It was Thursday night. As usual, the young men were gathering at their Rebbe’s house to hear the weekly shiur. Boys they were, really: 17, 18 year old boys from chassidic families, going to yeshiva in Bnei Brak.
It was a segula, they said, to bring some mezonos for after the shiur. A segula to find a shidduch. They brought rogelach or cheap sponge cake from the corner bakery. Something seemed to work, because boys came in with a tray of simple cakes, and left with the confidence that there would be good news soon. And often there was.
This night was different. The boys were gathering in the living room, chatting before the shiur began. All of a sudden, they noticed not one, but two trays filled with not the usual 20 shekel/kilo simple cakes, but something special. Piled on the trays were delicate cakes and sumptuous desserts which they would not even have seen at a fancy wedding: chocolate eclairs filled with cream, Napoleon layered powdered sugar delicacies, rum balls, and marzipan-filled shapes of all kinds. The boys elbowed each other in amazement and appreciation.
“Where did the Viennese dessert table come from?” someone asked.
A tall lanky boy with payos behind his ears, Litvish style, said quietly, “I…I brought the cakes.”
Everyone began pounding the poor boy on the back and giving him “yashar koiyach.” Then the noise quieted down, and the boys found their seats. The Rav began to speak.
After the shiur the boys arranged the chairs in a circle, balancing the pretty napkins on their knees along with the filled plastic plates. Someone proposed a l’chaim with some chocolate liqueur that the host had provided.
“To our friend Shmuel. May he find his bashert soon!” “Amen!” Everyone raised their cups and drank.
Avraham, all of 17, turned toward Shmuel and asked what everyone was wanting to know.
“But Shmuel, why the fancy cakes?”
Shmuel turned a shade of red and cleared his throat.
“Well, I’m…I’m 23, and I know about your special segula. I decided to make it a hiddur mitzvah. So I tried to buy nice cakes. I hope you enjoy them.”
Again the boys voiced their appreciation as they continued to partake of the refreshments.
It is known that the chassidishe boys marry young, while the Livishe boys marry a little older. Avraham’s parents could conceivably call him the next day and tell him to come and meet his future kalla. Avraham again turned to Shmuel. He had a smile on his face as he teased.
“Shmuel, by the time you have your first child, I’ll be a zeidie!”
Avraham was known as a sensitive boy who showed concern for every friend. Clearly, he had not meant to hurt Shmuel. However, the joke, to say the least, did not go over well. Shmuel answered back, obviously hurt:
“When I make my first chalake, Avraham, you still won’t have any kids.”
There was a moment of silence as the boys digested the conversation which had transpired. Someone changed the subject. “The eclairs are the best, I would say.” This brought on a discussion of which cake was the tastiest.
The evening ended and everyone went on his way.
The years passed. Avraham moved to a new neighborhood. He was walking down Ohr Hachaim St. when he ran into his old friend from yeshiva, Yaacov.
“Shalom Aleichem!” Yaacov recognized Avraham immediately.
“Aleichem Shalom!” Returned Avraham, overjoyed to see his old friend. They began discussing the new neighborhood, and soon the discussion turned to Talmud Torahs.
“Where do you send your boys?” Asked Yaacov.
“Well, actually I don’t have any boys yet. In fact, I don’t have any children at all.” Many know this situation and the impossibility of words. Avraham looked at his friend Yaacov and said, ”Five long years.”
“Hashem will help,” said Yaacov. There was a silence.
“You know,” continued Yaacov. “Maybe it has something to do with that night the bachur brought over those fancy cakes.” It took Avraham a moment to remember. “I think you made a comment that you shouldn’t have. You know the stories about people having hakpados, about people holding grudges. Maybe you should call him up and ask his forgiveness. Shmuel, I believe, was his name.”
Avraham looked at his shoes, embarrassed. Then he looked at his friend. “Of course it is worth the humiliation,” Avraham quietly affirmed.
It took a few days to find someone who knew someone who knew where Shmuel was. Shmuel was married with three children. He gladly forgave Avraham. Guess what happened nine months after this episode. Just guess.
Twins!
And since then, Avraham has had many more little voices to fill his house.
