gone.”
“ Stupid girl,” said he with a chuckle,“ Doesn’ t she know? I’ m never
“ An Apple One Day” by Anonymous
I looked down at the paper clutched in my hand. A flyer. It was impossible to tell what it was when it was handed to me in the middle of a crowd all exiting the synagogue. MITZVAH TIME! was in bold at the top. Come bring food from our annual drive to make someone’ s high holidays special! Contact Jason at CalfmanJ @ SukkatShalom. com to volunteer! Suddenly, I remembered the time my mother, my brother, and I delivered food. Images flashed through my head. My father leaving for his two day trip to Michigan. Going to the synagogue to pick up the food. My mother telling me and my brother on the way there that this experience could change our lives, and teach us to be better people, and talking about the importance of good deeds. She told me that we were bringing food to someone named Mr. Stein, and that this would be a fun and exciting trip. I didn’ t believe her. I didn’ t think giving someone some cans could do anything. Well, that was before Mr. Stein.
My mother started to command the troops as we stood outside door 312:“ His name is Mr. Stein. Don’ t be too loud, or you’ ll disturb the neighbors, but speak up. He is very old and hard of hearing. Listen to all of my instructions. Remember your manners. Use‘ please’ and‘ thank you’.” She turned around and raised her arm to knock.“ Oh! Don’ t touch anything either.” She whispered over her shoulder.“ Here we go.” And without any warning, she knocked. No answer.“ Mommy, where’ s Mr. Stein?” My brother inquired. My mother sighed,“ I don’ t know, honey.”“ Can I knock again?” I pleaded.“ Maybe he didn’ t hear you.” Even though my face was calm, inside I was scared, praying that Mr. Stein wasn’ t passed out on the floor. I hadn’ t signed up for that.
I decided to use the can as a temporary knocker. My hand was poised, and I was about to hit that door with all my strength, but it opened. A short, balding man was standing there in a faded blue polo shirt and jeans.“ Uh, may I help you?” He stuttered.“ We are from Sukkat Shalom,” my mother patiently replied.“ We are looking for Mr. Stein.” The man smiled,“ The synagogue people. Come on in!” My mother immediately pushed past me, bustled inside, and started engaging Mr. Stein in conversation about the weather. I hesitated. The apartment doorway looked like a deep, dark hole, waiting to swallow me up as soon as I stepped close enough.
Noah started to mumble,“ I guess we should-ah-go inside.” He walked in, with second doubts undoubtedly on his mind.
I didn’ t want to follow. In fact, I hadn’ t wanted to even be there. But I couldn’ t let a baby like him show me up. I nervously stepped across the threshold.
A small couch and overstuffed chair were in the main entry room. The aroma was one you might find at a zoo. A dim light hung over a grimy carpet that was so dirty I felt as if I could feel