The Maggid of Bergenfield

Miketz: Tricking the Folks

Bereishit: 42: 38

Their system was foolproof. Whenever their parents were out on the town, Michael, Nate, and Donny would sit in their parents' bedroom and watch television, long after they were supposed to be asleep. The room allowed a perfect view of the driveway, and as long as one of them stood watch near the window, the boys would always have time to make it back to their beds and feign sleep before the folks would get inside the front door. There was no way they could get caught, and now that Donny was old enough to be the babysitter, there was no one to rat them out.

This particular night the folks had gone to see a movie with friends. They said they would be back by nine, but then their father called to say they were going to go for dessert and coffee.

"We should be back by ten, ten-thirty the latest," he said. In the background, Donny could hear his mother laughing. "Please make sure everyone goes to bed on time, Donny," his father said. "It's a school night."

"Don't worry, Dad. I have everything under control," Donny said.

"Thanks, Donny. I knew I could count on you."

As soon as he hung up the phone, Donny nodded to Nate, and Nate raised the volume back up on the television. They were watching some great cartoon on Nickelodeon that they had always wanted to see, but was always on way too late. Donny felt a little bad about fibbing to his dad, but five minutes into the show, he forgot about his guilt completely.

It was already past ten when the boys flipped to the Disney Channel to watch another show. Michael was on window patrol, guarding the driveway, and he must have gotten too engrossed in the program they were watching to notice the car pull up. The next thing the boys knew they heard the key in the front door.

They dashed for their beds, tiptoeing as quickly as they could across the hallway to their rooms. Donny tried to straighten out the covers on his parents' bed before he fled, so that it wouldn't look like there had been three boys under them moments earlier, and Nate tried to make sure they left no telltale signs, like cookie crumbs or discarded clothing, that would give them away. But mostly, Donny, Nate, and Michael ran for their lives, as silently as they could.

Their mother and father were whispering to eachother and laughing when they came inside. Every once in a while their mom would shush their dad, saying "Keep it down. You'll wake up the boys." And their father would try to supress his mirth. They came upstairs for the ritual "checking on the kids."

Their mother kissed each of the boys on the forehead. First she visited Nate and Michael in the room they shared. Then she peeked in on Donny in his room. Donny did his best to appear asleep. He tried to breathe slowly and deeply, even though his heart was pounding in his chest. His mother kissed him on the forehead and headed toward her room.

"Such little angels," their mother said, as she passed their father in the hallway.

"Yeah, angels," he agreed.

The perfect crime.

Donny's father walked into the room and sat on the edge of Donny's bed.

"Donny, are you awake?"

"Huh? What? Oh, hi Dad."

"Hi."

"How was the movie?"

"It was good. I think I liked it more than your Mom did."

"That's nice. Goodnight, Dad." Donny put his head back on his pillow and closed his eyes.

"So what time did you guys go to sleep?"

"Nate and Mikey went in at nine, and I went to sleep about nine-thirty."

"Good, good."

Long silence.

"Say, Donny, are you familiar with this week's parsha?"

Donny sat up in his bed.

"Miketz?"

"Yeah, Miketz."

"I think so," Donny said, rubbing his eyes.

"Well, there's this scene when the brother's come back to Yakov without Shimon, who's in jail back in Egypt. They tell Yakov that the only way they can get more food and get Shimon back is if they go back to Egypt with Binyamin. Do you remember that scene?"

"Sure, Dad."

"Well, when Yakov tells them they can't have Binyamin for the trip, he says, 'Lo yered beni imachem, ki achiv meit, vehu levado nishar, ukra-ahu ason baderech,vehoradetem et seivati biyagon she-olah. My son shall not go down with you, for his brother is dead and he alone is left. Should disaster befall him on the journey which you shall take, then you will have brought me down in sorrow to the grave.' Do you know that pasuk?"

"Yes."

I really love that pasuk. Because to me, that's when Yakov kind of tells his sons that he's not as foolish as they think he is. When he says, 'ukra-ahu ason baderech, should something bad happen to Binyamin on the way,' Yakov is kind of telling them that he knows what really happened to Yosef. He wasn't really eaten by wild animals. They did something bad to the brother that they detested, and Yakov knows it. Know what I mean?"

"Sure, Dad."

"I mean, I know that may not be how most commentators read that pasuk, but I always thought that here Yakov is saying for all time that parents aren't really as blind as their kids think they are, Know what I mean?"

Donny swallowed hard. "I get it, Dad."

Donny's father leaned over and kissed Donny on the forehead. "Goodnight, son.

"Goodnight, Dad."

"Love you."

"You too."

Busted.

Chanukah: Sliding into Third

The following is an alternative version of the last story, The Scotch Tape Miracle. Which one do you prefer?

The day in the stores had been a battle. She couldn't find the right slippers for Rebecca. The board game Michael wanted was sold out in three toy stores before she found it in the fourth. The baseball cap Yonie wanted was only available in a medium. But in the end, she found everything she wanted. Yehudit emerged victorious in the Chanukah present marathon.

She searched for her car for twenty minutes in the mall parking lot. Hadn't she left it at Area E12? E13? No, it was at F12. By the time she climbed into her minivan she was ready to kill. Yehudit had two hours before everyone arrived at her house, and she hadn't even peeled the potatoes for the latkes yet.

It had become a family tradition. The first night of Chanukah was spent at Grandma Shoshi and Grandpa Dovid's house. The second night was a seudah at Aunt Jenny and Uncle Reuven's. The third night of Chanukah was at her and Dan's, with the whole mishpocha making an appearance. And it was a big deal. A very big deal.

Yehudit accelerated quickly when she reached the highway, and her car lurched into the right lane between an S.U.V. and a pickup truck. She should have waited for more of an opening to merge, but she had so much she still had to get done. The driver of the pickup truck honked, and Yehudit did her best to maintain her composure. "Yes, yes," she muttered under her breath. "I know."

The minivan's sound system was playing some Uncle Moishe CD that the kids had been listening to. She leaned over to pop it out and put in Simon and Garfunkel's Greatest Hits. Maybe The 59th Street Bridge Song or The Boxer. That would be nice and relaxing after an afternoon of shopping purgatory.

Her eyes were on the car radio for a few seconds, but when she looked up, the car ahead of her was at a dead stop about fifty feet ahead.Yehudit slammed on her brakes and the minivan screeched to a halt, missing the S.U.V. in front of her by inches. Then she had to listen to the pickup behind her also slam on the brakes. There was no dreaded thud noise. They were all O.K. Yehudit drove home a bit shaken, but thank G-d there had been no collision. And she had to shake it off. She had company coming.

The kids were all busy with friends when she got home, so Yehudit had an entire hour to prepare. She felt a little wound up from the near accident, but she pushed herself to keep going. She had been using the same latke recipe for so many years that they practically made themselves. The oil sizzled as she threw on the potato, egg, matzoh meal, and onion mixture onto the frying pans. She ran two pans at the same time for maximum efficiency. She had made the Chanukah cookies with the kids the day before-- sugar cookies in the shapes of dreidels, chanukiot, Torahs, and Macabees (the Torah cookie cutter was good for almost every holiday), so that was one less thing to worry about.

An hour later, Yehudit and Dan's house was filled with people. The latke smell was everywhere, and there were enough cookies and sufganiot to feed a small army. Dan lit the shamash of the first chanukiah and handed it to Yehudit to light, as was the family custom. Yehudit looked at her family, her children, her husband, and her parents, and her eyes teared up.

"Is everything O.K., honey?" Dan asked.

"Sure, everything's great," Yehudit said. "I was just thinking about the miracles surrounding Chanukah. There's the military victory over the mighty Greeks, and the oil lasting for eight days. But I think that sometimes the real miracles are just the things you take for granted, like your health and your family. I think that for me, the big neis this third night of chanukah is that we're all here to light together. Know what I mean?"

Everyone smiled.

Yehudit said the blessings over the three candles and lit them in succession. She especially focused on the second bracha, she-asa nisim la'avoteinu bayamim hahaem bazman hazeh, He who performs miracles for our forefathers, in olden days and today.

She couldn't have put it better herself.

 

Chanukah: The Scotch Tape Miracle

The day in the stores had been a battle. She couldn't find the right slippers for Rebecca. The board game Michael wanted was sold out in three toy stores before she found it in the fourth. The baseball cap Yonie wanted was only available in a medium. But in the end, she found everything she wanted. Yehudit emerged victorious in the Chanukah present marathon.

She searched for her car for twenty minutes in the mall parking lot. Hadn't she left it at Area E12? E13? No, it was at F12. By the time she climbed into her minivan she was ready to kill. Yehudit had two hours before everyone arrived at her house, and she hadn't even peeled the potatoes for the latkes yet.

The kids were all busy with friends when she got home, so Yehudit had an entire hour to prepare. She had been using the same latke recipe for so many years that they practically made themselves. The oil sizzled as she threw on the potato, egg, matzoh meal, and onion mixture onto the frying pans. She ran two pans at the same time for maximum efficiency. She had made the Chanukah cookies with the kids the day before-- sugar cookies in the shapes of dreidels, chanukiot, Torahs, and Macabees (the Torah cookie cutter was good for almost every holiday), so that was one less thing to worry about.

If Yehudit timed it just right, she would have enough time for a shower after she wrapped the presents and before the guests arrived for candle lighting. She really didn't want to go into the first night of Chanukah smelling like a giant latke.

As she went to wrap the gifts with the special Chanukah wrapping paper she had purchased (alternating blue and white dreidels and chanukiot on a shiney silver background), Yehudit realized she couldn't find the Scotch tape. It wasn't in the utility drawer, with all the magic markers, scissors , and store coupons. It wasn't with Rebecca's art supplies. It was not under the couch in the family room, where lost objects went to die.Where could the tape be? She turned the house upside down in frustration.

"Kids, does anyone know where the Scotch tape is?"

No answer.

"Rebecca, where's the Scotch tape?"

"Don't know, Mom," rose up from the basement.

"Yonie? The tape?"

"Haven't the slightest clue, Mom," emanated from the family room.

"Michael, where's the tape?"

"Try the garage, Mom," descended from somewhere upstairs.

"Hmmm, the garage. I hadn't thought of that. Good one, Michael," Yehudit called upstairs.

"Thanks, Mom."

The garage was a nether zone where Yehudit rarely ventured. No car had been parked there for many years.  Whereas the rest of the house was carefully organized-- as much as a house can be organized with three active children milling about-- the garage was the domain of Yehudit's husband, Dan, and Dan was not a model of organization.  It was a space filled with old bicycles, monkey wrenches, and discarded toys. The recycling bins and old garbage cans (lids not included) were in the far left corner. The folded-up succah and an old defunct lawn mower were on the right. It would be quite a challenge to find one roll of tape among the debris.

The obvious spot would have been among the old art supplies (dried up paint brushes, multi-colored pipe cleaners, half-used bottles of Elmers glue). No such luck. After ten minutes of searching, Yehudit found the Scotch tape sitting on top of a twelve pack of paper towel rolls. She breathed a sigh of relief.

But when Yehudit scooped up the tape, she was in for an unpleasant surprise. For although she was expecting a full roll, the dispenser had almost nothing left. It was hard to tell exactly, but to Yehudit it looked like there might be only one piece remaining. The guests would be arriving soon, and there was no time to go to the stationery store.

She tried to use the tape sparingly. A small piece here, a tiny sample there, but there was no way she could complete her wrapping with this paltry amount of adhesive. Still, Yehudit persevered. She finished Rebecca's slippers and moved on to Michael's game. She covered Yonie's hat and went on to Dan's back massager. All the while, Yehudit kept pulling small pieces of tape from the roll, and the roll kept on giving. She wrapped all the small knickknacks that she had purchased for the four grandparents in the festive Chanukah paper. The tape ran out at the end of the last present.

All eight presents, and one small roll of tape. It was nothing short of, well, a miracle. Yehudit chuckled to herself.

Was this really a miracle? Yehudit doubted that the Almighty would intervene in her adhesive tape crisis, but it would be nice to think that there was someone "up there" looking out for her, even in the small problems in her life. Perhaps this was what it meant in the bracha, the blessing, one makes on the Chanukah candles: sheh-asa nisim la-avoteinu, bayamim hahem, bazman hazeh; He who creates miracles for our fathers, in olden days, and today. Maybe the modern day miracles are the small things, or even the things we take for granted every day.

Yehudit put the presents back in the closet and rushed upstairs to take a shower before the grandparents arrived. Who knows, maybe the night would have more minor miracles in store. Maybe every latke would be perfect, and everyone would be happy with their presents, and everyone would sing the Chanukah songs together in unison, with no bickering. Stranger things have happened.

Vayeshev: Shearling Envy

Bereishit: 37: 3

Once in the town of Carlstadt there lived a family with three daughters, Miri, Maya, and Moriah. The three girls lived in peace and tranquility with their mother and father, most of the time.

Winter was coming in New Jersey, and as the three girls were each growing at a rapid pace, it became obvious that they would each need a new coat for the season. The mother and father decided that it would be an excellent idea to kill two birds with one stone and make the girls' new coats their Chanukah presents. It wasn't a glamorous gift, but it worked for them. Besides, they had lots of grandparents, aunts, and uncles who could get them scary electronic things, impractical jewlery items, and other frivolous girly accessories (It happened every year).

The first night of Chanukah came, and after lighting their chanukiot and singing Haneirot Halalu and Maoz Tsur, each girl was given a large box wrapped in special dreidel wrapping paper.

Miri opened her box to find a large parka in a shade of blue known as light seagrass. It was stuffed with 70% goose down and 30% feather. It had microfleece lined pockets and cuffs, and a zip off faux fur ruff on the hood. And it looked warm as can be (actually, it is rated to keep you warm up to 15 degrees below zero, fahrenheit).*

"Thanks, Mom and Dad. I love it," Miri said.

Maya opened her box to find a blossom pink squall Jacket. It had a synthetic Polartec zip-in/zip-out lining, an adjustable stowaway hood, waterproof zippers, and an MP3 player pocket with a headphone cord keeper loop. It also looked quite warm (and was guaranteed to minus ten degrees fahrenheit).

"Terrific," Maya said. "It's just what I needed. Thanks, folks."

Moriah opened her box and gasped. Inside was what appeared to be a dark forest green shearling car coat. It had a plush pile lining, two side pockets, and double stitched seams. It was what she had been asking for for years, but had never expected to receive. It was drop dead gorgeous (and would keep you warm up to ten degrees fahrenheit).

"Holy cow!" Moriah exclaimed. "It's so beautiful. I don't know what to say.Thank you so much."

Maya and Miri were speechless as well. For although they did like their coats, Moriah's present clearly eclipsed theirs. Moriah might have uttered "holy cow," but shearling was actually lambskin, and her coat was obviously much more expensive than the ones they had received.

The girls hugged their parents, and then the whole family sat down to eat their latkes.

But something wasn't right. There wasn't the usual banter around the table. And no one was smiling. The chanukah meal of latkes was usually a festive time at their house, but now the tension around the table was so thick you could cut it with an apple sauce covered knife.

And it's funny that I should mention apple sauce. Because the next thing you knew, apple sauce was flying everywhere at the family's dinner table. And sour cream too. It was a veritable chanukah food fight. It was unclear which sister had started it, but by the time the mother and father managed to restore order, all three girls were covered in a thin veneer of tasty slime. It was not a pretty scene.

"O.K., what gives?" the father asked, wiping some latke from his nose.

"How could you give her a shearling coat?" Miri asked. "It's not fair!"

"Yeah," Maya said. "I mean my coat is nice and everything, but Moriah's coat is so much nicer."

"Well, first of all, Moriah's coat isn't actually shearling."

"It's not?" Moriah said.

"No,it's faux shearling, some kind of synthetic stuff. All three of your coats cost almost exactly the same amount. Second of all, we bought you each the coat that we thought would suit your needs best. Miri, you like to ice skate, so we got you a nice thick parka to keep you warm on the ice skating rink."

"Thanks, Mom," Miri said sheepishly.

 "Maya, you like to snow board, so we got you a coat that would be best suited to the slopes."

"Thanks, Mom," Maya muttered.

"And Moriah, you don't like to leave the house, so we got you a coat that would look good hanging on the back of a chair, or, hopefully, in the closet."

"Gee, thanks Mom," Moriah said.

"And third of all, didn't you girls learn anything from this week's parsha? In Vayeshev, the brother's become jealous of Yosef and his fancy coat, the ketonet hapasim, and look what happens. They sell him into slavery. And do you know what that eventually leads to?"

"Dreams?" Maya guessed.

"Famine?" Moriah suggested.

"Jailtime?" Miri said.

"Well, yes. All of those, I suppose. But to me, their jealousy leads to all of Israel becoming slaves. Slaves to Egypt, and slaves to their petty feelings. Do you see my point?"

"Yes," they all mumbled as one.

"So what did you learn from this?" their father asked.

"Not to be jealous," Miri said.

"To be happy with what you've got," Maya added.

"Not to judge a coat until you've read the label," Moriah suggested.

"Two out of three ain't bad," the mother noted.

___________________________________________

*Special thanks to the Lands End Catalogue for their "cool" product descriptions.

Vayishlach: Brotherly Love

Bereishit:33:4

The room had mirrored walls. The ceiling was some sort of thick stucco that was popular in the nineteen-sixties. And the chandelier that hung in the center of the ballroom was a heavy crystal number that made you think of some old banquet hall from Brooklyn that you had visited in your youth, and it was old then.  There was even a disco ball hanging down, but that was probably only lit up on special occasions. The Holiday Inn in Edison would not have been the venue that Bernie and Sam would have chosen for their reunion, but that was where it was going to happen.

They had not spoken in over twenty years. What did they fight about? Bernie wished he could say he couldn't recall, but he could remember every detail. It was about money. Isn't it always? Some small picayune thing about Mom and Dad's estate. Was it Dad'S Lexus? No, it was probably about the furniture that was the last straw. Sam was always so worried that he wouldn't get what was coming to him. He would always say,"I just want my fair share." It was so annoying.

So they fought. Then they went their separate ways. And then the years passed. He kept tabs on Sam and his children and his grandchildren through his sister Brenda, but it would have been nice to have spoken occasionally. Just to pick up the phone, or even to send an email. But inertia is a tough thing to overcome.

The funny thing was, they only lived about thirty miles away from eachother. He had his house in Highland Park, and Sam was down the Turnpike in Lakewood. Bernie had remained modern orthodox, like his parents were, and Sam, now known as Shmuel to all his friends, had donned a black hat and had become charedi. Bernie certainly didn't see that coming. When they were kids, Sam seemed to have no interest in Judaism at all. But Sam had become involved with the local Chabad house, and before Bernie knew it, Sam had moved to Lakewood and started davening three times a day and learning daf yomi. 

Now Brenda's oldest daughter Malka was getting married, and they were both invited to attend the wedding reception. Bernie wasn't sure how he would handle seeing his brother. His sister had counseled him to be a mensch and to let bygones be bygones. But old resentments run deep.

The smorgasbord was a delight. There was the usual spread: Hawaiian chicken, stuffed cabbage, franks in blanks, and little eggrolls. But there was also a fabulous carving station with roast beef and turkey, and there was sushi. Apparently the accounting business was going well for Brenda's husband Marv. Although, who knows, maybe the groom's family paid for the reception.

Bernie kept scanning the room for his brother but couldn't find him anywhere. Brenda looked wonderful and the bride was the mirror image of what his sister had looked like at the same age. It was remarkable.

Suddenly, a tap on the shoulder. Bernie turned to face a middle aged man in a black suit. Gray hair, gray beard, payot tucked behind his ears. It took a few seconds for Bernie to realize that he was looking at an older version of the boy he had shared a room with for fifteen years.

"Bernie!"

"Sam."

"What, you don't recognize your own brother?"

"Your hair, it's all gray."

"At least I have my hair. You look like a cue ball."

Bernie smiled. And then they hugged. Sam had always been a little taller than him. Bernie had always hated that.

What happened next Bernie could not have predicted. He started to cry like a baby. The tears just poured down his cheeks. Sam laughed, and Brenda came over and said "Awwwwww." The photographer came over and snapped pictures. Bernie cried for a good five minutes.

"I hope those are tears of joy," Sam said.

"All those years. What a waste," Bernie said when he finally gained his composure.

"Well, even Eisav managed to get over his anger for Yakov eventually," Sam said." I think it took him a few more years than it took us."

"Just a few," Bernie said. "And didn't he try to bite Yakov's neck when they embraced?"

"That's just a midrash," Sam said. "And besides, who's to say I didn't try to bite yours?"

Bernie punched Sam in the shoulder.

"We have a lot of catching up to do," Bernie said.

"Can we do it over at the carving station? I'm dying for some roast beef."

"Some things never change," Bernie said with a sigh.

Vayetze: Rusty Spotted Cars

Bereishit: 30: 31-43

Once in the town of Totowa there lived a used car salesman named Marv Rabinowitz. Marv hadn't always planned to be a used car salesman (who does?). When he finished high school he had dreams of being a musician. He loved to play the piano, and he was marvelous on the saxophone. But he met a girl, and one thing led to another, and the next thing he knew he was married with a small child and needed to support his family.

His father-in-law Lenny Veiner was kind enough to set him up with a job at his car dealership, Merkava Motors. Lenny had a Chevrolet franchise on the north side of Union Boulevard and a used car lot on the south side. Marv started as a mechanic at the used car lot, refurbishing the cars that were brought in so that they could be resold. Over the years he worked his way up to sales, and by the time he was with the Merkava Motors operation for seven years, he had become the floor manager and chief salesman of the used car emporium (there were only two salespeople, him and Richy Rosenblatt, who had been at the job for thirty years and had worn the same powerful cologne every day of those three decades).

Marv did not plan to spend the rest of his days cooped up in the small sales office with the ever aromatic Richy  Rosenblatt, on the south side of the street.  He had plans. But whenever he asked his father in law if he could move across Union Boulevard to the north side to sell the shiney new Chevrolets, he was rebuffed.

"Be patient, Marvin," Lenny would say, "these things take time."

But Marv strongly suspected that his time would never come. And as he watched younger, less qualified salepeople climbing the Merkava corporate ladder, he knew things had to change.

One day he went to his father-in-law and tendered his resignation.

Lenny was flabbergasted. "Marv, I'm flabbergasted,," Lenny said, chomping on his cigar. "You're one of my most valued employees, but more importantly, you're mishpocha! What can I do to make you happy?"

"I would like to manage the floor of the Chevy showroom," Marv said.

"That's out of the question," Lenny said. "Manny Leibowitz has been the manager there for twenty years, and he's always said that the only way he's leaving is in a pine box in the back bed of a Chevy Silverado 2500-- you know, the one with the fancy midgate. Is there anything else that would make you happy?"

Marv thought for a moment. "I'll stay on part time at the Merkava used car lot, but I want to start up a place of my own. I'll tell you what, Dad. You give me all the worst cars on the used lot. You know, the ones that have been sitting around for years, or the models you're thinking of selling for scrap. I'll buy them for their wholesale book value and see if I can sell them on my own."

"Marv, bubbie, that's suicide," Lenny protested. "It'll never work." But Lenny was already calculating how much money he could make if he unloaded all his worst Chevy cars on Marv.

"Still, I'd like to try," Marv said.

Lenny pretended to consider the offer for a few minutes, much like car salesmen do when they claim they're going back to their manager's office to consider the buyer's second counteroffer after they have hondeled for a while, but Marv knew he had a deal. Lenny shook Marv's hand and the negotiation was done.

There has never been a sadder group of old Chevrolet cars than those that arrived at Marv's new lot on Main Street in Little Falls, three miles south of Merkava Motors in Totowa. There were Impalas from the eighties, Caprice Classics from the nineties. There were Novas, Vegas, Astro Vans, Chevettes, Citations, Blazers. Most were rusted or dented. Few were in any condition to be sold. Marv just smiled.

All his years reconditioning cars finally paid off for Marv. He did everything possible to get the cars in the lot back to smooth running condition. When he was finally satisfied with his results, he put up the sign for his new business.

LEMON MOTORS

It was a huge sign, fifty feet off the ground, and it was in the shape of a giant lemon.

All of Little Falls came to look at the giant sign. And everyone who was looking for a really good deal on  a really cheap car came to see Marv. For despite being a used car salesman for many years, he was an honest man, and people can tell these things. They bought cars for their children who needed value oriented transportation to drive around town. They bought former wrecks as commuter cars. They bought junkers that they considered vintage. Marv made a killing.

Not only did Marv do well with the cars he sold, but people started bringing him their old clunkers for him to purchase. Soon his lot was full of glorious old rust speckled, fender bent cars. Even Fords and Chryslers began appearing in his lot, and an occasional Toyota and Honda made an appearance.

So just as Yakov avinu made a killing on speckled and spotted sheep and goats, Marv profited from the automotive rejects of American society. For an honest man can make a living whatever he does.

And as for Lenny Veiner and Merkava Motors, they learned to manage without Marv. After all, if you own a rock solid business like a General Motors dealership, what can possibly go wrong?

Vayetze: Leaving Town

Bereishit: 28: 10-16

Rolling out of town on the Amtrack Metroliner. Sitting in a seat facing backwards is making her nauseous, but it was the only seat left. She'll adjust. New Jersey is rolling by outside her window, in reverse. Goodbye oil tanks. Goodbye swamplands.

She and her parents had dropped off all her suitcases at Georgetown University last week. She had to come back to Tenafly for a surprise party for her best friend, who was going to Rutgers, with most of her other friends. But now she was back on track, so to speak. The train would get her back to Washington in time for her freshman college orientation.

Sitting across from a businessman with a loosened tie, busy on his laptop, and a society lady in a long leather coat. A little early in the season for leather. And the faux fur collar is definitely a fashion-don't.

She didn't know anyone at Georgetown-- just a second cousin once removed who was in her junior year. It seemed like a good choice for college, but as the train rolled south, she really wasn't too sure of anything.

She felt alone.

A petty fight she'd had with her father on the way to the train station didn't help matters much. Something about not treating her sister nicely. She would probably forget the whole thing by the time the train reached Maryland, but right now it weighed on her mind.

As the Metroliner pulled into Trenton, she rolled her coat up into a ball and stuffed it under her head. She dozed off for a second. A light, dreamless sleep.

Her cell phone began playing the Beatles Let It Be, her father's ringtone.

"Hi, Dad."

"Hi Kitten. I just called to wish you a good trip."

"Thanks, Daddy."

"And to bless you with a good first semester at school."

"Right back 'atcha, Daddyo."

"And to give you a d'var Torah."

"Wow, that's new."

"I know. I'm very unpredictable."

"Tell me about it."

"I think that your going to college alone on the train to Washington kind of reminds me of Yakov going down to Lavan's house, in Charan."

"But Dad, Yakov was fleeing from his brother who vowed to kill him. I'm just leaving for school."

"I know, I know. Your sister at present has no plans to do you in. But the day is still young."

"Ha, ha."

"I just mean that Yakov left Yitzchak and Rivka's house all alone on a distant journey, and he may have been feeling a bit discouraged."

"I'm not discouraged."

"Just bare with me."

"Fine."

"Then Yakov lays his head down on a rock at Beit El and takes a nap. He has a dream about the angels on the ladder, and then G-d comes along and tells him everything is going to be O.K. and that he'll be a great nation."

"O.K."

"So that's what I'm calling to tell you. Don't worry about a thing. You're going to do great in college. You may even be a great nation, someday."

"So Yakov gets G-d, and I get you?"

"Yup. You might say I'm your guardian angel."

"I guess you take what you can get."

"Exactly."

"I love you, Dad."

"Right back 'atcha, Kiddo."