and more. The food was amazing. Why couldn't they make falafel  like that in New Jersey? The country was beautiful. He bought gifts for everyone he knew, including the wooden camel he swore he would never buy, ever. He even bought a green IDF (Tzahal) yarmulke that he knew he would never wear, not in a million years. What could he say? He was inspired.

But as much as Aaron loved Eilat and enjoyed the Galilee and Tel Aviv, Jerusalem blew his mind. It was living history. He walked the walls of the Old City, from the Jaffa Gate to the Lion's Gate. It was so exhilarating. When he got to the Western Wall, tears welled up in his eyes, and he davened next to the Kotel with a passion he never really knew he had.

After the time at the Kotel was complete and everyone had crammed their notes into the crevices between the ancient stones, the group gathered for the Tunnel Tours. The guide explained the history of the retaining wall of the Temple Mount and the archaeologic explorations of the site in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. She waxed philosophically about  the holiness of the Temple and the Jews' eternal place in Jerusalem. Aaron listened attentively and stood in awe of the giant stones  and the historical significance of the area. But despite the impressiveness of the Hasmonean aqueduct, the Mount Moriah bedrock, and the medieval cistern, it all started to feel like another wonderful artifact. Israel was full of them.

That all changed when they arrived at a location opposite a group of burning candles. "This place is the closest spot on the Kotel to the Kodesh Hakadashim,the Holy of Holies. In fact, the Foundation Stone of the Temple Mount is directly east of this position.This is where Hashem rested His presence," the guide said. "It is perhaps the most hallowed place where a Jew can stand in the entire world today . If you would like to stop here for a moment and say a personal prayer, feel free."

Aaron lingered with a few members of the group and started to pray. He prayed for the health of his family. he prayed for personal success. He prayed for world peace. He prayed that he might meet a nice girl, someday. He got so involved in his petition, he didn't notice that the rest of the group had moved on. Yet still he prayed.

When he opened his eyes, he saw a fire before him. One of the candles in the alcove between the stones had suddenly flared up, like a small fireball, and its orange flames lapped against the already charred wall. The whole candle, a small model of the Western Wall, seemed to be melting in front of him. Did his prayers do that? Suddenly he felt like his namesake Aaron as he went to serve in the Tabernacle for the first time, or like one of the High Priests in the Temple. He felt like he was in G-d's presence.

Should he take off his shoes?

"Aaron, come on. Everyone's waiting for you," someone from the group called from down the passageway.

"I'm coming."

The candle burned itself out. The moment was gone.

-"in fact some of the stones were added after an earthquake in the year 1033," the guide was saying when Aaron rejoined the group. "Oh,there you are. We thought we'd lost you."

Everyone laughed.

"Sorry,I guess I lost track of the time."

"That can happen down here," she said with a smirk. "As a matter of fact, all kinds of unusual things happen down here. Come, let's see a section of a Herodian street from the Temple period."

The moment began to pass as Aaron continued with the group, but for just a second, all of time had stopped. He doubted he would ever feel that way again.

"Neat tour, huh?" one of his friends said to him.

"Yeah," Aaron said with a smile.  "Neat."

Tzav: The Prince and the Prayer

Vayikra: 7: 11-20

Once there lived a young prince named Harold who was rather accident prone. His father, King Ronald, was worried for his son's safety and assigned his trusted viceroy, Ralph, to keep him safe.

Truth be told, Harold wasn't actually accident prone. In reality, he was almost accident prone. By that I mean that he was never really in any serious danger. He was just involved in more close calls than any young man should be in the course of the average day.

One day Harold was riding his trusty steed, Thunderbolt,  down a country lane with the ever cautious Ralph trailing not far behind with a first aid kit, an emergency medical technician and the phone number of a good neurosurgeon in the memory of his cell phone. As Harold turned a corner at a slow gallop, a small garter snake slithered out from behind a rock and startled Thunderbolt. The horse stopped short and let out a loud whinny.

Before anything could happen, Ralph trotted up, leaped from his horse and shooed away the somewhat-dreaded snake.

"I say, that was certainly a close call," Harold said.

"Yes, I suppose," Ralph agreed, a bit out of breath.

"That snake could have bitten me and caused a life-threatening reaction."

"Not really, my liege," Ralph replied politely. "It was merely a small garter snake. It couldn't hurt a fly, let alone a brave prince such as yourself."

"Yes, but it could have spooked Thunderbolt and I could have been thrown to the ground, to be trampled under the hooves of my own horse. How ironic."

"Prince Harold, Thunderbolt would never have thrown you. He is the best trained horse in all the land. He would have allowed the snake to bite him and unflinchingly suffered the consequences before he would have allowed any harm to befall you."

"Still, it was a close call."

"I suppose," Ralph agreed.

Prince Harold rode back to the castle with his entourage and regaled the court with his harrowing experience and how Ralph had bravely risked his own life to repel the snake. Ralph smiled politely and said nothing.

After dinner, Prince Harold gathered his friends and read a paragraph from Tehillim, the Psalms, to thank G-d for his good fortune. To be exact, he read psalm 100, Mizmor leTodah, A Psalm of Thanksgiving. It was what was recited  in the time of the Beit Hamikdash when a person survived a particularly dangerous situation and brought a Korban Todah, a sacrifice of thanksgiving, to celebrate his or her deliverance. Ralph watched from outside the room as Prince Harold fervently recited the prayer.

The next day, Prince Harold went on a nature walk with a group of his courtiers. Naturally, Ralph came along with mosquito netting, sunblock, a compass, a survival guide, and an epinephrine pen, in case of a royal allergic reaction.

All was going well. Ralph could foresee no source of danger anywhere on the horizon, and the prince and his friends seemed to be having a good time. There were no predators in these tranquil woods, the land was flat and devoid of any threatening terrain, and short of a meteor falling from the sky, Harold could not possibly muster up a crisis.

It was then that Prince Harold picked the mushroom.

"I say, would anyone care to share a taste of this wonderful fungus with me? It looks downright delicious."

"Noooooooooo!" Ralph hollered as he ran forward. He politely but firmly scooped the mushroom from the prince's hand and threw it to the ground.

"What did you do that for?" Harold asked.

"My liege, many mushrooms that grow in the field are poisonous. I confiscated this particular specimen to save you from hurting yourself."

"Ralph, you have done it again!" Prince Harold declared. "Three cheers for Ralph!"

"Huzzah huzzah, huzzah!" the royal courtiers cheered.

Ralph smiled politely but stepped away from the group of young men. He was beginning to tire of the prince's utter carelessness.

That night, at  King Ronald's table, Prince Harold once again regaled the king's entourage with the tale of his near brush with death and his rescue by the hand of Ralph.

"If I had eaten that mushroom, I could have died," Prince Harold declared.

"Actually, there was very little chance of that," Ralph said.

"What do you mean? You told me the mushroom was poisonous," the prince said.

"No, I said it might be poisonous," Ralph interjected. "Actually, I checked my survival guide, and it turns out that mushroom wasn't dangerous at all. As a matter of fact, it is in the soup that we are eating right now."

"Kudos, Ralph, kudos," the king said, chuckling under his breath.

"Still, it could have been lethal, nonetheless," Harold stammered, and without further ado, he went off to recite the Mizmor leTodah again. But before he left the room Harold announced, "Tomorrow we go skeet shooting."

Ralph followed Prince Harold to the room where he recited his Tehillim. He waited until Harold completed his fervent recitation of psalm 100.

Ki tov Hashem leolam chasdo

Veyad dor ldor emunato

For Hashem is good, His kindness endures forever

And from generation to generation is His faithfulness

"You know, Prince, I truly appreciate your need to thank G-d every day for His wondrous rescue of your life," Ralph said.

"Thank you, Ralph," Prince Harold said. " Not everyone understands how important it is to acknowledge the  daily surprises He grants us. If not for these frequent miracles that I have experienced, I'm not sure I would have the proper opportunity to thank Him."

"Well, you know, you don't need to be rescued from an almost burning building, or pulled out of the way of a very slowly falling tree, or even protected from a charging tortoise in order to appreciate G-d's daily miracles and to thank Him."

"You don't?"

"Why no. Just living every day is a miracle. I think that's why the Mizmor leTodah is part of our daily morning prayers. There's something spectacular to thank G-d for every day."

"Do you really think so?" Prince Harold asked, his eyes full of wonder.

"Why yes, I do," Ralph said, putting his arm around the young prince. "I would stake my reputation on it."

And so, Prince Harold began reciting the Psalm of Thanksgiving daily in his morning prayers, and the near mishaps that had befallen him previously could no longer be found in the royal archives.

That is except the time the royal bunny rabbit bit him on the finger. For that truly was a bit disconcerting.

Birkat Hachama: Here Comes the Sun

Mirriam's early morning routine did not waver. If the weather was good, she would rise from her bed, perform her morning libations, then wrap herself in her red terry cloth robe, slip on her furry slippers, scurry into the backyard, sit in the lotus position on the ground under the old oak tree and meditate. She had been meditating since college, in one form or another, and it had become an essential part of her day. It was no big deal, really-- just fifteen minutes of serenity in the morning. She wasn't a Buddhist, or anything like that. If forced to classify herself--and she hated being pigeonholed-- she would have described herself as a modern orthodox Jew, or perhaps an egalitarian Jew. But who needed labels?

After her meditation she would go back inside, daven, have breakfast with the New York Times, and leave for her morning commute to work. The meditation was worth it just to keep her blood pressure down on the clogged, competitive highways of northern New Jersey. It would take the cosmic calm of a yogi not to get upset when people were cutting you off at the bottleneck known as the entrance to the Lincoln Tunnel.

In many ways her morning routine was Mirriam's favorite part of her day. If she timed it just right, the sun would be rising as she sat beneath that majestic old tree, and its rays would warm her as she sat there. In the fall she would have to push the fallen acorns out of the way to find a comfortable place to sit. In the spring the leaves would be budding and then sprouting. In the summer she had the shade and the birds chirping. In the winter she meditated inside her house, in her sun room. She simply wasn't hard core enough to go out there when it was below freezing and the ground was hard as a rock.

Today's meditation session was special. On this particular day, the Jewish people would be reciting birkat hachama, a blessing on the sun. To Mirriam it sounded rather pagan, but the rabbis had discussed it in the times of the Talmud, so obviously it was legit. Once every twenty-eight years the Jews would go outside and make a blessing on the sun, Blessed are you Lord our G-d, King of the Universe, who makes all  things in creation. It was the same blessing you made when you saw lightning or other beautiful acts of nature. Except this time it was being said to appreciate a sight you see every day.

According to tradition, every twenty-eight years the sun assumes the exact position in the sky that it had on the day G-d created it. It is like a reenactment of the heavens from the beginning of time. To Mirriam the concept held great spiritual energy. Clearly birkat hachamah was a great symbol of renewal and rebirth. A lot of Jews got together and celebrated the event with a community wide recitation of the blessing, but Mirriam decided to celebrate privately, in her own way.

The alarm clock went off fifteen minutes earlier than usual. Mirriam showered and dressed quickly; she was on a tight schedule. Her morning recitation of the shacharit service normally took her about twenty minutes, but that day she compressed it into fifteen. When she finished, she went outside and sat under her tree. The glow of the sun was clearly visible on the horizon.

She was in full meditative mode when the sun rose over the hills in the distance. She was focusing deeply on her breathing and keeping her back arrow straight. Mirriam could feel the warmth of the rays on her skin. She was one with the moment. She was certain she could sense the very moment that G-d had--

A fire engine's siren pierced the peace a few blocks away, but she tried to stay in the zone. What could she do? Despite her best efforts, she still lived in suburban New Jersey.

Mirriam stood and recited the bracha. Oseh Ma'aseh bereishit. She had done her best.

To complete her ritual, Mirriam rose from beneath the oak tree an walked to the corner or her yard. She reached beneath a hemlock bush and pulled out the trowel from where she had left it last week when she had planted tulip bulbs. She dug a small hole, reached into her pocket and pulled out apple seeds from an apple she had eaten the day before. Red Delicious. Her favorite.

Mirriam dropped the seeds into the hole and covered them with soil, working hard not to get her slippers too dirty. On April 8, 2037 , the next recitation of birkat hachamah, she would recite the blessing and eat an apple from the tree that had grown on this spot. Satisfied with her efforts, she dropped the trowel and headed for her house.

Three steps from the back door, Mirriam stopped in her tracks and turned around. She looked at her yard. She looked at her oak tree. She looked at the sun.

Mirriam cinched up her robe, marched back to the oak tree and scooped up a lone acorn, stranded since the previous fall. She walked back to the corner of her yard, picked up her trowel,  and ten feet from the apple seeds she dug a new hole. She dropped in the acorn, filled the hole, and returned to her house.

In 2065 her grandchildren would make the bracha under the shade of this oak tree. Would they meditate?  Who knew? They would have to choose their own path, just as she had.

Mirriam smiled. It was a good day to bless the sun.

Vayikra: The Gift and the Sacrifice

Vayikra: 3: 1

 

-I have a surprise for you.

-No way.

-Way.

-A gift for me? No way!

-Way!

-The wrapping paper is beautiful.

-Thanks. I picked it out myself.

-Really?

-Actually, no. The store clerk picked it out. But I definitely approved of her choice.

-And the bow's really nice, too.

-Thanks. I really did pick that out.

-I believe you. So why are you giving me a present?

-No special reason.

-My birthday isn't for three more months.

-True.

-Oh no, it isn't our anniversary. Is it?

-No. that's eight months from now.

-Is it a national holiday?

-Not that I can recall.

-Arbor Day?

-What is Arbor day?

-I think it's a day to encourage tree planting.

-To the best of my knowledge, it's not Arbor Day.

-So then why did you buy me a gift?

-I don't know. I guess it's because I love you. I saw this item in the store, and it made me think of you.

-Wow, that's so nice. Thank you.

-Don't mention it. It's kind of like a Korban Shelamim.

-A what?

-A Korban Shelamim. I guess that would be translated as a peace offering, or a sacrifice of peace.

-Did we have a fight and I didn't know it?

-No, of course not.

-Did you do something wrong? Is there something you need to tell me?

-No.

-Really?

-Really. Stop looking at me like that.

-It's just that you just said you bought me a peace offering.

-I don't think that the Korban Shelamim is given because you did something wrong. That would be a Korban Chatat, a sin offering.

-So then why would you give me a Korban Shelamim?

-You used to bring a Shelamim if you were happy with your life and wanted to express your love of G-d and your gratitude for His goodness. It was supposed to bring you closer to G-d.

-So then why is it called a shelamim, a peace offering?

-Good question. Rashi thinks that offering a sacrifice to express your love of G-d and your gratitude helps to bring peace to the world. The Ramban actually thinks that the term shelamim comes from the word shalem, meaning wholeness. The person bringing the offering does it out of a sense of wholeness and gratitude.

-Wow, you really know your stuff.

-Yes, I'm a korban maven.

 -No kidding.

-But I just want you to know that I got you this present because everything is great, I'm happy with our life together, and I really appreciate you.

-That is so sweet. Thanks.

-No problem.

-So can I open it?

-Yes, some time today would be nice.

Yitro: The Sweet Visit

Shmot:18: 1-27

The in-laws came to visit five times a year. There was the somewhat somber Rosh Hashana visit, which was spent mostly davening, listening to shofar blowing in shul, and feasting at the dining room table. The Purim visit was a bit more festive, with the costume-laden, Haman booing Megillah reading in shul and more dining room feasting. The Father's Day visit was brunch and gift swapping. The Chanukah visit was candle lighting, more gift swapping, and more feasting, usually latkes and jelly donuts. But the fifth visit was just a social call on an average weekend. What made the visit different this year, though, was that his father-in-law was coming to see his store. For the first time. Ever.

"We'll stay through Monday," his mother-in-law had said nonchallantly on the phone. "Dad would love to see Effie's store."

"Holy cow," Effie uttered when Dorit told him. "Holy cow," he repeated for emphasis.

"What's the big deal?" Dorit asked. "Dad just wants to see where you work. I would think you'd be flattered that he's taking an interest in your business."

"What's the big deal? What's the big deal? Face it, Dorit, your Dad is not just some guy coming to check out my store. He's Herschel Magnus. The Herschel Magnus."

In the candy industry, Herschel Magnus was a legend. Some called him "The Hebrew Willy Wonka." Herschel had started with a small store in Elizabeth and built an empire of Magnus Chocolate Emporiums nationwide. Not only did he once control over eighty retail stores, but until his retirement he also owned three chocolate factories in Taiwan, a jelly bean manufacturer in South Korea, and a taffy producer in the Phillipines. His influenced stretched worldwide.

In 2005 he sold his entire empire to Haagen Dazs for an untold fortune and retired to his summer home in Deal. Now if he had anything to do with chocolate, it was only as a consumer, though rumor had it he never ate any sweets. "It'll rot your teeth, and it's bad for the bottom line," he had once joked with Dorit, his only child.

Now Herschel Magnus was coming to pay a visit on his son-in-law's small candy store in New Milford. Effie only opened The Sugar Rush a year before, but it had already developed a loyal customer base. His fudge was very popular, and his truffles had won a state-wide taste competition. Effie thought that things were looking up. But he wasn't ready for a visit from the Sultan of Sweets.

"Relax, Effie, it's going to be fine," Dorit said.

"Easy for you to say. You don't have a father-in-law who's a candy legend."

"No, Effie, I just had to live with a father who dreamed about sugar and cocoa beans every day and night of his entire life and spent his every waking moment plotting ways to give all my friends and half of the United States a cavity. Try that for a while."

The woman made a good point. Still, the upcoming visit made Effie rather anxious. Should he rearrange the store? Check his books? Hire new staff? No, he would leave everything just as it was. The Sugar Rush was a tip-top operation. Of that he was certain. Well, relatively certain. Somewhat certain, at least.

Shabbat had been wonderful. Dorit's parents were excellent guests, and they were terrific grandparents as well. The kids were always happy with the gifts they got, and the baby's feet never touched the ground. And Effie's father-in-law dispensed compliments on everything.

"Dorit, this salad is wonderful. You must give me the recipe."

"Is that couch new? It goes really well with the carpeting."

"Your children are so well behaved. I could eat them up."

Effie started to believe he was nervous for no reason. Herschel Magnus was a sweet man, a caramel core wrapped in the finest milk chocolate. He had  nothing to worry about.

Sunday morning came, and Effie drove his father-in law down to Main Street in New Milford. The store was already open when they arrived, and Carol, one of his part-time sales clerks, was behind the counter, helping a customer. Traffic was light, but it was early. Effie could feel his heart pounding in his chest, but Herschel was the perfect gentleman.

"I like the kites you hung up."

"These pralines look wonderful."

"Did you make this fudge yourself? Ooh la la!"

"This is a terrific location."

Effie smiled politely and basked in the praise of the chocolate general. Things were definitely looking good.

Herschel followed Effie into the stock room in the back of the store and closed the door behind him.

"Effie, can I make a suggestion? I hope it won't be taken the wrong way."

"Of course not, Dad. I would love to hear what you have to say."

"I noticed that you have a lot of the cheaper candy up front, like the Swedish fish and the gumdrops. I think it would work better if you put that further in the back and moved the high mark up items , like the hand dipped chocolate and the Belgian truffles, up front."

"Thanks, Dad. That's a good idea."

"Oh, and I see lots of jelly beans, but I didn't see much taffy or licorice. The older customers love that stuff."

Got it."

"Also, you need lots of nuts. If you lean too much toward the chocolate and not enough toward the nuts, people think you lack variety."

"Nuts. Uh huh."

"And the cotton candy? I have four letters for you.  D-U-S-T."

"Dust. Got it."

"And I would decrease the size of your gum display. It just doesn't bring in much profit. Not enough chew for the buck."

"Mmmhmm."

"Oh, and Pop Rocks are so 1990's."

"Got it."

"I also think that the Push Pops should be--"

Effie's cell phone rang, and Effie gratefully pulled it from his pocket.

"I have to get this Dad. It might be important."

"Hi sweety," Dorit said. " I just wanted to ask you to buy some milk on the way home."

"Oh, hi," Effie said."That sounds serious." Effie turned to his father-in-law. "I have to take this one, Dad. I'll be back in a second."

Herschel nodded significantly and turned toward the lollypop box before him to scrutinize the packaging.

"How's it going?" Dorit asked.

"Oh just great," Effie said, when he had safely closed the stockroom door behind him. "Your father just had one or two suggestions. Maybe ten or twenty, actually."

"That bad, huh?"

"That bad."

"Well, just remember; Moshe Rabbeinu's father-in law Yitro came to visit him in the desert, and his suggestions worked well for Moshe."

"Really?"

"Yes, Yitro taught Moshe to delegate his authority to other judges so that he could be more productive with his time, and that worked out great."

"So Moshe listened to his father-in law?"

"Every word."

"Wow. Now I think I finally understand that line in Yigdal."

"Which line?"

"You know. Lo kam beYisra-el kiMoshe od. There will never be another like Moshe."

"Very funny."

"I'll talk to you later."

Effie hung up his phone and returned to the stock room. Herschel had found a lollypop and was sucking in earnest.

"I think everything's going to work out fine here, Effie."

"Thanks, Dad. Do you want to go home now?"

""Sure. And we can talk about the signage out front the next time I come."

"That sounds great."

Yes, that Moshe Rabbeinu was definitely one in a million.

Beshalach: All Washed Up

Shemot: 14: 21-22

They had been going to the car wash together for years. Mirriam and Yossie had made it into a tradition. In fact, Mirriam wouldn't wash her car if Yossie wasn't with her. She would rather the minivan sit in the driveway, encrusted in salt from the winter or mud from the spring, than clean it up without Yossie.

When Yossie was a baby, the car wash held a certain fascination for him. Sometimes, it was the only thing that would stop him from crying. He had been a very colicky infant, and when the electric swing, the soothie sound machine, and even the old Electrolux vacuum cleaner failed to calm him, Mirriam would take her wailing child to Whale of a Wash in Secaucus, the only all-night car wash in Hudson County. That always did the trick. Yossie would stare out at all the brushes and bubbles with wide eyes, and before you knew it, he was asleep.

Yossie graduated from the car seat to a booster seat, and then to a seat belt, but he still loved the car wash. He didn't like the kind like Splash N' Dash in Elizabeth, where you had to get out of your car. That wouldn't do. He preferred to watch the bubbles from inside the cockpit.  His  favorite  one  was the Car-isma Wash in Kearny. It had great old machines, and the dryer made this wonderful, deep noise, like the whole car might be sucked up into the mechanism of the car wash.

So on a sunny Friday afternoon, three days after a major snow storm dumped six inches of granular powder on northern New Jersey and the public works department of Jersey City sprayed a quarter of an inch of white, chalky salt on the Wexlers' minivan, Mirriam picked up Yossie from school and drove all the way over to Car-isma Wash. It was six miles away from their house, but it was well worth the drive.

"Hi Mrs. W."

"Hi George."

"Do you want the usual?"

"Yes. The full exterior, hold the sealant. But today I want an underbody scrub as well. That salt will burn a whole straight through your chassis. Know what I mean?"

"Sure thing, Mrs. W. Is Mr. Y. in the car?"

"Of course. What kind of a question is that?"

The back window of the van rolled down.

"Hi George."

"Hey, Yossie. How are things?"

"Oh, you know. Same old same old."

"I hear you, buddy."

"And you?"

"Well, Yossie, it's like I always say. Every day above ground is a good day."

"I hear you, Mr. G."

"Can you dig what I mean?"

"I dig it."

"Well, right on."

Their conversation had been exactly the same since Yossie had learned to talk. George walked over to the car and leaned in the window, and Yossie gave him his traditional fist bump.

"Now that's what I'm talking about. Mmm hmm."

Mirriam paid George and climbed back into the car. She pulled the minivan up to the red line, pulled forward until George gave her the thumbs up, and put it in neutral.

The minivan lurched forward as the car wash pulled it into its inner workings.

First the minivan was covered in little droplets of warm water.

"Mom, did it ever occur to you that the car wash is a lot like the splitting of the Red Sea?"

"No, Yossele. That never occured to me. What makes you think that?"

"Well, of course Kriat Yam Suf is on my mind, since it's Shabbat Shira this week."

"Of course."

"But it's more than that."

Large bubbles of soap were shot at the minivan by jets hovering outside the car.

"The Torah describes the Jews as walking betoch hayam bayabasha, standing on dry land within the sea. That's just like being inside your nice dry car in the car wash and watching the water on the windows."

"I never thought of it that way."

"I think it must have looked just like this."

Large pieces of wet cloth danced along the surface of the minivan, swishing back and forth and cleaning off any remaining dirt.

"And when it says Vayolech Hashem et hayam biruach kadim kol halayla, and Hashem moved the sea with a strong east wind all of the night, that's like the drying jets that dry off the car at the end."

"Not bad, Yossie. I see you've given this a lot of thought."

"What can I say? I like to learn Torah, and I like carwashes."

More jets of hot water pounded the car, rinsing off the final soap residue.

"And if you want to know what it was like to be one of the Egyptians at Kriat Yam Suf, all you would have to do is open a window, right about now."

"Please don't."

"Don't worry, I know the rules."

The drying jets attacked the car, and all the moisture was either sucked up or blown away. The minivan came out of the end of Car-isma Wash, and Mirriam put the car in gear and pulled away.

"Thanks, Yossie. That may have been the most educational trip through a car wash that you and I have ever taken."

"No charge, Mom. Today, it's on the house."

"Now that's what I'm talking about," Mirriam said. "Mmm hmm."

Mother and son shared a fist-bump, and the two drove home in their nice, clean car.

Beshalach: Split the Sea, Win a Prize

Yes, I openly aknowledge that 2 years ago I did a manna baking contest for Beshalach, and that this story has a similar motif. But hey, I like this story.

 

Anyone can tell the story of the splitting of the Red Sea. The Israelites were up against the shoreline. The Egyptians were bearing down on them with charriots and spears. It didn't look good. Suddenly, G-d intervenes, the waters part, the nation flees to safety, and the pursuing Egyptians wind up in the drink in a big way. It was definitely a huge miracle, one that all the people witnessed.

But how do you get a room of sixth graders to appreciate such a great miracle? Rabbi Kravitz wrestled with that dilemna every year.

Three years ago he took his class to the aquarium in Point Pleasant, lined the students up opposite the giant shark tank, put their cheeks against the glass,  and tried to get them to imagine a wall of water crashing down on them. He felt that was only a limited success.

Two years ago he brought a group to the Paterson Falls and tried to get them to imagine a wall of water crashing down on the Egyptian soldiers. While the trip to the waterfall was fun, and it was followed by a visit to the kosher pizza store in Passaic-- a big hit with the class-- Rabbi Kravitz wasn't sure the children got the point.

Last year Rabbi Kravitz brought his class down to the banks of the Hackensack River at New Bridge Landing (where George Washington once slept at the Von Steuben House), and tried to get them to jump in. He felt that would teach them of the courage of the Israelites to have faith in G-d and step into the parting waters. But no one took the leap. It was cold, they were fully clothed, and to their knowledge, no one had bathed in the mighty Hackensack in many years. That had not been his most inspired plan, and the principal received more than a few calls from perplexed parents.

This year, Rabbi Kravitz had a new plan. He would look to his class for inspiration.

"After last year's trip to the Hackensack River for parshat Beshalach didn''t work out--"

[snickers from the children]

"--I've decided to approach the topic of Kriat Yam Suf, the splitting of the Red Sea, in a new way. We're going to have a contest, to see who can best portray the splitting of the waters, or some aspect of the story, in a way that inspires the class and gives us a better understanding of the miracle. You have one week to prepare. You can present it any way you want. Any questions?"

"No, no water balloons."

"Yes, you can dress in costumes."

"No, no dogs, cats, or sheep in the classroom."

"Yes, musical instuments are allowed."

"I'm sure your guitar amplifier would be fine."

"The prize will be dinner for two at the Kosher Inn. That's not enough? O.K. The winner also has no homework for a week."

[A gasp of approval]

A week later, the class convened on the Friday before parshat Beshalach to show what they'd done.

Becky Rosen went first.

"I constructed a reenactment of the parting of the waters using blue jello. Here you see the two walls of water standing high and straight." [actually, it was bit jiggly] "And here are the Egyptians under the jel-- uh, water, on the other side."

"Excellent job, Becky. And what did you learn about the miracle of Keriyat Yam Suf from your project?"

"I learned that it's harder than you might think to copy a miracle, so it must be even harder to do the original."

"Interesting point. Who's next?"

Mark Ben David came up next.

"I built a charging Egyptian soldier on his charriot, riding into the Red Sea to attack the Jews. You can see how angry he is."

Sure enough, if you carefully studied his little Lego face, he did seem a bit annoyed.

"Very good, Mark. And what did you learn from your project?"

"I learned that these soldiers must have really hated us to ride after us into a parted wall of water, not knowing when it might close up. You couldn't have paid me enough to go into the sea after the Israelites."

"Good one, Mark. Next?"

Rachel Bienenfeld, Ariella Michaelson, and Abby Aronson came up with a guitar, an electric keyboard, and a bongo drum respectively.

"Wow. What's your plan?"

"We set shirat Mirriam, the song Mirriam sang with the women after they were saved, to music, and we're going to perform our song."

"Far out."

The tune was something like Yankee Doodle, but it really brought out the words nicely.

"Shiru laHashem ki ga-oh ga-ah

Sus verochvo rama bayam

Sing to G-d for He is highly praised

The horse and his rider He threw into the sea."

"That was terrific. And what did you learn?"

"We learned that they must have been really happy about the splitting of the sea to break into song like that. It's not so easy, you know."

"Very informative, and very entertaining. Thank you."

Jeremy Weiner and Barry Katz did a little comedy routine about jumping in as the sea was splitting, but not quite split.

"-I'm not going in there. It's cold."

"Yeah, and really, really salty."

"No, no, that's the Dead Sea, not the Red Sea."

"Oh!"

"You go first."

"No, no, no. After you. I want to respect my elders."

"You're like, what? One month younger than me?"

The class loved it, and they got a loud round of applause.

"So what did you learn?" The rabbi asked the boys.

"We learned that as much as the splitting of the sea was a huge miracle, it was also courageous of the Jews to walk between the walls of water. Who knew how long it would stay open?"

"Interesting. But I would point out that the only alternative was to be trampled and stabbed by the Egyptians."

Jeremy did a perfect imitation of Rabbi Kravitz. "Interesting," he said, with a knowing nod. That drew a larger laugh than their comedy routine had.

Rabbi Kravitz smiled. "Next."

Chani Simanowitz and Shir Levine did a mime show of the splitting. Chani played the part of the seawater, in a blue terry cloth robe, and Shir was an incredulous Israelite. The room was silent for over five minutes as everyone watched the scene unfold.

"That was amazing," the rabbi said. "So what did you learn?"

"We learned that it must have been really cool to have been there."

"Great."

The only one left was Ayelet Carlin. Ayelet said nothing. She placed a covered canvas in front of Rabbi Kravitz's desk and then slowly pulled away the cover.

The painting was just one large face. It was covered with an unmistakable look of wonder and amazement. The mouth was set in a gasp, and the eyes were like two big, round orbs. In the blue-green of the eyes were fish, waves, spears, a charriot wheel, an octopus, a sandal, and sea foam.

"Really incredible," Rabbi Kravitz said. "And what did you learn?"

"I learned that you can't possibly understand what it must be like to witness such a huge miracle with your own two eyes."

"That's terrific," Rabbi Kravitz said.

The class sat in their seats to await the announcement of the contest winner.

"You're all winners," Rabbi Kravitz said. "I'm taking you all out to dinner, and no one has to do homework for a whole week."

"I knew you were going to say that," Rachel said, amid the cheering.

"But if this is a Kriyat Yam Suf dinner, just make sure we don't have to split the check," Jeremy said. "Get it, split the check?"

"That's just awful," Rabbi Kravitz said as the class let out a collective groan.

Bo: Darkness on the Edge of Town

Shemot: 10: 21-23

It was a dark night at the campground. The moon and stars were shrouded in clouds. The campers had hiked for hours to get there, through the rocks, the mud, and the mosquitoes, and  and now they were all spread out in their sleeping bags around the campfire. The franks and beans were long gone. The marshmallows had all been roasted on sticks and devoured. It was storytime.

"Tell us a ghost story."

"I don't think so."

"Aw, come on! Why not?"

"I don't think you kids can handle it."

"What do you mean? Of course we can."

"No, I don't want you all getting nightmares. I'm a really scary storyteller. There's a camper from last summer who's still in therapy from the Monster in the Lake story I told at last year's campout. Another one still sleeps with the lights on."

"You're making that up."

"Oh, am I? Ha, ha, ha, ha!"

"Please?

Somewhere in the distance an owl hooted.

"Well, O.K., but no crying or whimpering."

"Deal."

"Fine, everybody get comfortable in your sleeping bags and fasten you seatbelts, because it's going to be a wild, freaky ride."

"Just tell the story already."

"All right, all right. It was a cold, dark night at Camp Nissim--"

"How dark was it?"

What?"

"You said it was dark. How dark was it?"

"Oh, it was extremely dark. Black dark."

"That doesn't sound so bad."

A twig snapped loudly somewhere south of the campgrounds.

"It was the kind of dark you only see far outside of town on a moonless night, where the wind itself seems to be speaking to you, and every sound is amplified like it might jump out and grab you."

"That's not so bad."

"Oh really? It was the kind of darkness you experience during a blackout, when everything just goes dead, and you have no idea where you left the flashlights and the matches. And for all you know, there's something creepy, crawly lurking just beyond your grasp. I'm talking dark, with a capital "D."

"Yawn."

"It was like black hole black. You know, a region of space where the gravitational field is so strong, nothing can escape its pull once it enters its event horizon, not even light. We're talking the end of the world as we know it black. That's seriously dark, my friends."

"I'm just not convinced it's very dark."

"Are you serious? O.K., you asked for it. It was primevil darkness. The kind of darkness that only existed before G-d created the world. I'm talking tohu vavohu, baby. Absolute darkness, before the sun and the moon, before the creation of light itself. How's that for dark?"

"I suppose that's adequate."

Miles away on some distant road, a car backfired, releasing a sound that closely resembled a gunshot.

"You kids are tough. I'm impressed. I'll give it one last shot.  It was so dark, it was like Makat Choshech, the Plague of Darkness from Egypt. I'm talking serious malevolent darkness, like the kind in a horror movie. Some say the dark was so thick, you couldn't even move. It was like being held chained in the spot where you were. It was a choking darkness, like you could barely breathe. It was like a foreshadowing of death, that's how bad it was. Absolute, total, terrifying, deep, black, in-your-face, murky, malignant, pernicious, darkness. Fade to black."

For a moment, all was quiet.

"Wo, that's dark."

"Tell me about it."

"So, go on with the story."

"As I said, it was dark in camp. Then suddenly, someone let out a loud scream--"

"What kind of scream?"

"Blood curdling and high pitched."

"That doesn't sound so bad--"

Va-eyra: Pick Your Plague

Ronit was sitting in her playroom reading Where the Wild Things Are to Sam when they starting pouring out of the wall. There were hundreds of them ,maybe thousands. They were black, they had lots of legs, and some had wings. And they were streaming across the floor at a rapid pace.

It is moments such as this when a parent needs to remain calm. For your child learns how to act from your behavioral cues and will pattern his or her own behavioral  after yours. It is an excellent moment for educating the next generation in the proper way to respond to a crisis.

"Aaaaagh!" Ronit shrieked in a blood curdling exclamation, as she jumped up on the couch. "Uuuuuuugh!" she added for emphasis.

Avi came running. "What, what?" he said, prepared for a burglar or a vomitting child.

"There!" Ronit said, averting her eyes and gesturing toward the swarm.

"Oh great," Avi said, "just what we needed."

"What are they, ants?"

"No, termites."

"Termites? Ugh," Ronit reiterated.

Avi took off his left sneaker and began smashing bugs as quickly as he could. "

"Stop! You're killing G-ds creatures!" Sam ordered.

"You know, Sam, I think that G-d might forgive us this time," Ronit said, regaining a modicum of composure. "I think you need to think about these bugs like they're a plague."

"You mean like the ones in Egypt?"

"Exactly like the ones in Egypt."

"Ro, go into the garage and get the bug spray," Avi said, as he continued bopping bugs.

"Which bug spray?"

"Any bug spray. I don't care. Whatever we have."

"Avi, dear, I love you madly, but there is no way I'm coming down from this couch until all those creepy, crawly things have stopped moving."

Avi threw up his arms in despair, then went to the garage and returned with a can of Black Flag Ant, Roach, and Spider Spray. He sprayed the hole from which the termites had been pouring forth, and the bugs stopped swarming out of the wall. After a few more minutes of Avi's search and destroy mission with his sneaker, the crisis was averted.

"Whew, that was a close call," Ronit said, as she came down from the couch.

"Yeah, thanks for all your help," Avi said. "I couldn't have done it without you."

"Avi, honey, I don't do bugs. You knew that when you married me."

"That's true. You've never hidden your feelings about insects. I'll call an exterminator in the morning, and it'll all be taken care of."

"So are termites really like a plague?" Sam asked.

"I would tend to agree with your mother on this one, Sammy. A termite swarm is like a good, old-fashioned biblical pestilence."

"Huh?"

"They're like a plague, just like your mom said."

"So which plague are they like? Sammy asked.

"That's an interesting question," Ronit said. "I think they're like kinnim, lice. They were simply everywhere, and they made my skin crawl. And lice was the first plague that the Egyptian magicians couldn't duplicate. Only G-d can create a plague as awful as lice, or termites."

"I think they're more like the frogs," Sam said. When they came out of the wall, they were, like, everywhere. You know the song, "frogs here, frogs there, frogs were jumping everywhere."

"Good one, Sam," Avi said. "I think the termites were more like arov, the wild beasts. A lot of the commentaries suggest that the beasts were scorpions and snakes. They were the kinds of animals that are in your environment the whole time, hidden from view. The miracle was that they all came out into the open and attacked the Egyptians. I think that was what the termite swarm was like."

"Well, let's hope we have no more plagues in this house," Ronit said.

"Amen to that," Avi agreed.

"If they ever come again," Sam said, "can we keep one as a pet?"

"How would you feel about a fish?" Ronit asked. "I'm pretty sure there's no plague associated with fish."

"We'll talk," Avi said, as he went for the broom.

Va-eyra: Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Computer Games

Shemot: 7: 26

Rabbi Weingarten's class had been behaving well all morning. They had studied chumash nicely, they all handed in their navi assignmants from the weekend without any groaning, and when he had asked questions about the parsha, most of them had raised their hands eagerly. Also, no one had been caught passing a note to his friend, no one was playing any video games or was checking out Facebook on their laptop, and no one had an iPod jammed in their ears under the cover of a thick head of curly hair. Not bad for a Monday.

So when there was only half-an-hour left until the bell was to ring for lunch, he decided to give them a treat.

"Listen up, everybody. We covered a lot of ground today in our mishna studies, so from now until lunch, I'm going to let you study bi-chevrutah."

"Bi- what?" Judah Teichner asked.

"In chevrutah. That means that you can sit in small groups and study together. It's the time-honored way of studying limudei kodesh that Jews have been doing for thousands of years. You sit in groups of two or three and learn together. It's a great way to gain from the knowledge of others and to share your insights with someone else."

"I don't know," Ari Blumencrantz said. "Are we going to be tested on what we study?"

"Not at all," Rabbi Weingarten said. "It's just a half-an-hour to review whatever topic you want from our studies. And there's no quiz. It's totally lishma, learning Torah just for the sake of the mitzvah of learning Torah."

"Wow, Jacob Seigal said, "Sounds great."

"Sign me up," Yonah Tahari agreed.

"Works for me," Judah Teichner chimed in.

The boys pulled their chairs together in small groups and got to work. The experiment worked wonderfully. They all seemed to enjoy the freedom of the independent learning and stayed somewhat focused on what they were doing. Rabbi Weingarten was quite pleased.

Now for the true test.

"I have to go down the hallway to make a phonecall. Do you think you boys can continue to learn bichevrutah while I'm out of the room? I'll only be gone for five minutes, tops."

"Sure, Rabbi W.," Barry Chomsky said.

"You can count on us," Mordechai Neuman agreed.

Rabbi Weingarten walked down the hall to the teacher's lounge. He had no phone call in mind; he just wanted to get out of the room to let the boys continue their learning without him. But since he had a moment he called his wife at work to check in. He was on the phone for maybe three minutes.

When he returned to the classroom, things were not as they had been. Ari Blumencrantz was on his laptop, showing his friends a clip from Youtube. Barry Chomsky was playing air guitar near the blackboard while he listened to his iPod. Judah Teichner and Yonah Tahari were playing football in the back. Barry Chomsky was calling out the window to someone in the parking lot outside.

"Boys."

Everyone ran back to their desks and tried to engage in study, or a near facsimile thereof, but Rabbi Weingarten did not seem too upset.

"You know, in this week's Torah portion, Va-eyra, G-d sends Moshe to Pharaoh with the message,Shlach et ami, ve-ya-avduni. Let my people go, that they may worship me. I think you all understood the shlach et ami part. You were all happy with the freedom you were offered. But you have to remember that the Israelites were set free from slavery in order to worship Hashem. I gave you all some freedom, but it was in order to learn some Torah. I think you need to remember the ve-ya-avduni part of the pasuk next time."

"Good one, Rabbi," Judah said.

"So did you give us chevrutah time just to teach us about the parsha?" Mordechai asked.

"No, I gave that time to you so you could learn to study independently, but a good teacher can draw a lesson from almost any situation."

"So will we ever get a chance for chevrutah time again?" Jacob asked.

"Of course, Jacob, you boys did fine."

The lunch bell rang, and everyone started filing out of the classroom.

"We'll do better next time, Rabbi," Ari said.

"Don't worry about it, Ari, it took Pharaoh ten plagues to learn to accept that-"

"Maybe later, Rabbi W. I have to grab some lunch before the afternoon classes."

"Maybe later," the rabbi agreed as he sat back at his desk and closed his chumash.

Shemot: So Many Bricks, So Little Time

Shemot: 5:8

The flight from Dallas to Newark was delayed because of a storm somewhere in the Midwest. The airplane was coming in from Chicago, and the snow coming down there had grounded every flight coming out of O'Hare Airport. When wasn't it snowing in Chicago?

Noah Erlich sighed as he looked up at the electronic sign that conveyed his flight information. He tried to call his wife Mirriam in Highland Park to tell her that he wouldn't be home for dinner, but she wasn't answering at home, and she wasn't picking up her cell phone. He thought about emailing her from his Blackberry, but that seemed like a rather impersonal way to tell his long suffering wife that he would be home late, again.

This time it was a deposition in Dallas. Last week it had been an expert witness he had to meet with in Sacramento. And the week before he had been in Des Moines and Los Angeles. This was definitely a big case he was working on, for his law firm's largest client. If they won, it would mean a big bonus for him, and it would be a serious leg up on his path to partnership. But try explaining that to your wife, who had barely seen you in four weeks, or to your five-year-old daughter, who really doesn't care about your professional advancement and would much rather have you read her a book, or your eight-year-old son, who wants you home to play catch.

Just as he was settling down with his iPod to listen to a Bach piano concerto, his Blackberry rang.

"Hi honey."

"Hi, where are you?"

"Dallas. The flight's delayed."

"I'm so sorry."

"Yeah, me too. How are the kids?"

"They're fine. They miss you. So do I."

"I feel the same way. Don't worry. This case will be over soon."

"I understand, Noah, and don't think I don't appreciate how hard you're working. But you and I both know that there's always another big case."

He didn't know what to say.

"Nate is sitting here and he wants to speak to you."

"Put him on."

"Hi Daddy."

"Hey, Buddy. How are you?"

"I'm great. When are you coming home?"

"My flight's delayed, but I should be home later tonight. I'll come upstairs and snuggle with you."

"Great. I'll leave you a pillow to put your head on."

"Hey, thanks. So what are you doing in school?"

"We had Chumash today, and Rabbi Landau is teaching us Shemot, about the Jews' slavery in Egypt."

"So what did you learn today?"

"We learned how Moshe and Aharon went to Pharaoh and told him to let their people go, and Pharaoh said no."

"Then what happened?"

"Well, to make the Jews suffer more, Pharaoh commanded the taskmasters not to give them the straw that the Jewish slaves needed to make their bricks. From then on they had to go out and get it themselves. But they still had to make the same amount of bricks."

"Wow, that's rough."

"Yeah. Rabbi Landau said that Pharaoh believed that if he worked the slaves hard enough, they would forget about wanting their freedom and wanting to pray to G-d in the desert."

"That's very interesting. Rabbi Landau sounds like a terrific teacher."

"Oh yeah, he's the greatest. And if we answer three parsha questions right, he gives us a lollipop."

"I'm jealous. I want a lollipop if I answer three questions right."

"Very funny, Daddy."

I'll see you later sweetie. I love you."

"I love you, too."

"Can I speak to Mommy again?"

But Nate had already hung up the phone.

Noah sat in the airport lounge staring at his Blackberry. He pressed a few buttons, and a picture of his family sprang up on the screen. It was a picture from their vacation that summer in Cape May. The kids looked so tanned and happy, and Mirriam seemed so carefree. He looked thin and haggard.

Rabbi Landau was right. If you keep the slaves very busy, they have no time to think about their freedom, and no time to think about their families and what's really important to them. Maybe he needed to march into the office of Doug Hammer, the Senior Partner at the firm, and demand that he let his people go. Then again, maybe that wasn't the best idea. Maybe he would just call in sick tomorrow and spend some time with Mirriam and the kids.

It would be a good start.

Vayechi: The Butcher Blessings

Bernie Baumgarten was dying. O.K. so he wasn't really dying. Actually, he had a very bad cold. O.K., it wasn't such a bad cold. But he was definitely under the weather. But when Bernie got sick, the world seemed like it was coming to an end. His wife Bernice was ready for him. When Bernie started whining and saying things like, "I'm toxic," or, "Just put me out on a rock somewhere and let me die in peace," she had the hot water bottle, the vaporizer, and the chicken soup ready to go. And although she wanted to strangle him, Bernice put on her most sympathetic face and did her best to put up with her husband. Forty-two years of marriage helps you to cope with your spouse's idiosyncracies, no matter how annoying they are.

On the days that Bernie lay on his "death" bed, watching The Price is Right on television and going through multiple boxes of tissues, his business suffered. Bernie Baumgarten owned and ran Sir Glatt A Lot, the only kosher butcher store in Hoboken, and his customers loved him. Bernie's assistant Mottie was an excellent butcher in his own right, but he didn't have the gift of gab like Bernie ("So Mrs. Schwartzbaum, how is that son of yours, Yankel? Is he still in dental school?"), and the customers sorely missed Bernie when he was out recuperating. But Mottie knew not to bother his boss when he was desperately ill, which occurred at least a few times a year.

On the third day of Bernie Baumgarten's upper respiratory infection, he had a premonition that the end was near. His eyes were all teary, and he had used up three entire boxes of Kleenex with no abatement of his symptoms. Bernice was certain that Bernie was already much better, but she knew better than to argue with him.

"Bernice, come here."

"What is it, honey? Do you need more tea with honey?"

"No, I'm too far gone to worry about earthly concerns like tea."

"Did you lose the remote again?"

"How can you talk about television at a time like this? Can't you see my time is almost up? Besides, the remote is right there on the nightstand. No, Bernice, I need you to call the boys and ask them to come home. I want to bless them one last time before the big one hits."

"The big what?"

"You know, before I pass on to the big butcher store in the sky."

"Again?"

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, nothing," Bernice said with a sigh.

"Call the boys home. It's the least they can do for their old man."

"O.K., but they're not going to like it."

And so Bernice called her sons on their cell phones and told them to return to their ancestral home in Hoboken to meet with their father one last time.

Bobby was the first to respond. He was on the trading floor of the stock exchange when his mother called. He knew his father was an outrageous hypochondriac, but he said he could be in Hoboken by six that evening. Truth be told, he could use a home cooked meal.

Baruch answered his phone next. He was in his yeshiva learning with his chevruta, and he told his mother he could also be home for dinner that evening. Honoring one's mother and father was a huge mitzvah-- even if one's father was a nudnick-- and he would never pass up such a golden opportunity to fulfill a commandment.

It took Benjy a few hours to return his mother's call. He had been in the university library studying for a final exam in Near Eastern Medieval Ontology -- or something like that-- and hadn't noticed his phone vibrating in his knapsack. He also agreed to return to Hoboken for dinner. He had a duffel bag crammed with dirty laundry back in his dorm room, and his mother was his only source for clean, fresh smelling clothes.

Everyone had arrived by six, and the meal began promptly at six-thirty. Bernie left his sick bed to preside over the festivities. It wasn't every day that all his boys were home. Besides,his sons couldn't carve a brisket if their lives depended on it.. They were bright as can be-- each a scholar in his own right-- but they all had two left hands.

When the meal was over, Bernie returned to his bed. He pulled the covers up tight around his neck and settled in for the final blessings. He felt weak, like his life force was slipping away. Also he experienced a bit of heartburn. Perhaps he shouldn't have eaten that third piece of brisket, he thought to himself. Or maybe only one helping of the apple pie. Boy, that sure had been good.

"Send them in one at a time," Bernie told Bernice, "in birth order. And be quick. There may not be much time. Oh, and could you get me a Tums? I'm on fire down here."

"Yes, dear."

The first to come into the bedroom was Bobby.

"Hi, Pops," Bobby said.

"Robert, come closer that I might see your face. For my vision has dulled, and you are so far away."

"How about if I get you your glasses?"

"Oh, that might work, too."

Bobby retrieved his father's glasses and sat at the edge of the bed.

"Robert, you are the loin cut of the family. You lean more toward a sirloin than a tenderloin. You should never go past medium rare, and you will go far in life."

"Thanks, Dad, now everything is perfectly clear," Bobby said, and he stood to leave the room.

"I believe what your father means is that like a loin cut of beef, you are very valuable and very tender," Bernice interpreted for her son. "The sirloin may not be as tender as the tenderloin cut, but it is much more flavorful. And it requires very little preparation, rarely cooked past medium rare. So what your father is trying to say is, you are always ready for any adventure on a moment's notice, and you should never sell yourself short, for you are very precious."

"Is that what you were trying to say, Dad?"

"Exactly."

Bobby returned to his father's bedside and embraced him.

"Thanks, Dad. Youy really do understand me." And with that note of encouragement, Bobby took his leave of his parents.

Next was Baruch Baumgarten. He dutifully sat by his father's side and clutched his hand.

"Baruch, my son, you are the chuck roast of the family. Though you may be a bit tough and fatty, and you may have your fair share of bone and gristle, you are best when cooked slowly over a liquid."

"Oh, gee Dad, thanks so much," Baruch said, a bit stunned, as he rose to leave.

"I believe what your father is trying to say is that like a chuck roast, you have the ability to sit and simmer on a subject for a long time, like a good talmud chacham should," Bernice suggested. "And when you put your mind to something, you will come up with a creative and delicious solution to any problem. Is that right, Bernie?"

"Exactly."

"Well, when you put it that way, it makes a lot of sense. Thanks, Dad," Baruch said, as he warmly shook his father's hand. He returned to his Yeshiva with a new sense of pride in his abilities.

Finally, Benjy sat on his father's bed. "What's up, old man? Bless me, before I have to go back to school. The last bus is in half-an-hour."

"Benjamin, you are the round cut of my offspring. From the rear end of the cow have you sprung, and from the rear end shall you be served. You are best cooked with moist heat, and you may be roasted but never overcooked."

"Did you just call me the cow's rear end?" Benjy asked, rather puzzled by his blessing.

"Correct me if I'm wrong," Bernice said, "but I think your father is suggesting that like the round section of the meat, which comes from the nether portions of the cow, though you may be tougher and leaner than other cuts, you are well exercised and seasoned with experience. Your brothers will always turn to you for advice and value your judgement. And you bring new life to any conversation, like moist heat, or an open flame."

"Is that what you meant, Dad?"

"Exactly."

"Well thanks. I never really thought of myself that way before. You truly have insight, old man. Thanks for the blessing." And then Benjy raced off with his clean laundry to catch the last bus back to school.

"You are a brilliant interpreter," Bernie said to Bernice.

"I've been married to a butcher for forty-two years. It's not so hard at this point."

"You know, I think I'm feeling better," Bernie said. Maybe I'll go back to work tomorrow."

"That truly is a blessing for all of us," Bernice said. "And I'm not pulling your flank cut when I say that."

"Oh, Bernice, you always know just what to say."