A tidbit from my weekly shopping expedition.
I was in the pet shop, getting tchatchkis for Ms. Furry Furball. As I was waiting for the cashier to ring up my purchases, there was a boy playing with a dog toy. The toy emitted an obscene and annoying sound, as the boy squeezed the toy at least a dozen times.
Since the sound was so bizarre, I kept laughing. And while the cashier rang up my purchases, he rolled his eyes. I said "That sound could get annoying" and laughed again.
After he finished up with me, a woman came into line behind me. Inexplicably, the cashier walked away with my receipt. So I stood there waiting for him to return. It was during this minute or so that the woman spoke to me:
"You laugh a lot".
I realised that she was offended and I tried to figure out why. Then it occurred to me that perhaps the boy was her son, and she didn't like that I had been laughing. So I said "The toy makes a funny sound" and laughed a bit again. She hadn't taken the bait.
"It's funny to you?"
At which point I had the seichel to just ignore her.
What I found interesting about the entire exchange is that she was so offended. How could she interpret my laughing as an affront to her son? It seemed bizarre. But even more to the point, it was obvious that she is so miserable that she deemed me a nutcase because I could laugh at something so simple as a dog toy.
It occurred to me then that people in New York don't laugh. In my hometown, people laugh a lot. I suppose it's part of our mentality; you laugh off all the absurdities that come at you in life versus getting all tied up in a knot. Evidently Ms. Pet Shop hadn't learned that skill yet. And how sad for her.
Showing posts with label Chesed. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Chesed. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Monday, October 19, 2009
Missed Photo Ops
Friday afternoon, I look out the window onto the backyard and witness a glorious sight. There, curled up all warm and snug on the foam square closest to the playgroup's door, was Big Tabby Cat. It was almost as if he was challenging them, like "What're you going to do NOW?". I was busy cleaning for Shabbos though, and neglected to secure a photo.
Then Shabbos morning I peered out the window to gauge how bad the rain was falling. I began convulsing with laughter. Big Tabby Cat had somehow climbed up onto the roof of the neighbour's garage, which is abuts my landlord's backyard. He sat there all serene, looking out calmly over his kingdom as the rain and wind whipped about.
After his big show over the weekend, when I met him by the garbage bins earlier this evening, I had to stop and see what his reaction would be. How feral is he, I wondered? Would he skitter off like the former backyard cats or was he more used to humans than that?
He was awfully well-behaved, that's for sure. I suppose he felt it below his dignity to do as his predecessors had and rip open the garbage bags to procure food. Instead, he just looked at me, with a sad look. It broke my heart. So after dropping off my groceries, I came down a few minutes later and put out a bowl of milk for him by the corner wall, away from the garbage.
So I guess I'm now officially the Cat Lady for my building. Oh, and since once you feed a cat you're allowed to name him, Big Tabby Cat now has a name: King. :) I'm looking forward to some stellar pics sometime soon.
Then Shabbos morning I peered out the window to gauge how bad the rain was falling. I began convulsing with laughter. Big Tabby Cat had somehow climbed up onto the roof of the neighbour's garage, which is abuts my landlord's backyard. He sat there all serene, looking out calmly over his kingdom as the rain and wind whipped about.
After his big show over the weekend, when I met him by the garbage bins earlier this evening, I had to stop and see what his reaction would be. How feral is he, I wondered? Would he skitter off like the former backyard cats or was he more used to humans than that?
He was awfully well-behaved, that's for sure. I suppose he felt it below his dignity to do as his predecessors had and rip open the garbage bags to procure food. Instead, he just looked at me, with a sad look. It broke my heart. So after dropping off my groceries, I came down a few minutes later and put out a bowl of milk for him by the corner wall, away from the garbage.
So I guess I'm now officially the Cat Lady for my building. Oh, and since once you feed a cat you're allowed to name him, Big Tabby Cat now has a name: King. :) I'm looking forward to some stellar pics sometime soon.
Monday, October 12, 2009
The Beat Goes On...
Over Yom Tov, while I was kept up way late by Downstairs Boy (i.e., 1:30 AM and 3 AM, respectively), Front Neighbour and her crew seemed to have vacated the premises for the last days. Phew.
Then, as I was walking down the block Shabbos, I saw Block Yenta. She informed me that our landlord had told FN that either she shapes up or ships out. BY seemed to be of the impression that the current vacancy was permanent. However, as I tend to suspend belief where gossip is concerned, I didn't really give the situation too much thought. Sure, the thought of being spared at least one set of crazy, loud neighbours (who smoke excessively to boot) was pleasant. I just didn't believe that my mazel was on the upswing. :)
Sure enough, tonight around 9:30 post-chag, I hear the oh-so familiar sound of the front door opening, followed by thundering footsteps up the stairs and the next apartment door opening then slamming shut. From the voice that I overheard, I could tell that it was Front Door Israeli Guy, aka He Who Told Me To Keep The Front Door Open last Shabbos. Within seconds, they turned on their water full blast- an event announced by a screeching noise that reaches my ears from the very farthest point in the house. As for what the immediate running water was for, that's any one's guess and none of my business. :) What was my business, however, was my hand washing that was waiting for me in the tub. After the allotted hour soaking time was up, I went to rinse out my things.
That hour happened to elapse about 10 minutes after the said screeching noise commenced.
Now, perhaps I need to pause here and mention that in Canada, we're taught to conserve water. Specifically, we're taught to turn off the water at intervals. For example, when soaping up your dishes, don't leave the water running; turn off the water and then turn it back on when ready to rinse. I practise this conservationist etiquette pretty much exclusively. So I went to rinse out my hand washing, and did my usual routine of running the cold water for 10 seconds, turning it off for a minute or so, then turning the water back on.
It's also worth mentioning that one of the nice features of my building (perhaps the only one at this point, lol), is that when you run the water in your unit, it does not affect the water pressure or temperature in other units. Indeed, I have often been in the shower when FN et al turns on the water full-blast, and I have B'H' suffered no ill effects.
Imagine my horror when FDIG starts banging on my bathroom wall so hard that my shower head (which is an old-school pipe running into the wall) starts to shake. He repeats the pounding, even after I have turned off the water and am simply swishing around my stuff in the basin. I resisted the urge to turn the hot water on full-blast though. It would've served him right.
In short, I was appalled by his behaviour, and given that such is the normal state of things, am planning to have a conversation with my landlord once he is back next week. After all, if this dude isn't a paying tenant... Hopefully the said conversation will remind him that as a guest in the building, some common courtesy is in order. And if he can't manage to be civil (as demonstrated by his behaviour to date), then perhaps he should simply not be allowed on the premises.
At least, here's hoping so! Until I move, natch.
Then, as I was walking down the block Shabbos, I saw Block Yenta. She informed me that our landlord had told FN that either she shapes up or ships out. BY seemed to be of the impression that the current vacancy was permanent. However, as I tend to suspend belief where gossip is concerned, I didn't really give the situation too much thought. Sure, the thought of being spared at least one set of crazy, loud neighbours (who smoke excessively to boot) was pleasant. I just didn't believe that my mazel was on the upswing. :)
Sure enough, tonight around 9:30 post-chag, I hear the oh-so familiar sound of the front door opening, followed by thundering footsteps up the stairs and the next apartment door opening then slamming shut. From the voice that I overheard, I could tell that it was Front Door Israeli Guy, aka He Who Told Me To Keep The Front Door Open last Shabbos. Within seconds, they turned on their water full blast- an event announced by a screeching noise that reaches my ears from the very farthest point in the house. As for what the immediate running water was for, that's any one's guess and none of my business. :) What was my business, however, was my hand washing that was waiting for me in the tub. After the allotted hour soaking time was up, I went to rinse out my things.
That hour happened to elapse about 10 minutes after the said screeching noise commenced.
Now, perhaps I need to pause here and mention that in Canada, we're taught to conserve water. Specifically, we're taught to turn off the water at intervals. For example, when soaping up your dishes, don't leave the water running; turn off the water and then turn it back on when ready to rinse. I practise this conservationist etiquette pretty much exclusively. So I went to rinse out my hand washing, and did my usual routine of running the cold water for 10 seconds, turning it off for a minute or so, then turning the water back on.
It's also worth mentioning that one of the nice features of my building (perhaps the only one at this point, lol), is that when you run the water in your unit, it does not affect the water pressure or temperature in other units. Indeed, I have often been in the shower when FN et al turns on the water full-blast, and I have B'H' suffered no ill effects.
Imagine my horror when FDIG starts banging on my bathroom wall so hard that my shower head (which is an old-school pipe running into the wall) starts to shake. He repeats the pounding, even after I have turned off the water and am simply swishing around my stuff in the basin. I resisted the urge to turn the hot water on full-blast though. It would've served him right.
In short, I was appalled by his behaviour, and given that such is the normal state of things, am planning to have a conversation with my landlord once he is back next week. After all, if this dude isn't a paying tenant... Hopefully the said conversation will remind him that as a guest in the building, some common courtesy is in order. And if he can't manage to be civil (as demonstrated by his behaviour to date), then perhaps he should simply not be allowed on the premises.
At least, here's hoping so! Until I move, natch.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Breslov Love
Earlier this week, I found myself on Avenue J. As I was returning home, I saw a Breslover Chassid carrying his books, and tried to get his attention so that I could give him tzeddakah. But wouldn't you know it? I guess wearing colour AND a jean skirt screamed "untznius" to him, because he literally turned the opposite way and walked away from me. Strangely I wasn't offended, only disappointed that I had been unable to give him the tzeddakah.
But then this afternoon, after waiting for the non-stop honking to cease for a few minutes, I ran across the street to do some shopping. I was most thankful to find that the shop was half-empty. (Don't worry though: the honking resumed shortly thereafter, as did the mob scene in the shop.). That's when I was approached by a Breslover Chassid.
I enthusiastically reached for a dollar to give him and after waving away one of the many pamphlets I already own, asked if he had a calendar. He then proceeded to give me at least 6 pamphlets that I hadn't read yet, as well as a book that supposedly you keep in the house as a segulah (Does anyone know about that latter one? I've never heard of it before.). True to form, all the pamphlets he chose are eerily pertinent to my life right now. That he gave me one for my basheret I expected (my hair is uncovered after all), but the rest? Spooky stuff, as usual.
Anyhow, I gave him an extra dollar to make up for the other Breslover earlier in the week and because he was just so pleasant and friendly at a moment when I really needed it. Why can't all my interactions with yiddin in Brooklyn be so pleasant? :p As the saying goes, it starts with you, so maybe if I read my pamphlets enough, those interactions can start improving. Hey, they call it emunah people!
But then this afternoon, after waiting for the non-stop honking to cease for a few minutes, I ran across the street to do some shopping. I was most thankful to find that the shop was half-empty. (Don't worry though: the honking resumed shortly thereafter, as did the mob scene in the shop.). That's when I was approached by a Breslover Chassid.
I enthusiastically reached for a dollar to give him and after waving away one of the many pamphlets I already own, asked if he had a calendar. He then proceeded to give me at least 6 pamphlets that I hadn't read yet, as well as a book that supposedly you keep in the house as a segulah (Does anyone know about that latter one? I've never heard of it before.). True to form, all the pamphlets he chose are eerily pertinent to my life right now. That he gave me one for my basheret I expected (my hair is uncovered after all), but the rest? Spooky stuff, as usual.
Anyhow, I gave him an extra dollar to make up for the other Breslover earlier in the week and because he was just so pleasant and friendly at a moment when I really needed it. Why can't all my interactions with yiddin in Brooklyn be so pleasant? :p As the saying goes, it starts with you, so maybe if I read my pamphlets enough, those interactions can start improving. Hey, they call it emunah people!
A Tree Falls in Brooklyn
Since the playgroup has morphed into a school as of Tuesday, I decided yesterday to have a conversation with Basement Lady. Basically, I asked her to provide me a time frame for when the children would be outside; I figure this way we all have a schedule and can amicably work around each other. She told me a one-hour slot, and although the time was probably the worst hour of the entire workday for me, I decided that for the time being, it would have to do. After all, if it wound up being a problem, we would just have to converse a bit further, right?
However today, the hour wound up being an hour and a half. And while I understand that with children you can't be exact, it was too much already. To come out 15 minutes before the agreed-upon time? Fine. To extend past the allotted cut off point? Not cool. So I had no recourse but to take the loathed route, and call down to get her attention.
In typical Flatbush fashion, the assistant made out like I was from Mars by responding with the anticipated "But they're children". To which I mentioned that we're all trying to make some parnassah here- at which point Basement Lady conveniently became available and took over the conversation. Yet she also seems to speak Brooklynese also, because our conversation consisted of her repeating that she had given me a time, and me trying to point out (without actually saying the words in an effort to remain civil) that the time frame had been over for a nice while already. Much to my relief, she wound up taking the children in shortly thereafter, and I was able to proceed with job hunting calls I had been waiting to make.
While I know that the whole situation is pointless and I really need to just move already, I still felt lousy about the "incident", because who wants to be on bad terms with another yid, especially in Elul? Sure, I'm fed up with being accommodating, especially when she seems to unwittingly take advantage of it. I just wish I didn't have to come across as the Nasty Upstairs Lady.
I suppose I'll have to simply suck it up for the time being, and hope that I can find work outside the house. Until I can eventually move, of course.
However today, the hour wound up being an hour and a half. And while I understand that with children you can't be exact, it was too much already. To come out 15 minutes before the agreed-upon time? Fine. To extend past the allotted cut off point? Not cool. So I had no recourse but to take the loathed route, and call down to get her attention.
In typical Flatbush fashion, the assistant made out like I was from Mars by responding with the anticipated "But they're children". To which I mentioned that we're all trying to make some parnassah here- at which point Basement Lady conveniently became available and took over the conversation. Yet she also seems to speak Brooklynese also, because our conversation consisted of her repeating that she had given me a time, and me trying to point out (without actually saying the words in an effort to remain civil) that the time frame had been over for a nice while already. Much to my relief, she wound up taking the children in shortly thereafter, and I was able to proceed with job hunting calls I had been waiting to make.
While I know that the whole situation is pointless and I really need to just move already, I still felt lousy about the "incident", because who wants to be on bad terms with another yid, especially in Elul? Sure, I'm fed up with being accommodating, especially when she seems to unwittingly take advantage of it. I just wish I didn't have to come across as the Nasty Upstairs Lady.
I suppose I'll have to simply suck it up for the time being, and hope that I can find work outside the house. Until I can eventually move, of course.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Duped Again
I got referred to a family for Shabbos lunch, and it turned out to be yet another "singles" affair, complete with two dozen or so older singles. GRRR.
To be fair, the hostess was a wonderful, warm lady, as evidenced by the fact that when I first arrived and went to the kitchen to introduce myself, the other ladies were all in there too. I find that such grouping tends to only occur when the hostess has truly opened her home and heart to her guests.
In any event, the food was delicious, but the problem was that there was no talking during the meal (save when the women cleared and congregated in the kitchen between courses). Instead, the talking during the meal consisted of the host giving over divrei Torah, complete with the constant, "subtle" focus of reminding us singles that it is our shortcomings that have prevented us from getting married. Of course, if we just apply the advice from his divrei Torah, he'll have the joy of attending all of our vorts and chuppahs!
But it didn't stop there. It seems that the host also has a minhag of going around the table, and giving each guest an individualized beracha. Very nice, except he again throws in a bit of mussar. He even told the woman to my left that she should learn to be flexible and listen more- in front of everyone. I cringed internally,, wondering how he could justify embarrassing someone in public like that. When it got to me, I told him before he started that I didn't need a beracha for a shidduch. He managed to alter his beracha formula for me in time. When I was taking my leave after the meal however, he felt the need to raise the question: Why had I asked him to refrain from a beracha for a shidduch? I found the question inappropriate, but since that was evidently the law of the land in that house, I decided that honesty was the best policy. So I explained my situation to him, and he remarked "Smart woman". I managed to refrain from the almost automatic eye-roll, cordially thanked him, and managed to escape without giving any confirmation concerning a repeat visit.
Now, I can certainly appreciate a host who opens his door wide for singles, and sincerely wants to help his guests find their bashert. However, it's about time that some Rav puts a stop to this condescending down talk. Just because some one is married does not mean that they are qualified to speak on shidduchim or that they themselves are perfect spouses. So let's refrain in future from this New York-wide phenomenon of marrieds feeling justified in passing mussar on to their single guests. It is simply offensive. Obviously, if one knows a guest well, is on good terms, and the guest initiates the topic during private conversation, a host may (I repeat, may) have an opening to gently point out certain behaviour that is preventing the guest from finding their bashert. But most of the time,the delicate topic of shidduchim should be left to the given man or woman, their Rav, and their shadchan.
Because in the end, humiliating one's guests in front of each other, even with the best of intentions, is simply unacceptable.
To be fair, the hostess was a wonderful, warm lady, as evidenced by the fact that when I first arrived and went to the kitchen to introduce myself, the other ladies were all in there too. I find that such grouping tends to only occur when the hostess has truly opened her home and heart to her guests.
In any event, the food was delicious, but the problem was that there was no talking during the meal (save when the women cleared and congregated in the kitchen between courses). Instead, the talking during the meal consisted of the host giving over divrei Torah, complete with the constant, "subtle" focus of reminding us singles that it is our shortcomings that have prevented us from getting married. Of course, if we just apply the advice from his divrei Torah, he'll have the joy of attending all of our vorts and chuppahs!
But it didn't stop there. It seems that the host also has a minhag of going around the table, and giving each guest an individualized beracha. Very nice, except he again throws in a bit of mussar. He even told the woman to my left that she should learn to be flexible and listen more- in front of everyone. I cringed internally,, wondering how he could justify embarrassing someone in public like that. When it got to me, I told him before he started that I didn't need a beracha for a shidduch. He managed to alter his beracha formula for me in time. When I was taking my leave after the meal however, he felt the need to raise the question: Why had I asked him to refrain from a beracha for a shidduch? I found the question inappropriate, but since that was evidently the law of the land in that house, I decided that honesty was the best policy. So I explained my situation to him, and he remarked "Smart woman". I managed to refrain from the almost automatic eye-roll, cordially thanked him, and managed to escape without giving any confirmation concerning a repeat visit.
Now, I can certainly appreciate a host who opens his door wide for singles, and sincerely wants to help his guests find their bashert. However, it's about time that some Rav puts a stop to this condescending down talk. Just because some one is married does not mean that they are qualified to speak on shidduchim or that they themselves are perfect spouses. So let's refrain in future from this New York-wide phenomenon of marrieds feeling justified in passing mussar on to their single guests. It is simply offensive. Obviously, if one knows a guest well, is on good terms, and the guest initiates the topic during private conversation, a host may (I repeat, may) have an opening to gently point out certain behaviour that is preventing the guest from finding their bashert. But most of the time,the delicate topic of shidduchim should be left to the given man or woman, their Rav, and their shadchan.
Because in the end, humiliating one's guests in front of each other, even with the best of intentions, is simply unacceptable.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Lost Sheep
I was at ShopRite yesterday as the last leg on my weekly shopping trip along MacDonald Ave. My backpack was already quite full, as I had hit King Tomato, but I figured I would just have to keep myself in check while perusing the ShopRite aisles. Not that the prices of the non-sale items doesn't help with that, but anyway.
I thought I would take solid measures to ensure that I wasn't slogging 20 pounds home by hand, and decided that a hand basket would do the trick. So I located the stack, then started down the aisles, keeping to only the items on my list. I hit the very first aisle I need, my basket is (thankfully) still empty, and I see a 20-something frum guy trying to put his groceries in his baby's carriage. You've all seen the women do that, and to be honest, I think there's definitely an art to it- kind of like the female version of Tetris. Anyhow, I see this guy, and his carriage is about to topple over despite his having only a few items. Then, to prove my observation, a bunch of things cascade from the carriage onto the floor as I'm coming down the aisle.
I quickly sized up the guy, and noting that he was beardless, decided that my speaking to him wouldn't result in my either being ignored or hostility. So as I passed him, I asked him if he needed a basket; I could get another one. He gratefully accepted the basket, and I turned around, went back down the aisles, and got myself another one. When I returned to the same aisle to commence my shopping anew, he was still there, and politely said "Thank you" as I made my way down.
There you have it. It was nice to finally get past the whole "I'm looking at the ceiling/over to the side pretending not to see you" situation. And as a result, I was able to do a little chesed for one of the klal.
I thought I would take solid measures to ensure that I wasn't slogging 20 pounds home by hand, and decided that a hand basket would do the trick. So I located the stack, then started down the aisles, keeping to only the items on my list. I hit the very first aisle I need, my basket is (thankfully) still empty, and I see a 20-something frum guy trying to put his groceries in his baby's carriage. You've all seen the women do that, and to be honest, I think there's definitely an art to it- kind of like the female version of Tetris. Anyhow, I see this guy, and his carriage is about to topple over despite his having only a few items. Then, to prove my observation, a bunch of things cascade from the carriage onto the floor as I'm coming down the aisle.
I quickly sized up the guy, and noting that he was beardless, decided that my speaking to him wouldn't result in my either being ignored or hostility. So as I passed him, I asked him if he needed a basket; I could get another one. He gratefully accepted the basket, and I turned around, went back down the aisles, and got myself another one. When I returned to the same aisle to commence my shopping anew, he was still there, and politely said "Thank you" as I made my way down.
There you have it. It was nice to finally get past the whole "I'm looking at the ceiling/over to the side pretending not to see you" situation. And as a result, I was able to do a little chesed for one of the klal.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Pure Embarrassment
I had been meaning for a while to bake something and bring it over to one of my frequent Shabbos haunts. This Sunday I decided to just grab the bull by the horns and make the time to do so.
I figured a cake was more presentable as a gift than cookies, so I quickly baked one of my vegan marble cakes. I was short on time though, and when I grabbed the cake to deliver it on foot to its destination, it was still literally scalding to the touch. Suffice it to say that by the time I arrived at my friend's house 10 minutes later, it was a sad sight indeed. The cake had deflated and caved in on itself; It had literally melted in the summer heat.
I was positively mortified. My baking skills have always been my ego safety net. Sure, I may suck at everything else, but I can bake! So when I looked at that cake, I just didn't know what to do. And I mentally castigated myself for not keeping to a more tried and true format, like cookies. I mean, cookies you can't mess up, and they transport well. What had I been thinking?
I called my friend later in the evening and apologized. I promised to bake something else if it wound up being unpalatable. She told me she was sure it was edible and told me that she planned to have it the next morning for breakfast (she was fleischig, and my oven is dairy). Unconvinced, I called her yesterday to see if she needed me to bake anything else. NO ANSWER, and she generally returns calls promptly.
I'm at a loss as to what to do next. Let it go and bow my head in shame? Bake something else and drop it off? HELP!!! One thing is for sure: if ever there was a case of haste makes waste, this is it. :(
I figured a cake was more presentable as a gift than cookies, so I quickly baked one of my vegan marble cakes. I was short on time though, and when I grabbed the cake to deliver it on foot to its destination, it was still literally scalding to the touch. Suffice it to say that by the time I arrived at my friend's house 10 minutes later, it was a sad sight indeed. The cake had deflated and caved in on itself; It had literally melted in the summer heat.
I was positively mortified. My baking skills have always been my ego safety net. Sure, I may suck at everything else, but I can bake! So when I looked at that cake, I just didn't know what to do. And I mentally castigated myself for not keeping to a more tried and true format, like cookies. I mean, cookies you can't mess up, and they transport well. What had I been thinking?
I called my friend later in the evening and apologized. I promised to bake something else if it wound up being unpalatable. She told me she was sure it was edible and told me that she planned to have it the next morning for breakfast (she was fleischig, and my oven is dairy). Unconvinced, I called her yesterday to see if she needed me to bake anything else. NO ANSWER, and she generally returns calls promptly.
I'm at a loss as to what to do next. Let it go and bow my head in shame? Bake something else and drop it off? HELP!!! One thing is for sure: if ever there was a case of haste makes waste, this is it. :(
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Ban It!
Tonight, while listening to music via YouTube (I've been searching for cover songs), I came across the following video. To say that I'm now scarred for life is an understatement. As someone who believes in the pet-owner bond, I found this video positively shocking. I'm still mopping up the puddle I left on the floor- although the sobbing did seem to alleviate my allergy symptoms...
Consider yourselves forewarned.
Consider yourselves forewarned.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Small-Minded
Call me ignorant, but this strikes me as just...bizarre. How about stressing halachic facts versus "See your Rabbi does it, so it's kosher!". Is it me, or this a bit misguided, albeit well-intended?
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Cutting In
The local dollar store is notoriously slow. They tend to have only one checkout open, and every trip one finds oneself behind someone needing the manager, which delays the line for several minutes at a time. When you shop there, you just need to have the adequate time and patience to wait it out. That's why things are only a dollar!
When I went there earlier today, they were out of carts and baskets. So I had to carry my numerous heavy items throughout the store and then hold them during my wait in the checkout line. As I'm there waiting along with the other patrons, a young woman who was in her late teens comes behind me with a Coke and chocolate bar. She asks me if she can cut in line ahead of me, because she's on her way to class and she only has three items (I didn't happen to see item #3).
Normally I would say yes. However, due to the heavy load I was balancing, not to mention her young age and excuse, I pondered whether my not letting her cut ahead would constitute a chillul Hashem. And I said to myself (or maybe it was my yetzer hara, chasve shalom) that this girl could allow herself adequate time to get to class and procure her chocolate bar. More to the point, she could choose to either buy her items elsewhere, where service was suitably expeditious, or suffer through the line like the rest of us. To be honest, given my obvious juggling act at the time of her enquiry, I felt the request was downright rude.
So I chose in the end to ignore her. Guess how long her additional wait time was without cutting ahead? Under a minute. Here's to hoping that my stand for us older folk was simultaneously not a chillul Hashem, and a mussar lesson to boot.
When I went there earlier today, they were out of carts and baskets. So I had to carry my numerous heavy items throughout the store and then hold them during my wait in the checkout line. As I'm there waiting along with the other patrons, a young woman who was in her late teens comes behind me with a Coke and chocolate bar. She asks me if she can cut in line ahead of me, because she's on her way to class and she only has three items (I didn't happen to see item #3).
Normally I would say yes. However, due to the heavy load I was balancing, not to mention her young age and excuse, I pondered whether my not letting her cut ahead would constitute a chillul Hashem. And I said to myself (or maybe it was my yetzer hara, chasve shalom) that this girl could allow herself adequate time to get to class and procure her chocolate bar. More to the point, she could choose to either buy her items elsewhere, where service was suitably expeditious, or suffer through the line like the rest of us. To be honest, given my obvious juggling act at the time of her enquiry, I felt the request was downright rude.
So I chose in the end to ignore her. Guess how long her additional wait time was without cutting ahead? Under a minute. Here's to hoping that my stand for us older folk was simultaneously not a chillul Hashem, and a mussar lesson to boot.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Sad Tail
You may recall from my previous posts the saga of the outdoor cats. Since the high turnover in the building back in June, the kitties moved to quieter pasture. Can't say that I blame them. Aside from one brief spotting of The Sheriff's sister (aka B&W 2) the other week, it's as if they simply vanished. (See here for background/pic). Until this past motzei Shabbos.
I was making my way home after hearing havdalah at my friend S's, when I happened upon The Sheriff. What actually caught my attention was the fact that he was dragging the back half of his body when he walked. Apparently he had been clipped by a car, and despite pulling himself along very quickly by his front paws while standing erect, he was obviously in pain and in bad shape.
I just didn't know what to do for a full minute. So I spoke to him in my "talking to animals/babies" voice, which he didn't seem to mind. That's what made me really decide he was in a bad way; normally he's more skittish than that. Yet I couldn't figure out how to help him. If I called the city, they'd euthanize him 1-2-3, and maybe there was a way to save him. He just needed his back legs taken care of.
I decided I should go back to S, since she knows a lot of "cat" people, including one of her neighbours who takes care of the neighbourhood cats when they pass by for a visit, aka food. I went and fetched her, and in that short period of time (less than 3 minutes), The Sheriff had dragged himself across the street to the next block and was sitting by the feet of a guy talking on the cell phone. S took a look at The Sheriff and said she would go fetch the Cat Lady, since CL would probably recognize him. In the meantime I decided to chat up Cell Phone Guy, because I had a feeling he was calling Animal Control. Sure enough, he had called his girlfriend who had called the city. I told him we knew the cat, and could he please cancel the call? So he did, much to my relief.
S came back with CL's daughter, who immediately recognized The Sheriff. After quite a few tense moments of hissing and so forth, CLD managed to get him by the back of the neck and off she and S went to put him in a "cage" to hold him for the time being. On my way back home, I happened to see Sheriff's sister crossing the road, going towards the way I had come from, and I wondered if she knew what was going on. But then I realized I was just giving her a lot more credit than she was due.
S called me later in the evening to tell me that the vet bill would be in the thousands, and none of her Cat friends could foot the bill. But the city apparently runs a drop-off clinic daily, so the next morning she and her husband would drop off The Sheriff. While he would probably wind up being euthanized, at least his suffering would end. I thought it was the best we could do, and at least he was in a nice bed with a full stomach.
The next morning I got a surprise call from S. Seems that "somehow" The Sheriff escaped his cage in the middle of the night, and during the breakout, CLD noticed his friend, who quote "was obviously with him". Looks like Sheriff's sis found him after all!!! And as much as I think that he's probably gone to kittie heaven, there was a part of me that was thrilled with his sister's breaking him out. It seemed more fitting that, no matter what the outcome, it came on his terms and while he was with his sister.
Now maybe this whole post just confirms that I'm a bonafide cat lady. But I'm telling you, seeing Hashem' s creature act with such personality and emotion makes me appreciate Him that much more.
I was making my way home after hearing havdalah at my friend S's, when I happened upon The Sheriff. What actually caught my attention was the fact that he was dragging the back half of his body when he walked. Apparently he had been clipped by a car, and despite pulling himself along very quickly by his front paws while standing erect, he was obviously in pain and in bad shape.
I just didn't know what to do for a full minute. So I spoke to him in my "talking to animals/babies" voice, which he didn't seem to mind. That's what made me really decide he was in a bad way; normally he's more skittish than that. Yet I couldn't figure out how to help him. If I called the city, they'd euthanize him 1-2-3, and maybe there was a way to save him. He just needed his back legs taken care of.
I decided I should go back to S, since she knows a lot of "cat" people, including one of her neighbours who takes care of the neighbourhood cats when they pass by for a visit, aka food. I went and fetched her, and in that short period of time (less than 3 minutes), The Sheriff had dragged himself across the street to the next block and was sitting by the feet of a guy talking on the cell phone. S took a look at The Sheriff and said she would go fetch the Cat Lady, since CL would probably recognize him. In the meantime I decided to chat up Cell Phone Guy, because I had a feeling he was calling Animal Control. Sure enough, he had called his girlfriend who had called the city. I told him we knew the cat, and could he please cancel the call? So he did, much to my relief.
S came back with CL's daughter, who immediately recognized The Sheriff. After quite a few tense moments of hissing and so forth, CLD managed to get him by the back of the neck and off she and S went to put him in a "cage" to hold him for the time being. On my way back home, I happened to see Sheriff's sister crossing the road, going towards the way I had come from, and I wondered if she knew what was going on. But then I realized I was just giving her a lot more credit than she was due.
S called me later in the evening to tell me that the vet bill would be in the thousands, and none of her Cat friends could foot the bill. But the city apparently runs a drop-off clinic daily, so the next morning she and her husband would drop off The Sheriff. While he would probably wind up being euthanized, at least his suffering would end. I thought it was the best we could do, and at least he was in a nice bed with a full stomach.
The next morning I got a surprise call from S. Seems that "somehow" The Sheriff escaped his cage in the middle of the night, and during the breakout, CLD noticed his friend, who quote "was obviously with him". Looks like Sheriff's sis found him after all!!! And as much as I think that he's probably gone to kittie heaven, there was a part of me that was thrilled with his sister's breaking him out. It seemed more fitting that, no matter what the outcome, it came on his terms and while he was with his sister.
Now maybe this whole post just confirms that I'm a bonafide cat lady. But I'm telling you, seeing Hashem' s creature act with such personality and emotion makes me appreciate Him that much more.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Cold!
I informed someone this afternoon that I would be unavailable this evening because unfortunately I had to make a shiva call. However, I offered an alternate time frame for the given activity. The response email I received? That due my "time limitations", the given individual would complete the activity toute seule.
Now, you'll excuse me, but refering to a shiva call as a "time limitation"???? That's. Just. COLD.
Now, you'll excuse me, but refering to a shiva call as a "time limitation"???? That's. Just. COLD.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Word!
Back when I lived on the West Coast, I had a friend, a real sweetheart of a guy. While he had been born Jewish, he had decided as an adult to turn his "spiritual" inclination to the Numerologists. Basically, the gist of that cult/belief system was that the numerical value related to an item was intrinsically connected to its spiritual destiny. In turn, he changed his name when he joined the "organization", the irony of which was that he wound up taking a biblical name. Strangely, I was actually the one who informed him of that fact.
Anyhow, we were once conversing, and he uttered a wonderful phrase: A word spoken can never be taken back. Now, we've all heard something similar, but that instance was the first time I heard it, and while I was certainly aware of the halachas of lashon hara, etc., it resonated with me. Not only does it cover the area of be careful in how you speak to others, it also expands to encompass how your thoughts are shaped by the words you say.
This evening, I was discussing my life, as one generally does when catching up with friends and family. Yet as I was talking, I remembered this instance with my West Coast friend, and it really struck me how the words we speak shape our reality. While we certainly all recognize this fundamental truth, it bears repeating: How we think about our lives is how we perceive our lives. And our choice of words simply feeds into that perception, and relays that perception to others. In short, the words we speak affect not only ourselves, but those who hear them, because it is through words that we fundamentally form relationships and connect with people. The words we speak consequently shape ourselves, our reality, and the reality of those nearest and dearest to us.
I think I'll try and keep that in the forefront of my mind for the time being. :)
Anyhow, we were once conversing, and he uttered a wonderful phrase: A word spoken can never be taken back. Now, we've all heard something similar, but that instance was the first time I heard it, and while I was certainly aware of the halachas of lashon hara, etc., it resonated with me. Not only does it cover the area of be careful in how you speak to others, it also expands to encompass how your thoughts are shaped by the words you say.
This evening, I was discussing my life, as one generally does when catching up with friends and family. Yet as I was talking, I remembered this instance with my West Coast friend, and it really struck me how the words we speak shape our reality. While we certainly all recognize this fundamental truth, it bears repeating: How we think about our lives is how we perceive our lives. And our choice of words simply feeds into that perception, and relays that perception to others. In short, the words we speak affect not only ourselves, but those who hear them, because it is through words that we fundamentally form relationships and connect with people. The words we speak consequently shape ourselves, our reality, and the reality of those nearest and dearest to us.
I think I'll try and keep that in the forefront of my mind for the time being. :)
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Pearl of Wisdom
I was speaking to my Mom, and we were telling each other about how our days went, when my Mom dropped a real nugget. I was busy relating the ups and downs of my day and hit the highlight: I found a teapot in exactly the colour that I wanted, so now all I have to do is toivel it, since it's glass. Earlier in the week I found Twinings tea certified by the Beit Din of London, but have been waiting to drink it until I could get my hands on a proper tea pot. Now I'm all set!
Most people, when they review their day, tend to tally up the pros and cons before determining whether the day was "good" or "bad". Not my Mom! Upon hearing about the teapot find, what did she quip?: "Oh, so you had a successful day then!". There's the glass half full people, the glass half empty people, and then there's my mother. By virtue of one good thing happening in a day, the entire day is deemed good.
Now that's the way I hope I can begin viewing my life!
Most people, when they review their day, tend to tally up the pros and cons before determining whether the day was "good" or "bad". Not my Mom! Upon hearing about the teapot find, what did she quip?: "Oh, so you had a successful day then!". There's the glass half full people, the glass half empty people, and then there's my mother. By virtue of one good thing happening in a day, the entire day is deemed good.
Now that's the way I hope I can begin viewing my life!
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Blueprint of Galus
In parshah Shemos, we learn of the birth of the redeemer of the klal and his life prior to assuming his destined role.
One thought has nagged at me about this parshah, specifically why were all Egyptians held liable for the klal's suffering? Weren't they simply following the orders of their king? While obviously one would hope that they would instead have defied their king, one can understand that they chose to prove their patriotism and allegiance to the king by going along with his numerous decrees. So how was it that the entire nation deserved punishment for the policies of their ruler?
As we know, a principle of Torah is that not a single word is wasted. Thus, the omission of details describing the specific deeds that warranted the downfall of the whole nation is telling. First, the lack points to the fact that the specific deeds are irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. Instead, one should take a holistic view of the situation and recognize that here was a nation that did evil to the klal and deserved de facto to be punished. Since all subsequent yiddishkeit looks back to our emancipation from Egypt as the cornerstone of our identity, the Egyptian galus and redemption acts as a blueprint, if you will, for all subsequent exiles. I therefore propose that a brief look at the behaviour that warranted the downfall of the ruling nation (and the klal's release) is important, and contains many clues about how one should view the rest of Jewish history, including the current galus, may it end immediately.
Midrash cites many immoral actions on the part of both the Egyptian men and women, such as:
In stark contrast, Basya is mentioned as naming Yocheved's second son Moshe. Indeed, this name is the only one by which the redeemer of Israel is mentioned in the Torah. Since Moshe had, in fact, 9 additional names, one might wonder why he is exclusively mentioned using Moshe, an Egyptian name? Again, the inclusion of this detail provides a clue that fills in for the outright mentioning of the transgression of the Egyptians. Basya, unlike the Egyptians, showed tremendous kindness to Moshe. While her handmaids refused to exert themselves to rescue the boy, she not only exerted herself to personally retrieve him from the waters, but went to great lengths to find a wet nurse for him, i.e. to feed him when he at first refused to feed. She continued to show kindness to him, despite his being a Jewish male child, by paying for his nursing for two years and then raising him in the royal palace. To reword, she provided him with every comfort, despite his being a Jew and in spite of her doing so being a danger to herself. Her reward was that Moshe is only referred to by the name she bestowed him.
In this way, the silence of the Torah answers the nagging question of the horrible transgression that merited the downfall of the greatest nation on Earth. By mistreating Hashem's people, the Egyptians not only sought to deny Hashem's power over the entire world, including Egypt, but also the wipe out the reminder that Egypt only existed due to the Jewish people. It is this total disrespect for a people without whom they themselves would not exist that belied the utter corrupt and evil nature of the Egyptian people. And it was this disrespect that in the end resulted in their downfall.
Finally, from the Egyptian's behaviour we also learn the essence of anti-semitism, a main component in every galus to date: a desire to eradicate the Jewish people, chasve shalom, in order to remove any reminder that Hashem runs the world.
Good voch!
One thought has nagged at me about this parshah, specifically why were all Egyptians held liable for the klal's suffering? Weren't they simply following the orders of their king? While obviously one would hope that they would instead have defied their king, one can understand that they chose to prove their patriotism and allegiance to the king by going along with his numerous decrees. So how was it that the entire nation deserved punishment for the policies of their ruler?
As we know, a principle of Torah is that not a single word is wasted. Thus, the omission of details describing the specific deeds that warranted the downfall of the whole nation is telling. First, the lack points to the fact that the specific deeds are irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. Instead, one should take a holistic view of the situation and recognize that here was a nation that did evil to the klal and deserved de facto to be punished. Since all subsequent yiddishkeit looks back to our emancipation from Egypt as the cornerstone of our identity, the Egyptian galus and redemption acts as a blueprint, if you will, for all subsequent exiles. I therefore propose that a brief look at the behaviour that warranted the downfall of the ruling nation (and the klal's release) is important, and contains many clues about how one should view the rest of Jewish history, including the current galus, may it end immediately.
Midrash cites many immoral actions on the part of both the Egyptian men and women, such as:
- Men: Following Pharoah's edict to refuse to give straw to the yiddin
- Women: Taking babies into Jewish abodes and making the babies cry in order to elicit cries from any hidden Jewish babies
In stark contrast, Basya is mentioned as naming Yocheved's second son Moshe. Indeed, this name is the only one by which the redeemer of Israel is mentioned in the Torah. Since Moshe had, in fact, 9 additional names, one might wonder why he is exclusively mentioned using Moshe, an Egyptian name? Again, the inclusion of this detail provides a clue that fills in for the outright mentioning of the transgression of the Egyptians. Basya, unlike the Egyptians, showed tremendous kindness to Moshe. While her handmaids refused to exert themselves to rescue the boy, she not only exerted herself to personally retrieve him from the waters, but went to great lengths to find a wet nurse for him, i.e. to feed him when he at first refused to feed. She continued to show kindness to him, despite his being a Jewish male child, by paying for his nursing for two years and then raising him in the royal palace. To reword, she provided him with every comfort, despite his being a Jew and in spite of her doing so being a danger to herself. Her reward was that Moshe is only referred to by the name she bestowed him.
In this way, the silence of the Torah answers the nagging question of the horrible transgression that merited the downfall of the greatest nation on Earth. By mistreating Hashem's people, the Egyptians not only sought to deny Hashem's power over the entire world, including Egypt, but also the wipe out the reminder that Egypt only existed due to the Jewish people. It is this total disrespect for a people without whom they themselves would not exist that belied the utter corrupt and evil nature of the Egyptian people. And it was this disrespect that in the end resulted in their downfall.
Finally, from the Egyptian's behaviour we also learn the essence of anti-semitism, a main component in every galus to date: a desire to eradicate the Jewish people, chasve shalom, in order to remove any reminder that Hashem runs the world.
Good voch!
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
The Gift
This week I'm off from work, but I arranged a side project for fun- I'm helping a friend assemble her book of poetry so that it can be presented to a publisher.
When she first asked me, I was thrilled, because she has done so much for me and I was looking forward to the opportunity to return the favour. But it was not to be. Instead, she insisted on compensating me, no matter how hard I tried to persuade her to let me do something for her.
I remember reading on numerous occasions that love requires the ability to both give and receive. Yet, when it comes to chesed, which is related to love, the ultimate is to be like my friend, and only give.
After the car accident, as my husband and I found ourselves stranded in podunk-ville New York on the eve of Chanuka, we made the acquaintance of the then Rabbi and Rebbetzin of the town. They showered us with whatever we needed, and our every effort subsequently to do for them was rewarded with their turning around and giving again. No matter how much you gave to them, their only response was to continue to give.
I think it's beautiful to be on such a madregah, and I found them inspiring, much as I am inspired by my friend the poetess. In the end, their behaviour serves as a welcome reminder that we are all interconnected, and that by performing kindness to others, you are in fact being kind to yourself, as well as the world. And ultimately, that's what a Toradik life is all about.
When she first asked me, I was thrilled, because she has done so much for me and I was looking forward to the opportunity to return the favour. But it was not to be. Instead, she insisted on compensating me, no matter how hard I tried to persuade her to let me do something for her.
I remember reading on numerous occasions that love requires the ability to both give and receive. Yet, when it comes to chesed, which is related to love, the ultimate is to be like my friend, and only give.
After the car accident, as my husband and I found ourselves stranded in podunk-ville New York on the eve of Chanuka, we made the acquaintance of the then Rabbi and Rebbetzin of the town. They showered us with whatever we needed, and our every effort subsequently to do for them was rewarded with their turning around and giving again. No matter how much you gave to them, their only response was to continue to give.
I think it's beautiful to be on such a madregah, and I found them inspiring, much as I am inspired by my friend the poetess. In the end, their behaviour serves as a welcome reminder that we are all interconnected, and that by performing kindness to others, you are in fact being kind to yourself, as well as the world. And ultimately, that's what a Toradik life is all about.
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