New York Christmas Story #2 - Circa 2003

I'm in Tal Bagels, and it's Friday afternoon, close to Christmas. In front of me is a very old, frail lady who wants to buy a loaf of challah bread. She has one of those old-fashioned change purses that snap close at the top. The people who work there are impatient, moving fast, barking things out, constantly trying to move the line along. She is not getting out her money fast enough for them and then realizes she doesn't have enough money. She asks them to hold the loaf of bread and says she's going to leave the line and figure out how much money she has.

I'm next in the line and I ask how much the challah bread is, and I'm told "three dollars." So I said I'd buy it for her. The counter clerk says, "Really?" Like why would you do that? So I paid for my things, took the wrapped challah bread over to a table where the lady was sitting, counting out her coins on the table with those bony, swollen knuckly, old lady hands.

I sat down at the table with her, gave her the bread, told her I'd gotten it for her, and she was so appreciative. I helped her put her coins back in the little purse and she leaned forward and whispered to me, "I'm so confused." She told me she had just gotten out of the hospital that morning and still wasn't herself. I walked with her out the door, asked her if she thought she could get back to her place OK, and she said yes.

This exchange has never left me, and I have long thought that the blessing was mine to have, not hers. But it's more than that. When I ask myself why this event is so important to me, the answer I come up with is that it is one of the few times in my life (and frankly, I'd be hard-pressed to come up with many more) where I knew, with metaphysical certainty, with 100 percent confidence, that I'd done the right thing.