The Purple Bat Mitzvah

 A true story-- for Abby

 

Mark Shapiro did not own a purple shirt and if it had been up to him, he never would. He was more of a blue and white kind of guy. Button down oxford shirts with equally conservative ties.He had fifteen varieties of blue and white shirts: solids in sky blue and french blue, blue checks on a white shirt, white stripes on a blue shirt-- you get the idea.

So when his daughter Aviva announced that the color scheme of her Bat Mitzvah was going to be purple, she knew her father was going to be a problem. Of course her Mom and her sister were more than happy to shop for purple dresses. Her younger brother Jordan was no issue; he was four and would put on whatever he was told. Even her older brother Jeremy had agreed to wear a purple shirt, much to Aviva's surprise. But her Dad would not budge.

"I'll wear a purple tie, but that's as far as I'll go." Mark stated emphatically.

His wife Sheryl eyed him with amusement. "Whatever you say, Honey."

So now it was the Sunday morning of the Bat Mitzvah, and Mark had on his purple tie. And his purple shirt. It had been on sale in the Land's End catalogue, after all, and Aviva really did want him to wear it. What could he say? He was a sucker for a pouting twelve-year-old.

It was to be a brunch. Just a few close friends and family members, with a gaggle of Aviva's buddies from school, soccer, baseball, camp, and the neighborhood. It was supposed to be a small affair, but in the end it was a big shindig. With a caterer. And a band. And a photographer. And balloons. In purple.

With only one hour to go until the Bat Mitzvah, everyone was rushing to get to the hall for the simcha. Sheryl and Aviva had already left in the Maxima--to get there early and make sure everything was just so--and Mark had to gather up the rest of the family and get them there in the Odyssey minivan in time for the photographer to take pictures before the guests arrived.

Everyone was in the van, except for Jordan, who had to use the bathroom one last time. Mark was sure everything was going to go as planned, when the car pulled up.

Usually meshulachim come to ask for tzedaka at night. Mark always assumed that was when families were most likely to be at home, so they came when they had the highest likelihood of success. But this gentleman was now at their house at 9 am on a Sunday. He climbed from the passenger seat of the dark colored sedan with New York plates and proceeded to walk toward the front door.

He was a thin gentleman, around sixty, with close cropped white hair. He wore a dark gray suit with a white shirt buttoned to the collar and no tie. He stood razor straight and seemed to have a certain dignity. He spoke no English, only a Russian accented Hebrew that Mark found a bit hard to comprehend.

Mark and Sheryl tried to give every meshulach something when he or she came to the door.  It taught the kids the proper lesson about giving. But so many came, and Mark was never sure what lesson he was teaching when he quickly dismissed each supplicant with a small amount.

Today was different, though. Mark was starting to run late, and everyone was waiting for him. Mark cut the meshulach off mid-sentence, while they were still shaking hands.

"Listen, I'm sorry, but this really isn't a good time. I'm on my way to my daughter's Bat Mitzvah, and I, I just can't do this right now. I'm sorry. So sorry." He really wasn't sure if the man understood him, but he was certain he got the message.

Mark grabbed Jordan, who had just come out the front door, and gently prodded him toward the minivan.

"Jeremy, strap in your brother, please." He could feel sweat beginning to bead on his forehead as he went to lock the front door of the house.

Visions of stories from his childhood began to gather in his head. It was a test. The meshulach was the Ba'al Shem Tov in disguise, dressed in rags  (though the man wore a perfectly reasonable suit). He was Eliyahu Hanavi. Would he turn down a man asking for tzedaka as he left for his family's simcha? Could he deny this man so little while he was spending so much?

Everyone was in the car, waiting to leave. Mark reached into his pocket and peeled off a twenty dollar bill from the stack he had taken out of the ATM the night before in order to pay the photographer(he wanted to be paid in cash). He walked over to the dark sedan and handed the man the twenty through the passenger window. They said nothing to each other as the banknote passed. Just two polite smiles and a nod.

Mark returned to the minivan and climbed into the driver's seat. Would he remember to tell Sheryl this story? He doubted it. As he backed into the street from his driveway, his mind was already elsewhere. Did he bring his speech? Were the party favors at the hall? Were all the place cards in place? He was dying for a cup of coffee.

He smoothed the front of his purple shirt and put the minivan in gear.

Everything was going as planned.

 

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