“Don’t worry,” she had told Chaim. “A bris on Shabbos is nothing compared to
giving birth. Everything will be fine."
Now, by herself in the hospital room,
with her body aching with the discomfort of childbirth, she realized that she had
been a little too optimistic. Sure, her
cousin had given birth to a boy on Shabbos and they had made a beautiful
bris, but that had been in Borough Park. Borough Park was a long way
from Sunnyvale where they had come to do outreach work.
Borough Park had an eruv, so
her cousin had been able to push the baby carriage to the synagogue. All the
family lived within a few blocks from the shul.
They had their choice of a half dozen mohels in the neighborhood.
Kosher caterers who did Shabbos catering were no problem. Sunnyvale had
none of the above.
After tossing and turning for almost
an hour Faygie sat up, turned on the bed light, and pressed the call button.
Thank goodness she did not have a roommate. She begged some paper and pencil
from the nurse and began making a list of her concerns.
Where would they have the bris?
Should they camp out at the synagogue? And speaking of camping out where were
they going to put all of their relatives? Her mother was planning to fly in
Monday and her father was coming with her little sisters Thursday. Perhaps they
could all squeeze into their tiny duplex, but what about Chaim’s parents and
his grandmother and his married brother with his wife and three children? There
were no mohels in town, at all. And what were they supposed to feed
everyone who came to the bris? There wasn’t even a kosher bakery in
town.
Faygie’s head spun looking at her
list. Then she wadded it up and tossed
it to the trash. HaShem brought us to Sunnyvale for a reason, she told
herself, and He gave us a baby on Shabbos for a reason. So, she decided,
I can depend on Him to make sure everything will work out okay. Having made
her decision, she turned off her light and fell asleep.
Sunday morning her first phone call came
right after she had finished nursing the baby.
“Mazel Tov!” Yochie’s friendly
voice made Faygie smile. The Strausses had moved to Sunnyvale from New York
with Yochie and her husband, Dov. Faygie could not have asked for a better
friend.
“Guess what!” Yochie continued. “My
brother and sister-in-law are taking the kids to Disneyland by way of
Sunnyvale. They’ll be by us for Shabbos.”
“Which brother?” Faygie asked,
practically holding her breath.
“Mutti.”
“Mutti, the mohel!” Faygie squealed
“Yes!”
Thank you HaShem! “One problem down,” she
told Yochie.
“What other problems do you have?”
Yochie’s voice conveyed only concern.
“For starters, where can we do the bris?
Should we camp out at the shul?”
“I don’t think so,” Yochie laughed. “Your
back yard is big and the fence keeps it private. The weather is supposed to be
nice. Why don’t you do it there?”
Faygie caught her breath at the idea.
“I like it!” she exclaimed. “I’ll see what Chaim says.”
He arrived a half hour later bearing
breakfast. Now that the birth was behind them and he had had a good night sleep,
he had returned to his normal, confident self and he had some good news. “Rabbi
Borenstein said we can put all our family up at their house.”
“That’s great!” Faygie felt her
euphoria returning, along with her appreciation to the Almighty. The rabbi of
the day school lived down the block. He had a big family but all were either
married or away at school. No one would have to camp out anywhere.
Chaim was just as enthusiastic about using
their yard for the bris as she had been to hear about the Borenstein’s
house. And he was absolutely thrilled to hear about Mutti.
“Now, all we have to worry about is
food,” Faygie said.
“No, you don’t,” a voice from the
doorway said. Mrs. Borenstein smiled at
the young couple. “You have not been in Sunnyvale long enough to know how our
community takes care of each other. Miriam Levi has already arranged food for
Friday night and is working on cakes for the bris and shalom zachor.
Now we have to decide on a menu for the bris.”
Faygie’s mouth fell open in gratitude,
but she was not surprised. Obviously, HaShem was planning the bris.
Mrs. Borenstein’s soothing voice soon lulled her into sleep and she woke up an
hour later to discover the rabbi’s wife was long gone. It had been decided that everyone who came to
morning services on Shabbos would be asked to walk the three blocks to
the Strauss’s yard for the bris and the following meal. For some it
would be their first time to attend a kosher bris.
The day school would provide tables
and chairs and someone would help Faygie’s mother buy all the paper goods and
drinks. Mrs. Bornstein was in charge of borrowing crock pots and making sure
they would be filled with cholents. Miriam would extend her calls to
include salads. Everything was under control.
It stayed that way all week long and
through Friday night. Things only began going wrong Shabbos morning after
Faygie had nursed the baby. She came
into the kitchen to get a drink and decided to take a peek at all the crock
pots sitting on the kitchen counter. Mrs. Wolfman’s cholent smelled
delicious, as did Yochie’s and the one her mother-in-law had made. The same
could not be said for Mrs. Karp’s. The
smell of rotting meat wafted through the kitchen and Faygie’s heart sank as she
saw the crock pot’s plug was loose.
“Ma!” she called, trying not to sound
hysterical.
“What!” her mother had just poured her
cup of coffee and stayed calm as Faygie explained the problem.
“There won’t be enough food for
everybody!” Faygie concluded her explanation.
“Nonsense,” her mother declared.
“There was leftover chicken from last night and…”
“Only a few pieces,” Faygie
interrupted.
“Six, big ones” her mother countered.
“And we have egg salad and mayonnaise. We’ll have a big chicken salad. You go
back to bed and rest. You’re not supposed to worry about anything except the
baby.”
Faygie meekly followed her mother’s
instructions until she heard her little sister’s excited voice coming from the
living room. The only words she could make out were “all wet” but she pulled
herself out of bed to find out what was going on.
This was even worse than a spoiled cholent.
The sprinklers from the duplex next door were malfunctioning and splashing over
the fence and into their yard. Half the
tables were soaking wet. Faygie didn’t want to know about the grass.
“Why don’t we move the tables to the
front yard?” her mother was asking her sister calmly.
“You can’t do that!” Faygie shrieked.
“There’s no eruv!”
Her mother, startled by Faygie’s
shouting, dropped her coffee cup.
“Oh, Ma,” Faygie blinked back tears.
Her mother just smiled. “This is
great. Bad things always happen in threes. I’ll clean up this mess. The girls
and I will move the tables to the other side of the yard. Soon your
mother-in-law will be here and we’ll put out the tablecloths. You go back to bed
and stay there until it’s time to get dressed for the bris”
Again Faygie listened to her mother,
reminding herself that HaShem was in charge. She did not leave her room
until it was time to give the baby to Yochie who would be giving him to her
husband. Dov proudly handed the baby to Faygie’s father and Mutti stepped
forward.
Sitting at the back of the crowd
Faygie expected to hear the familiar circumcision service. Instead she heard
agitated murmurings. Something appeared
to be wrong and it wasn’t her mother’s broken coffee cup. Chaim made his way to
her.
“There’s a problem,” he mumbled
uncomfortably. “The baby has pink eye. Mutti won’t do the bris and Dr.
Levi agrees with him. The baby’s immune system is too young to tax it with an
incision if he already has an infection.”
“But, but,” Faygie stuttered. “I
didn’t see anything wrong with his eyes.”
“He has a lot of mucous coming out of
his left eye.”
“Should we take him to the hospital?”
Both of Faygie’s eyes welled up with tears.
Chaim shook his head. Before he could
answer Dr. Levi was at his side. “Give him some mother’s milk and he should be
fine in day or so.”
Faygie nodded. “What?” she asked in a
quivering voice, “are we going to do with all the food?”
“Have a Shabbos meal!” Chaim
exclaimed.
They did. The food was good. There
were nice words of Torah and spirited singing but no bris. Faygie tried
to be happy and reminded herself that HaShem has a reason for
everything. The guests were kind and supportive. Mutti even told her that they
would not leave for Disneyland until after they checked the baby’s eyes.
Sure enough, just as Dr. Levi had
said, the baby’s eyes were fine the following day. Mutti checked him early
Sunday morning and declared him fit to enter the covenant of Avraham. Phone
calls were made and a small crowd gathered at the synagogue following the
morning prayers. Bagels were bought from the freezer section of the local
supermarket, along with Philadelphia cream cheese, some vegetables, potato
chips, and orange juice. There were leftover cakes from Shabbos and a lot of
happiness. It certainly wasn’t a Borough Park bris but it was a
memorable one. For years afterwards, the people of Sunnyvale remembered the Shabbos
Bris that wasn’t and the Sunday morning one that was.
Bris: circumcision ceremony
Shabbos: Sabbath
Eruv: technical
boundary that allows Jews to carry in public areas on Shabbat
Mohel: The trained person who
performs the Bris
Mazel Tov: literally good luck, figuratively
congratulations
Shul: synagogue
Shalom zachor: a party made Friday
night to welcome the baby into the world
Cholent: a Shabbos stew
No comments:
Post a Comment