Eight Days (Story)

Written last year, here is a story that starts on Thanksgiving eve, when a winter storm likewise hit the Northeastern US.

~ ESA
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EIGHT DAYS

The winds howled wordlessly outside. All the local trees had the last of their leaves torn mercilessly from the branches. Driving rain and heavy wet snow covered the northeast the day before Thanksgiving.

In the small riverside town of New Hope, PA, the residents feared the worst. The waters of the Delaware River rose alarmingly as the downpours continued. Some abandoned their holiday plans to move to higher grounds.

Up on the hill, a small Jewish synagogue prepared for both the storm and for the celebration. Wednesday night was not only the eve of Thanksgiving; it was the first night of Chanukah this year.

As the winds and blinding precipitation increased Wednesday morning, the lights around their small community were winking out, even before the full onset of daylight. Wednesday had become a dark day indeed.

The Rabbi of the local synagogue was a practical hands-on woman. She went out into the driving rain and started the generator. The lights in the little shul slowly blossomed into life again.

Shaking the rainwater from her hair as she stepped back inside, the Rabbi pulled out her cell phone, praying the reception from the cell tower would hold a while more.

"Hello?" the synagogue's Administrator answered.

The Rabbi identified herself and updated the Administrator on the situation. "The question in my mind," she added, "is how long do we have?"

"For lights, water pump, and minimal heat we have enough propane to last three days. Maybe less."

"Three days," the Rabbi signed, remembering Hurricane Sandy. "I pray this storm is not as bad."

"Will you cancel tonight's celebration?"

The Rabbi laughed at the challenge, "Of course not! This is Chanukah!"

The nor'easter continued through the day. While the winds died down in the evening, the widespread devastation in Eastern PA included their little town. Limbs were down everywhere. Power lines snaked across lawns and streets. Power was out and calls to PP&L discovered that the major trunk lines into the area were destroyed. New Hope, being a small tourist community, was nearly last on the recovery list.

The town needed to rely on its own resources for the next few days...

Being a hardy lot, the residents had weathered many snowstorms and outages before. Even if many of the roads were blocked, the residents came out on foot in droves Wednesday to assess the damage and to help each other.

By the afternoon, the Administrator had called the propane supplier in Harrisburg, PA. Then she called the Rabbi with the bad news. "With the roads into our town closed, they cannot get us anything. We were originally scheduled for a delivery Friday, but now it looks like it will be sometime next week."

The members of the synagogue helped each other to the little shul on the hill Wednesday evening, some even walking a mile or so through the last of the rain and blowing snow as the sun remained hidden behind darkened clouds.

At the end of the service, the Rabbi announced that the synagogue was ready to help any who needed a shelter. Even more, hot showers and hot meals would be provided.

The administrator approached the Rabbi with her brows drawn down in a worried scowl, "When I said three days, Rabbi, I meant heat, lights and water pump only. If we start to use the propane for hot water and cooking, we have less than a day's worth of propane! Our pipes will FREEZE! You know temps are predicted to plummet Thursday night!"

The Rabbi nodded. "That is EXACTLY why I opened the invitation. There are many in need. We should not turn them away."

The Administrator grumbled that there will be a price to pay, but the Rabbi caught her sleeve to grab her attention, "One more thing: Tell no one about the propane issue."

That night, seven families moved into the temporary shelter set up in the synagogue's community room. Hot soup, juice, coffee, tea and showers were made available. Even crayons and coloring pages were ready for the children.

The next day, the Rabbi got a call from the local Christian Church. They had fourteen families sheltering there, and their fuel tank was practically empty. "We have enough to cover Thanksgiving meals, but we'll be in the dark tonight. Can you help?" the minister asked the Rabbi.

"If we still have lights, send them up the hill," the Rabbi responded, wondering where they could get the fuel themselves. She sighed, "We will do what we can. All of us are in G-D's hands now."

The Christian Church's generator sputtered to an end around noon Thanksgiving Day. The church's volunteers served the community a hot dinner in a cooling room lit by candle light. With no generator to bring water up, they relied on portable toilets and paper plates. The kitchen pots and pans would just have to wait until there were resources to clean them.

Members of the Jewish community helped relocate the fourteen families from the church to the synagogue. An additional three families joined them as their gasoline generators died during the day. Twenty-four families crowded into the little shul's community room. Somehow, the water continued to flow, the heat, hot showers and hot food continued to be available, and the lights remained on.

The Rabbi wandered out to the generator just as the sun was making its final approach to the horizon. She rapped the propane tank with her knuckles near the bottom. It sounded sadly empty. She bowed her head in dismay. It was a matter of minutes now. There were no other shelters in the community with lights.

She wrapped her coat tightly around her as she walked back to the building. It was time to light the second candle on the Menorah.

By the morning, the Rabbi was dumbfounded; the generator continued to chug through the night. The smell of hot coffee and hot breakfast greeted her as she went through the community room, asking how everyone was doing.

She also made discrete inquires if anyone changed the tanks during the night. No one had. In fact, all were clearly unaware that there was no fuel.

She went outside and checked the tank. It was still the same tank, right down to the identifying number stamped on its side. She rapped it once again; it still sounded empty -- completely empty.

The temperature climbed from the freezing numbers through Friday. So the community got to work clearing the tree branches and shoving the dead power lines to the sides so they could travel the local roads.

Pick-up trucks ventured to the main roads into town. Some had huge swaths of limbs down as though a tornado or down draft plowed through the Deleware Water Gap's Forest. Others were washed away completely by the flash floods that ran down the steep hillsides. They were, indeed, cut off for some time to come.

The residents of New Hope took matters in stride.

As Friday evening's and Saturday's Shabbat ceremonies were held, a few new curious faces joined those in the synagogue.

While black-Friday shopping was a bust, most of Main Street was cleared by Saturday. Shop-keepers were still out of power and heat, but they used the natural light pouring in through the windows. Some even braved the elements and set out tables on the sidewalks to lure shoppers.

By Sunday, the world seemed to have forgotten their little town. PP&L still reported that they are doing their best to repair the trunk lines to get the power to their local substations. Penn-DOT reported that road clearing and repairs would begin on Monday.

Through all this time, the propane tank at the synagogue continued to supply the generator, heat, hot water and kitchen, defying all rational explanation. The Rabbi and Administrator kept this to themselves; they did not want to worry those sheltering there.

Sunday night, after lighting the fifth Menorah candle, those crowded into the little shul stared at each other as a loud reverberating noise filled the air. They gathered at windows and outside as a cacophony of roars grew in volume. Then over the mountain they saw the National Guard helicopters. With no place to land, they guided people to a location using spotlights. There they carefully lowered crates of supplies to the ground.

Food, bottled water, blankets, medical supplies... the volunteers quickly sorted through the contents in those crates. The Rabbi ran to one of the soldiers who was on the ground coordinating the supply drop. "What about propane? Any propane?"

"Sorry, ma'am," the uniformed guard shouted back over the roar of the hovering choppers. "Not this run. Maybe on the next trip. You should see the devastation. We've got towns cut off all over Pennsylvania and New Jersey. Maine, New Hampshire and Vermont have towns buried in snow."

The soldier studied the faces of the community, "Are there any evacuees? Anyone who needs medical attention outside your town?" The Rabbi shook her head, "As long as there is the insulin and the other medical supplies we asked for, we should be OK. What we really need is propane. I don't know how long we have before we get the power back."

The soldier nodded, "I'll relay your request, ma'am. It's a good thing you had full tanks when the storm hit."

The Rabbi shared a lopsided smile with the solider, and replied quietly, "The truth is we didn't; we only had enough for one day..."

Monday night, a new family showed up at the little shul. A few hisses and whispered comments were passed among those gathered when the family climbed out of the car. The mother and her two teenaged daughters were wearing hijabs.

Several members of the synagogue stormed through the Rabbi's office door. "We have a problem, Rabbi. There are those here that would rather stay at home and freeze than to shelter a Islamic family under our roof."

The Rabbi looked up from the pages she studied on the desk before her. "Are we not taught to help our neighbor?"

"But these are Muslims, Rabbi! They are not our People!"

"The Christians we brought under our roof are not Jews, yet we sheltered them."

"That is different. We have done a lot of work for our community with them. We know them. This family... is different; they are strangers. There is no mosque in New Hope! Let them go across the Delaware to find help. They are not welcome here."

The Rabbi closed the book on her desk and wordlessly met the eyes of each and every person gathered there.

Then she quietly responded, "We were strangers in Egypt. Yet Our G-D heard our cry and led us out of Egypt to Israel. This family is now crying to G-D. They are cold and hungry. When we were cold and hungry those 40 years in the desert, did G-D abandon us? No! G-D sent us food. Now we have a family whom G-D in His Wisdom has led here, with whom we can share G-D's Love and Providence."

One of the men growled through his beard, "Remember, Rabbi, you are an employee of this synagogue's counsel. If you push this upon the community, you will find yourself out of a job before the end of December!"

The Rabbi sat back, then resolve filled her heart and soul. "If that is what this synagogue community wants, then I will accept what G-D has in mind for my life." She gestured toward the propane tank visible through her window. "Do you see that tank?"

Those gathered were taken aback by the sudden change in topic. One of them inquired, "What about the tank?"

The Rabbi smiled a knowing smile. "We only had enough propane for one day."

She fell silent to let the meaning of the words sink in. That fuel had lasted for over six full days and still continued.

One of the women began to cry. One of the men hit his knees and began to pray. The others wordlessly shuffled out of the Rabbi's office and began to spread the news.

The Rabbi went outside to greet the newcomers personally, welcoming them to their little hilltop shul.

On Wednesday, Penn-DOT finally cleared one of the roads into town. The Administrator put in the call to the propane supplier; they would be there the next day.

As the final candle was lit on the Menorah that night, the generator outside sputtered and died. Those gathered in the synagogue blinked in the darkened room. Only the menorah provided light for the room, and those gathered gazed upon it in silence and wonder.

Then the lights came back on. Not from the generator; the main trunk lines into town had been restored, and the small town of New Hope, PA was back on the main grid.

The Rabbi walked toward the light switch as tears streamed down her cheeks. She snapped off the electric lights and in the soft glow of the lit Menorah, she began the ritual prayers.

Soup Story (Story)

Written years ago, I wanted to share this Autumn Story with my readers at a time of Thanksgiving.

~ ESA

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There was once a little village in a time not so long ago. Unlike the days of old when the villagers once worked the land as their ancestors, these villagers got into their cars and traveled a distance – sometimes a great distance to get to the jobs they worked. For you see, these jobs paid for the food on their table, paid for the clothes on their back and paid for the roof over their head. But in those days, taxes weren’t so high, jobs paid well, and there was even time for leisure where the village would hold picnics and parties and music concerts on the village green. Neighbors and friends had time to visit one another and even help one another. It was a close knit community. There was even money to spare, and the village would raise funds to donate to charities, such as the soup kitchens in the nearby cities. This went on for several years.

Then times changes, as they sometimes do. Businesses closed nearby and the villagers had to travel even further from home. Leisure time became less. Neighbors stopped seeing each other as much, but would still make time to attend the gatherings on the village green. Unfortunately, they didn’t have the time to visit each other nor help one another like before. Money was still good, but not as good as before. Donations were slimmer at the charities. This went on for some years.

Times changed again. Businesses were laying off, and taxes were rising. The villagers also changed a bit more inside. It had been some time since they knew their neighbors. There were fewer and fewer people they recognized at the village gatherings. Who were all these new people? Where did they come from? Are they after our jobs? If they take our jobs, how will I feed my family? Will we loose our home?

The the news spoke of terrible things that neighbor did against neighbor, and informed one and all that they should be alert against strangers. The attendance at the village green shrank and eventually the village no longer held these outings. Villagers would get home, stay on their own lot and lock their windows and doors, careful not to be noticed by any strangers in their midst.

Then taxes continued to rise, the price of gas skyrocketed and jobs were cut again. With money only trickling in and signs that there were even tougher times ahead, donations dried up. The nearby soup kitchens closed.

Now, during this time, on a bright fall day, a minister to the poor and hungry in the nearby city decided to try the local villages to see if he could get any donations to reopen the soup kitchens. But try as he might, house by house, block by block, no one had anything to spare, not even a box of macaroni and cheese or a can of soup. Some would not even open the door because he was a stranger.

It didn’t take this minister long to see that not only had this village come upon hard economic times, but the community itself that once thrived in villages like this had also vanished. Taking the villagers into his heart, he decided to do something to help them before he went on his way to the next village.

Near the town green, he spied an old propane grill on one side of someone’s home. He knocked on the door again and said to the surly man who answered, “Excuse me, sir, I know you do not have any food to spare, but I just noticed your gas grill – the one rusting on the side of your house. Could I borrow it to heat up some food out there on the green? You see, we’re going to have an end of the season party, a nice one with food and games and music and laughter. We could use your grill.”

The surly man eyed the minister suspiciously. “Why? There’s no any gas for it.”

The minister merely shrugged, “I would appreciate it if you let me borrow it all the same. I will certainly return it when I’m done.”

The surly man gazed at the minister a long minute and ran his eyes over the expanse of the village green. A few lonely oak trees stood majestically, brightly colored leaves fluttering to the empty lawn beneath them. There was no one on the green or even outside. “Who’s the ‘we’ at this party? There’s no one out there.”

The minister smiled broadly, “Oh, the whole village is invited; you’re more than welcome to come too. It’ll be fun!”

The surly neighbor’s eyes narrowed and he thought a few moments. “What will you charge for those attending?”

“Charge?” asked the minister shocked. “Why nothing! This is merely a friendly gathering. Friends don’t charge friends when they gather together. But” added the minister, “if you feel like bringing anything out to share, it will be more than appreciated. However, it’s not a requirement.”

The surly man shook his head and the beginnings of a smile crept at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t know what you’re up to, you old coot. But sure, you can borrow my grill. But I can’t give you anything else…” He stepped out of his home and unlocked the grill from the metal pole that secured it.

“I thank you for your loan, that is more than sufficient,” added the minister as he wheeled the grill across the road and onto the village green.

Next, the minister found another gas grill – this time with an empty propane tank. After a similar conversation, he wheeled the second grill next to the first.

Then he found someone who had a little propane left in his tank a little further from the green and managed to acquire this and connected it to the first grill.

After that, the minister wound his way to some of the neighbors and was able to obtain four oversized pots – two for each grill.

With a little bit of a jig in his walk, the minster then went in search of water. “Just a little tap water will do just fine” he told them. Soon he had all four of the borrowed pots full.

By now, the villagers had become very curious. Even though they were suspicious of this stranger in their midst, what kind of harm could he do with four large pots of water, two gas grills and barely enough propane to light one grill for two minutes. They started to gather on the green, keeping their distance from this strange minister and each other, but curious one and the same.

The minister looked up from his work as he finished pouring the last of the water into the forth pot. He smiled broadly and pointed to the nearby picnic tables that had become grey and weathered and long since unused. “It’s going to take some time before the soup will be ready. Perhaps you could sit there and play some games until then.”

The villagers looked wide-eyed at the tables and back to the minister. “There’s no games over there,” one of the villagers called back.

The minister looked over at the tables as if surprised. “Oh, I haven’t gotten them yet. Does anyone know who would be willing to loan us some cards or maybe a board game we can play until the soup is ready?”

“I have some cards I can bring out,” one villager called back and hurried back to her home.

“My kids have some fun board games,” replied another and he hurried off in a different direction.

In no time there were quite a few villagers out on the green on this nice sunny autumn day. Some brought a baseball, bat and gloves and started an impromptu game in one corner; others were playing dodgeball or tag, while those gathered around the picnic tables watched or played the various games that had started there.

In the meantime the minister went out again, asking house to house for some salt, pepper, and common herbs and seasonings. These he added to the cold water in the four large pots above the two unlit grills.

A young man, at the prompting of some neighbors went over to the minister. “How do you expect to heat this soup without any propane?”

The minister tapped the gauge of one tank -- just under a sixteenth of a tank. “This is enough to start. But if someone could donate a little more, I would greatly appreciate it. It will heat up the soup that much faster.”

The young man, smiled and almost laughed. “I’d say it would….” He paused and glanced over at his family. “Say, I have about half a tank at home. This is probably the last time we’d have to use it. I’ll bring it over.”

The minister grinned broadly, “Thank you.”

By the time the young man walked back to the green with the propane tank on his shoulder, a second villager was heading out to get his. Soon the two grills were lit and a vapor of steam wafted off the surface of the contents of the four pots.

A middle-aged woman wandered over as minister was stirring with a long-handled wooden spoon he managed to borrow from somewhere. She glanced into the pots with a knowing eye and commented, “That’s a mighty thin soup you’ve got there.”

“Yes,” replied the minister with a sad smile. “But these are thin times and we can not give what we don’t have…”

The woman glanced at the minister and then at the growing crowd on the village green. “I have some potatoes I was planning for our dinner tonight. It looks like we’re going to be eating here instead, so I’ll bring them out to you. It’s not much but it will help your soup.”

The minister smiled broadly and the hints of tears appeared in his eyes. “That would be a very generous donation, ‘mam. Thank you very much.”

The woman returned with an armload of potatoes, just enough for one and a half in each pot. When she returned to the villagers gathered around the tables, some asked her why she gave the stranger her food. When she told them her reasons, a few others nodded and departed to their kitchens. Soon a few limp carrots and some cabbage were added to the pots.

An old man wandered over to pots and commented to the minister. “You know, sonny. I remember a lean time long before this. My mum would make soup like this back in the ‘30’s. It was a real treat for us when we could get hold of some chicken necks to toss in there.”

The minister’s nose crinkled a bit. “Chicken necks?”

“Aye, sonny, there’s some meat to be had on the necks and there’s flavor from the bones.”

The minister nodded and laughed a little. “It’s a nice thought, but I don’t think the local supermarket carries chicken necks.”

“Laugh and think what you will, sonny. But I used to be a butcher. I still do some butchering now and then.” And the old man winked at the minister. “I have some in my freezer now, if you promise not to tell the others what they are. They think I’m old and crazy as it is.”

The minister’s eyes widened with delight. “That would be wonderful!”

The old man shuffled off to his home humming an old tune that arose from his heart.

Little by little, the small donations the villagers made thickened the soup. Soon the aroma filled the village green and the hungry villagers passed the remaining time playing games, and singing songs accompanied by the guitars and other musical instruments people had brought out. Laughter and the buzz of conversation among neighbors rose in the village green as the shadows of the great oaks extended across the autumn grass.

In the fading daylight the villagers headed home for their bowls and mugs as well as jackets and wraps. They lined up peaceably while the minister spooned out the soup to any who wanted it. In the cool air after a fun day in the sunshine, the soup was warm and wonderful. Everyone had a smile on their face.

Those who loaned the pots were surprised there was some soup leftover and offered some to their neighbors as they headed home.

When the gas grills where wheeled away and the last of the villagers were heading home in the darkness. The minister returned to his car with a sigh. He didn’t accomplish what he planned to do here; there was still no food for the soup kitchen… Then he heard two people talking as they walked by his car on their way home.

“You know, Joe, that was fun. We should do that more often.”

“You’re right, Bob. We don't spend time with neighbors like we used to. And it’s amazing to see how far so little food could go.”

The minister smiled to himself as he realized, maybe he didn’t fail after all…

Lion and Little Mouse (Story)

As autumn and harvest time change to long winter days, it is time to share this story with my readers.

~ESA
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Lion and Little Mouse

One day a little mouse was scurrying about trying to prepare for the cold dark winter days ahead. She was a tiny thing, even for a mouse, but she had a very big heart. Before making her own preparations, she stopped to help others first. By the time she started her own preparations, there wasn't much left in reach.

The little mouse ranged farther and farther from the safety of her home looking for what she needed to survive the cold dark winter days ahead. On one of these long journeys, she broke through the tall golden autumn grass and found herself practically nose to nose with a lion that had been resting there. Her whiskers quivered in fear and a piercing startled squeak leapt from her throat on its own volition. 

Her squeak must have awakened the sleeping lion for he opened his golden eyes and gazed calmly at her. Realizing she had just disturbed the King of all the animals, the little mouse hunkered down and lowered her large round ears. "I- I'm sorry, Your Great Majesty, for disturbing your rest," she timidly squeaked and quickly turned to scamper off. 

The lion's quick paw came down gently but firmly on her little furred tail pinning her there, regardless of how fast her paws scrambled against the ground. The poor little mouse was now terrified and she froze in horror with the realization that she was now trapped. 

The lion smiled gently and picked the little mouse up by her tail and lightly placed her on his other paw, bringing her closer to his penetrating gaze. Though sunlight sparkled from his own whiskers, the little mouse couldn't peel her eyes from the sharp white teeth that were now clearly visible. 

A gentle chuckle rose from the lion's broad chest. "Don't be afraid, little mouse. I am not hungry nor do I toy with you. What brings such a little mouse so far from her home?" 

"Oh, please, Your Majesty! I was just preparing for the dark winter days ahead. All the supplies within reach were already gathered near my home so I had to go further out this year seeking what I need. Please just let me go and I'll be on my way. I did not wish to disturb you." 

"And why did you not gather what you needed before now, little mouse?" 

"I helped some of my friends and neighbors to make sure they were ready for the cold dark winter days ahead. That is why I had a late start. Again, kind Lion, please let me go and I'll be on my way." 

"Not so fast, little mouse. Why did you not seek help of your friends and neighbors when you set out to gather your own supplies?" 

"I am still young and able. I do not wish to be a burden to anyone as long as I am able to do for myself."

"Ah!" commented the lion. "But now you are far from home and alone. But you are not truly alone; for I am here. I will help you."

"You?!?" squeaked the mouse curling her tiny ears back along her head. "Why would the King of all the Animals want to help a little mouse like me?" 

The lion smiled knowingly and lowered the mouse to the ground. "There may be a day when I need your help." 

Puzzled the little mouse tilted her head back to look up at the lion that towered over her; the sunlight danced in his noble mane so very, very far above her. "If there is ever a time when you need my help, I am willing to do so. But you do not need to help me now, Noble Lion." 

The lion's smile broadened and his golden eyes sparkled with a secret knowledge. "Even if you believe that now, little mouse, I will help you. It will make your quest easier and you will be ready for the cold dark winter days ahead." 

And so the lion helped the little mouse, lifting her high so she could reach what she needed to survive the cold dark winter days ahead. He even carried the little mouse and her supplies back to her home.

"I thank you, friend Lion," squeaked the little mouse from her doorway. "And if you ever need any help that I can provide, I will gladly do so. But I still cannot think HOW a little mouse like myself will be able to help the King of all the animals." 

The lion smiled knowingly and nodded his acceptance of her thanks and timid offer of help. "We shall see what the future holds." 

Some days later, the lion was out on patrol. The nearby man's village was growing. It was near sundown on this day, and the construction site had been abandoned by the workers. Curious as to what they were doing, he wandered among the buildings and poked his whiskered white-tipped nose here and there. 

It wasn't long before his great forepaw came down on a small steel roofing nail. At first it didn't hurt as much, but the more he tried to work it out, the deeper the nail bit into his paw. At last the pain was too great and an agonized roar escaped his throat.

All the animals heard their King's roar of pain. They all ran, hopped, scampered and trotted toward the sound. But each and every one of the animals stopped at the edge of construction site. None would dare enter where humans have tread, even to help their King. 

The lion by then was in such pain he couldn't walk the distance back to where the animals were. "Please, help me!" begged the lion. "The nail has bitten deep into my paw and I cannot get it out!" 

None of the animals moved, but the crowd observing their King's pain grew as more and more animals arrived at the scene. 

At last the little mouse also arrived. She had to weave in and out of all the other animals to see what the commotion was about. When she saw her lion friend hurt in the middle of what man had made, she turned to the other animals. "Can't you see he's in pain? Why has no one gone to help him?" 

"Foolish little mouse!" growled the black panther. "That's man's world. Even I will not go there. If that lion decided to enter into man's world, he's on his own. We will not risk own hides to help him."

The little mouse's whiskers quivered in rage. "How can you say that? Isn't he your King as well as mine? I don't care where he is, I'll go over there and help him." With a swish of her long tail, she scampered over the embankment and entered the construction site. 

In a few minutes she was once again before the lion, her sides heaving from the long run. The lion looked down at the little mouse with pain in his golden eyes, and he looked back across the way at all the gathered animals. "Why is it only you who has come to my aide?" he asked.

"They don't want to enter man's world; they're afraid." She looked around herself with wide panicked eyes. "I'm a bit frightened too, but I remembered my promise to you. I'll help if I can. But I'm so little I don't know if my services will do you any good." 

"Yes, you can help, little friend." The lion stretched forth the forepaw. "There is a nail in my paw and it hurts something fierce." 

The little mouse scurried over the great paw and tilted her head as she studied the nail. "It's such a little nail. It's actually a bit smaller than I am." She stood up on her hindpaws and gripped the nail with both forepaws. Then she pulled with all her might.

The lion hissed a moment as the nail pulled free and then sighed greatly in relief. "Thank you, little friend. That is much better." He lowered his shoulder to the little mouse. "Get on my back, little mouse. I will carry you home. You have come a great distance to help me." 

She gratefully hopped on his shoulder and climbed the rest of the way to his spine where she comfortably settled herself at the base of his golden mane. As she rode back through the construction site, she noted the look of all the gathered animals. They were not happy. Though they did not want to help the lion, they were not happy that she received special treatment because she did. She felt even more timid and her tummy started to flutter. "Friend Lion......" she began hesitantly. 

"Yes, little mouse?" answered the lion as he gazed over his shoulder at her. 

"Can I ask something of you... I'm very grateful for all your help before and for the ride now, but what I did was such a small thing. Please don't treat me any differently than the other animals." 

The lion paused and fixed the little mouse with his golden gaze. "But you are the one who came out to help me where no one else would go." 

"To me it doesn't matter. I'd help you out of friendship, not for a reward. Please, Your Majesty, I'm just a little mouse, shy like all my kind. Don't you see the way the others glare in my direction. I'm not comfortable way up high like this. Just let me be me and free, that is what I desire."

"If you are certain, so shall it be, my little friend." 

So once again, the lion carried the little mouse to her home and let her scamper down to her front door. "I shall not forget this, friend, even if everyone else does. Call on me if you ever need help again." 

The mouse smiled warmly. "Thank you, friend Lion. And if I can ever help you again, don't hesitate to call on me." 

And they were good friends ever since.

Good News - Better News (True Story)

I work for a company that connects paper mills and manufacturers to sell rolls of paper - LARGE rolls. We ensure that the paper gets to the customer on time in good condition. This doesn't always go as planned.

Recently, we had numerous issues on one particular order. First, the mill shipped rolls with a much smaller outside diameter than requested. Then they shipped only 35,000 pounds (15,900 kg) instead of the requested 44,000 pounds (20,000 kg). We only were alerted to this when the shipping container was en route from Europe to the eastern US seaboard. Ooops!

After we altered the customer to the issues, they notified us that they needed the paper sooner than anticipated. One cannot just ask the cargo ship to turn around so we can use air freight.

Our joy that the ship arrived at port three days early ended abruptly when we learned that US Customs had randomly chosen our container for a closer inspection. One cannot hurry a customs inspector without making the process even longer. So we had to wait again and update an irate customer daily, who at this point purchased paper from our competitor to meet their production schedule.

Once Customs released the paper, we anticipated that the Nashville, Tennessee customer would have the paper in a few days. However, instead of sending it by truck, the mill's transportation department shipped it intermodal, which means by railroad THEN by truck. The standard ETA for US rail transit is "it gets there when it gets there."

To add to the dilemma, the train was delayed twice, once for power outage somewhere en route and a two-day delay in Georgia. At this point, our customer support staff were practically drawing straws each morning to see who would tell the customer the bad news for the day.

The customer had purchased a SECOND supply from our competitor by the time the container arrived at the Huntsville, Alabama intermodal facility. We had a truck waiting there; we were taking no chances now! The rail arrived at noon on Friday (over 12 hours after the ETA provided Thursday morning). At which point, our customer informs us that they do not take any deliveries after 2:00 pm, and they are a two and a half hours drive from the intermodal facility. So the paper delivery will FINALLY be Monday morning.

Monday morning, we get an email from the customer: they cannot unload the container. The inside clearance of the cargo container is 7-1/2 feet (2.3 meters); the mast on their clamp truck reached 8-1/2 feet (2.6 meters). And because our paper rolls were not on pallets and weighed 1,450 pounds (657 kg) each, there was no other way to move these rolls.

The customer insisted that they needed this paper for Wednesday morning's production run--no more excuses. We needed to find a solution-FAST!

We contacted dozens of warehouses in the Nashville area to see if we can get one to cross-dock (unload and reload into a different truck), but it seems that clamp trucks are a rarity. We found one -- with a five week backlog and no chance of getting to our rolls.

Then we came up with the brilliant idea to contact manufacturing companies that use these large rolls and have the appropriate-sized clamp truck. One of our larger customers in Louisville, Kentucky came to the rescue. Not only did they have the smaller sized clamp truck, they would be happy to cross-dock it for us (even though the paper was going to their competitor) for FREE! In heartfelt gratitude, we offered to treat the Shipping/Receiving Department to pizza.

At 2:00 pm we sent the intermodal truck ahead to Louisville to be unloaded and spent the remainder of Monday trying to find a truck to ship the paper from Louisville back to Nashville. Getting a truck on short order in the US is itself a challenge. By 4:30pm, we still didn't have a solution.

That was when we were told the truck was still parked in Nashville. Apparently, the customer was working on their own solution. When the driver started to pull away, the Receiving Manager ran out and asked the truck to wait. They had rented a smaller clamp truck that would arrive that evening.

By Tuesday morning, we had a redelivery truck on standby and the Louisville customer ready and waiting to cross-dock, but the Nashville customer was able to unload the paper with the rental. So I called our Louisville customer, "I have good news and I have better news. The good news is that they unloaded the rolls so you do not need to cross-dock for us. The better news, is because of your generous offer, we're sending you the pizza anyway."

When they argued that the pizza was not necessary as they didn't do anything, I understood why it was necessary as the words spilled out of my mouth: "It's not whether you did the work or not, it's because you offered to do it for us, even when it helped a competitor, for free. And it's that kind of generosity that we sincerely appreciate."

I hope and pray we see more cases of this generosity in the world -- from individuals and from businesses. The bottom line isn't the only mark of a great company.

Awaiting His Return (A Passover/Easter Story)

Amit was jostled by the crowds near the city gate. Short for her nine years of age, she couldn’t see what the commotion was about, but her young ears caught the exclamation, “He’s returned! Rabbi Yeshua (Jesus) returned to Jerusalem!” 

Her heart leapt in joy. He came back! She vividly recalled the last time she saw him: the gentle voice and smile that lit his eyes as he told the children stories. 

Squirming her way through the myriad thicket of legs, she dodged her way through the crowd, toward home. Dashing headlong across the small courtyard, she threw all her weight against the heavy wooden door to open it, stumbling into the cool dark interior. 

Rushing to the hearth where two small bread loaves cooled from the morning’s baking, she carefully wrapped the better of the pair in a clean cloth. Cradling the still-warm loaf, she stepped out of the two-room home into the bright desert sunlight, pulling the door closed behind her. 

She ran through Jerusalem’s narrow streets back to the gate, but the crowd was gone, leaving only dust motes sparkling in the sunlight. With a rising panic, she glanced around and discovered a path of palm branches strewn in the street, clearly indicating the procession’s direction. 

Green branches crunched under her worn leather sandals as she panted up that street. The scent of newly cut palms rose from the dust, mingling with the scents of humanity and animals common to the city of her birth. 

When she finally caught up with them, Yeshua was dismounting the young donkey he rode into the city, and a great crowd of followers and curious onlookers gathered. 

Using her small stature to advantage, she clutched the loaf close to her heart and ducked between the people, pushing her way to the front where he stood. 

When one of his followers stopped her, Yeshua spied her and said she could come forward. 

With reverence and the unconscious grace only the young can exhibit, she approached smiling and held out her gift. “Here, Rabbi, it’s the first I’ve ever made!” 

The cloth was now dusty from its journey, but warm to his fingertips as he accepted it; the aroma of fresh baked bread drifted out from the folds to greet his nose. He smiled kindly with twinkling eyes and lowered himself on one knee, meeting her gaze levelly. “Thank you, Amit.” 

“I’m glad you came back, Rabbi Yeshua. I knew you would return to Jerusalem.” 

His smile broadened and he placed his hand lovingly on her slim shoulder. “I tell you this, child. I will always return to those who believe.” 

She grinned back and replied, “Thank you, Rabbi.” She bestowed a kiss on his bearded cheek and then simply turned and pushed her way back through the crowd towards her awaiting chores. 

+ + + 

The following days passed in bliss; she rushed through chores as her father attended Rabbi Yeshua’s teachings. Then she gathered with the other children to hear wondrous stories. At night, her family listened as their father recounted the Rabbi’s message. 

Four days after the memorable entrance, she helped her mother clean and prepare their home for the Pesach. She loved this holiday and even helped bake the matzo and set the Seder Plate for that first night. Her father read from the Haggadah and asked the youngest child the traditional questions, starting with “Why is this night different?” 

The family prayed together and sang the familiar songs, eating with the dishes reserved for this special holiday. All the while, Amit wondered where Yeshua celebrated the Seder that night, and how long he would be in Jerusalem. 

The next day arrived with a tumult in the streets. Her father departed early and returned quickly, demanding that she stay home with her siblings. “Do not even venture beyond our gate, Amit,” he admonished, knowing her tendency to be headstrong. 

“Honor your father’s wishes, Amit,” her mother added as she draped her head-covering over her head and shoulders, following her husband down the street. 

With her mother gone, Amit drew the water, tended the fire, baked the matzo, ground the grain into flour, and other household tasks she could do. 

Her curiosity grew as the hours passed. At one point, she heard a great crowd moving through the city. Laboring to get the ladder against their home, she clambered onto the rooftop. But the crowd was too distant to see anything of interest as it traveled down the hill and out the gate. The girl sighed disappointed and returned to her chores. 

Three hours later, she shivered and looked up from the small grinder. The sky had grown ominously dark; sunset was three hours away. Fearing a storm, she told her siblings to shutter the windows. She also prayed to God that if the storm was bad, her parents would find shelter; they were away a long time. 

Gathering bowls with wheat kernels and flour, she started across the courtyard. But before she reached the doorway, the ground violently shook, throwing her to her knees; bowls and contents clattered to the ground, spilling her day’s work. 

Heedless of the loss, she shouted to her siblings above the unknown roar and frightening shifting and explosions of stone and mortar from the surrounding buildings as though she suddenly found herself beneath a giant’s grinding stone. Hearing dismayed cries; she pulled herself to her feet and stumbled over heaving ground to the door-frame, bracing herself there. 

Her two siblings inside clung to each other, crying with wide, terrified eyes. Maintaining her grip on the doorpost just below the Mezuzah, Amit threw an outstretched hand toward them and grabbed a sleeve, yanking the pair through the door with a strength she did not know she possessed. 

As the three tumbled to the ground, the earthquake ended as abruptly as it started. An eerie silence surrounded them; their coughing exceedingly loud in the air thick with dust under a dark, ominous sky. As the event began to register in her nine-year-old mind, she clung to her siblings and wept with them. 

Not long after, their parents scrambled up the rubble-strewn street, entering their courtyard. Relieved to find their children alive and their home relatively intact, both parents clutched their offspring to their breasts and thanked God. 

After a while, Amit found her voice and asked, “What happened, Abba?” 

Her father gently grasped both her hands, meeting her curious gaze. “Today they crucified Rabbi Yeshua.” 

She stood there, shaking her head wordlessly; silent tears streamed down her dusty cheeks. She mouthed the words “No” and “Why” but no sound escaped past the lump in her throat. 

He embraced her, stroking her hair as the words sank in. 

After a few moments, she snuffled and pulled her head back, asking, “But Rabbi Yeshua will return, won’t he?” 

He gently shook his head, tears welling in his own eyes. “He’s gone, child. He died today.” 

“But… But he said he’ll always return to those who believe…. He said so….” The last words were a whisper fading into the dusty silence. 

He tried to draw his distraught daughter back into his embrace, but she pulled away. 

With all the determination she could muster, she marched to the side of their home and uprighted the fallen ladder, climbing back onto the rooftop. 

Shaking his head, he mounted the ladder and poked his head above the roofline.

The child stared toward the city gate through which Yeshua was escorted to Golgotha. Evening fell early under the dark sky, but there was an inner light shining in his young daughter’s eyes. 

He gently asked, “What are you looking for, Amit?” 

“I’m watching for Rabbi Yeshua’s return, Abba.” she quietly replied. 

Tears rolled over his cheeks into his beard as he climbed onto the rooftop, standing beside her. Wordlessly, he placed his hand on her slim shoulder, watching with her as the environs slowly grew darker. Sunset approached; it was time for his wife to light the candles and for them to recite the Kiddush. He helped his daughter down from the roof and inside. 

+ + + 

All through the Shabbat, Amit was quieter than usual, much quieter. She was deep in thought with a determined look that never left her features. 

When the first three stars appeared that evening, she approached her father, “Rabbi Yeshua has been gone for over a day now,” she started matter-of-factly. “He’ll be hungry. Let’s prepare some food we can leave out for him to eat when he returns.” 

Her mother was about to countermand her wishes, but her father solemnly nodded his assent. She practically skipped to the chicken coup in the courtyard, gathering the eggs to boil. As the hearth fire cooked the eggs and slowly heated the baking stones, she helped her mother prepare the matzo and the evening’s meal.
A few hours later, Amit wrapped a warm shawl around her head and shoulders and gathered the basket containing a skin of wine, the hard-boiled eggs and freshly-baked matzo. Her father held a lit lamp aloft, illuminating the dark road before them. 

While she had been out after dark before, for some unknown reason this night felt different, and her skin pimpled with a chill as the words of the first Pesach question echoed through her mind, Why is this night different?  

The familiar streets and known lamps in their stands, as well as the flickering light in the unshuttered windows and open doorways did not appear changed, but it felt as though she was seeing it all for the first time. 

He escorted her down several streets; the aromas of the evening meals and fresh-baked matzo filled the early night air, mingling with the scents of wood smoke and heated lamp oil. 

Those scents faded as they exited through the city gates lit by smoking torches and made their way into a nearby garden. 

There he paused and placed a firm hand on her shoulder, turning her to face him. “Child, I’m taking you to the place where they laid the body of Rabbi Yeshua after he died on the cross.” 

She nodded gravely; her determination only growing stronger. 

So he gestured with the lamp which path they should take. 

In a quiet part of the garden, there was a freshly-hewn tomb with a large stone rolled before the entrance, sealing it shut. Two bored guards entertained themselves with a dice game under the light of fluttering torches on poles to one side. 

Her father gestured for silence and took the basket from her, passing her the lamp while indicating that she should hide its flame. Hugging the ground, he slowly and carefully made his way along the rocky outcropping opposite where the guards sat. 

Still several feet from the tomb, he gently placed the basket in a nearby bush and quietly retreated to his daughter’s side. Firmly grasping her hand, he led her quickly away from the guards. 

When they were a safe distance, she returned the lamp and whispered, “Did you leave the basket where Rabbi Yeshua would find it, Abba?” 

He smiled and squeezed her hand reassuringly. “Child, if God in his wisdom led a serving woman to find the infant Moses in his basket among the river reeds, I’m certain God can help Rabbi Yeshua find that basket we left for him.” 

She studied his face in the lamplight as they walked quickly. “You believe Rabbi Yeshua will return too, Abba.” It was not a question. 

He paused and lowered himself to one knee, meeting her gaze levelly. “Amit, my daughter, I have heard of the many wonders Rabbi Yeshua has done. I believe he was, indeed, sent by God to our people. If he told you he’d return, perhaps… just perhaps he will. We shall see.” 

He stood upright, affectionately squeezed her hand in his and together they headed home in mutual peace and understanding through the night air filled with Pesach songs. 

+ + + 

In the darkness before the dawn, someone gently touched Amit’s cheek, awakening her from a deep sleep. A soft voice whispered in her ear, “Be quiet, child, and come outside.” 

Careful not to disturb her siblings sleeping in the same bed beside her, she slipped out from under the warm covers and shivered in the chill desert night air. Barefooted, she left the sleeping room and padded across the main room past the banked hearth fire and out the open door. 

Under a moon only days past its full face, Yeshua stood smiling at her as he stood there in brilliantly white robes. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and drew her unkempt hair away from her face. “Rabbi? Is that you?” she whispered. 

His teeth showed clearly in his beard as he grinned broadly. “It is I, Amit,” he whispered back. He held out the empty basket. “Thank you for your gift.” 

She accepted the basket and was about to reach up to bestow a kiss upon his cheek, but he stepped back. “Touch me not, child, for I have yet to go to my Father.” 

She pouted. “You are leaving Jerusalem again?” 

“For a time, but I will Return to those who believe. I will always return.” With another smile and a friendly wave, he passed through the courtyard gate. 

Racing to the gateway, she looked up and down their street, but he was nowhere in sight. Closing the gate, she clutched the basket to her heart and told herself, “He’ll return someday, and I’ll be waiting.”