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In the local stores in my neighborhood it seems that everyone is pushing everyone else aside. People donâ€™t say â€śexcuse meâ€ť anymore. In the kosher bakery I get hit in the eye with a challah bread when one woman reaches past me, past Adrian and over Helenâ€™s stroller. She really socks me one with the golden dough. Then she doesnâ€™t say, â€śIâ€™m sorryâ€ť or even acknowledge my familyâ€™s existence. At least the challah was fresh and warm so it was a soft blow to my right eye, and anyway it smelled good.
We try the Mexican bakery next for Adrian. He loves a traditional â€śconcha.â€ť A concha is a type of bread shaped like a roll covered in chocolate, vanilla or strawberry sugar and traditionally it is eaten in the morning. It looks a little bit like a shell from the beach and thatâ€™s what concha means in Spanish: â€śShell.â€ť We have this routine. On Friday mornings before Shabbat (the Sabbath) starts we hit the bakeries. Everyone else in our neighborhood has the same idea. Friday mornings can be overwhelming.
At the Mexican bakery we grab a tray and tongs and pick the bread we like. On the way over to the counter a woman cuts in front of me slamming her tray down on the counter and demanding a bigger plastic bag for her bread. I take a step back. Iâ€™ve been hit with enough dough for one day.
On our walk home a cyclist (riding on the sidewalk) nearly runs us all down and yells â€śWatch it!â€ť No one holds the door for the stroller in our building and when I say, â€śHi Frank!â€ť to my super, her grunts, curses, spits and stomps up the stairs murmuring, â€śEverybody wants somethinâ€™ from me all the timeâ€¦â€ť
I feel defeated. Why is everyone so rude? I have this thought while stress eating in my kitchen standing up. Helen goes to her crib to take a nap and I decide to look for some spiritual inspiration. I put away my bag of popcorn and salted caramel ice cream.
I Google the word â€śmitzvah.â€ť In the Yeshiva I attended as a girl the teachers taught us that the word â€śmitzvahâ€ť means â€śa good deed.â€ť The plural in Hebrew is â€śmitzvot,â€ť for many good deeds. But, as I search deeper into the meaning I come to find out that â€śmitzvahâ€ť actually translates as â€ścommandment.â€ť So in the Jewish religion it is commanded by God that we complete the task of doing good deeds every day.
This is interesting. What have I been teaching Helen about good deeds?
What have I been teaching her about commandments? Itâ€™s easy to point a finger. Friday at the two bakeries it was so simple for me to become the victim. But, what did I do to help the people around me? Did I do any mitzvot on Friday? What about the rest of the week? What did I do to help anyone besides myself?
I know thatâ€™s a pretty harsh self-judgement. But I wasnâ€™t blaming myself. I was merely trying to dig deeper into the similarities of my two-faith household. I understand that a mitzvah is a commandment. In Catholicism there is the belief in â€śgood works.â€ť This is the same concept. It sounds simple because these teachings from both religions donâ€™t involve complicated holidays, recipes or traditions. These ideas and beliefs arise during the everyday. Maybe that is what makes them go unannounced and unnoticed. Maybe thatâ€™s also why they are harder to commit to.
This is a situation in which Adrian and I believe the same thing. Nothing is complicated about doing good deeds out in the world. But how do we teach each other and how do we teach our daughter about the power of mitzvot?
I think that everything begins at home and so I start to think about our apartment building. We live on the fourth floor of a walk-up apartment built in 1927. The stairs arenâ€™t just tough to climb, theyâ€™re made of marble. But in my own building my neighbors have done the deed of a mitzvah many times for me. There have been so many nights that Adrian has been at work and Helen and I have to go to the store to bring bags of groceries back. The boy who lives on the first floor always carries the stroller up the stairs for me if heâ€™s around. The superâ€™s son has carried Helen for me. There is a woman named Veronica who lives on the second floor and she’s carried four bags from Whole Foods filled with canned goods up to my apartment. Once, a young girl from the other side of the building (our building has two sides) saw me and helped me. She was 11 years old!
The mitzvah starts at home. The commandment begins in the hallway of our building and spreads far out into the community. A good deed speaks many languages, follows many cultures and faiths. This Friday at the bakery Iâ€™m going to hold the door for someone because maybe I wasnâ€™t looking behind me the last time. Maybe I slammed the door in someoneâ€™s face instead of holding it. Maybe the woman who smacked me with a challah bread had plenty of reason to do so. It was like God was saying â€śWake up! Youâ€™ve got a lot of mitzvot to do!â€ť