I Am Mindful of the Plans

Not far from our home in Beersheba, Israel, there is a small neighborhood grocery store called a “makolet” (מַכּוֹלֶת) in Hebrew. When the Covid-19 pandemic occurred and severe restrictions were placed on the distances one could travel from home, we began shopping at the makolet regularly and have continued doing so ever since. We only go to a standard grocery store when we need or crave something unavailable at our local store. And that’s rare.

The prices are higher at the makolet, but the service and friendship seem greater. We’ve gotten to know the owner and staff. Unfortunately, the owner’s wife, Rachel, passed away within the last year, and we grieved with him and his two sons, who work with their father in the store. A Chabad shul named in memory of Rachel now stands adjacent to the store. I want to digress for a moment and share two memories of Rachel.

My Hebrew is terrible; Rachel’s patience was remarkable. Once, I tried to buy some honey and thought I knew exactly how to ask for it. I walked up to her and said slowly, and with what I thought was an impeccable Hebrew accent, the following: “Ani rotséh miel.” She looked at me, a little puzzled. Thinking I had done an excellent job and that the problem was hers, I repeated the same words, this time more slowly. I saw that she still could not understand what I had said. She gestured with her hands, indicating she wanted me to write down my request. That was a dead end, so I spelled “miel” the best I could in Hebrew for her. That was the word that seemed to be troubling her. After I spelled it, she raised the index finger of her right hand, nodded, and walked away to get what I had asked for. She returned with a container of honey. When I got home, I told my wife what had happened. She asked me what I had said in Hebrew. I told her. She laughed and said that my first two words were Hebrew, but my last word was French for honey. As it turns out, Rachel spoke French. She just hadn’t expected I would mix the two languages. Nor had I intended to do so. What I should have said was, “Ani rotséh dvash.”

My last conversation with Rachel was about her hands. I told her that they were beautiful. It was clear that she had been to a manicurist and had them done professionally. She seemed happy with them. They did look nice, and I am glad I told her, for I didn’t get another chance to speak with her. She died suddenly and unexpectedly, leaving behind a grieving family and many friends.

We usually shop for Shabbos on Thursday. The makolet is very crowded on Friday, and shopping on Thursday is easier and more relaxed. Usually, Beth does the shopping and then calls me to meet her at the store to bring the groceries home. That’s what happened today. When I got there, Beth was in the process of doing the final packing. There is a clerk with whom Beth has developed a good friendship. They share photos, laugh together, and chatter away in Hebrew. I usually have no idea what they’re talking about, but before we leave, we wish Anat, the woman’s name, a good Shabbos. On the way home, I often ask Beth what they discussed. We are at war in Israel. We are a small country. Beth told me as we walked home that Anat’s husband, daughter, and son had all been called to active duty. Anat didn’t complain. She just said what the situation was. Beth invited her for Shabbos, but she declined, mentioning her mother and spending Shabbos in her home.

Beth also told me the store wasn’t quite as well-stocked as usual. Some deliveries have not been made, and people, nervous about when they might be able to get out next, have, perhaps, bought more than they would have normally.

So, what’s my point? I didn’t see a Covid-19 pandemic on the horizon; Rachel’s husband and sons didn’t expect her death when it happened. I didn’t know my country would be at war this past Sabbath before the next one. Anat didn’t foresee the call-up of her husband, daughter, and son all simultaneously. None of us could see the future. Sometimes, the world can be a scary place. How do you live with that? I’m fond of a common proverb: “I don’t know what the future holds, but I know who holds the future.” I especially like the saying’s emphasis on trust in a higher power. I find solace in the thought that while the future is uncertain, one can find comfort and guidance in one’s faith or belief in a higher power.

In several places in the Bible, God assures Israel of his care for them. One place is in Jeremiah 29:11 [NJPS translation].

I am mindful of the plans I have made concerning you—declares the LORD—plans for your welfare, not for disaster, to give you a hopeful future.

Those words were spoken in the context of Babylon. But nothing is said to make me believe that they applied only to that time or that enemy – nothing. I know who holds Israel’s future. And it’s not a Prime Minister, President, or terrorist organization.

May you be living in peace, surrounded by those you love, growing in knowledge and wisdom.

All the best,
Gershon