A Smile A Day

BY: CHAYA BLUSTEIN

“Rivkala, pick up your hand and wave!” I told my little five-year-old daughter. She looked up at me uncertainly, her huge brown eyes questioning.

“I know it feels funny,” I told her, glancing up at the second-story porch, “but look at that lady sitting there. She must feel so lonely. You’ll have such a big mitzvah if you wave at her with a big smile!”

Rivkala squinted up in the sun, and caught the old lady’s gaze. She broke out in a wide smile, showing off her dimples and waved energetically.

“Hello, hello!” she sang.

“What a mitzvah girl!” I praised her. The sun made it hard to see, but I was pretty sure the old lady was beaming back at us.

I added a wave of my own before we turned to go home, into our new house next door.

***

When I moved to Boro Park from Spring Valley, I knew to expect a lot of changes, especially because we moved onto a bustling block in the center of town. Because we were moving to join a close-knit kehillah, I knew that my little daughter would have playmates she knew, but I was pleasantly surprised when she immediately made friends with many of our neighbors as well. It made our settling in even more smooth and easy.

Most of our neighbors were young families just like ours. But there was one older woman right next door who sat out on her porch facing the street, watching the kids play and the buses pass. She seemed a bit lonely to me, sitting there on a chair with only her aide for company.

Whenever I could, I would tell my daughter to wave at the old lady on the second floor. As we waited for the bus, Rivkala happily waved every morning, and it seemed to be appreciated. Sometimes I thought I should really do more, like visit the old lady on Shabbos. But somehow that never happened, busy as I was taking care of my kids and adjusting to a new life. Besides, I had no idea if something like that would even be appreciated.

Life was hectic, and I was busy.

Some mornings we ran to make the bus as the driver honked impatiently, stuffing snack bags into Rivkala’s briefcase as she boarded the bus.

“Bye Rivkala!” I would wave breathlessly, and turn away from the bus, relieved that we had made it in time. Inevitably, as I turned around, I would notice the old lady sitting on the porch. On those kinds of mornings, I was usually too rushed to think about her, let alone acknowledge her and wave.

I never got to know our neighbor better, because not long after our move into the house, the old woman moved out, probably due to poor health. Rivkala excitedly awaited new neighbors with kids her age, who were not long in coming. I almost forgot about the old lady we used to wave to every morning. ***

I was excited to get the invitation in the mail. Devorah was making a bar mitzvah! My best friend was officially reaching a new stage, and I was thrilled to come celebrate it with her. Of course, I was also delighted to have an excuse to visit Spring Valley again and see all my old friends. Although I traveled to my parents pretty often, I didn’t meet up with all my old acquaintances on a regular basis.

Devorah’s bar mitzvah was in a gorgeous new hall I’d never yet been to in Spring Valley. There was a full table of my old classmates, many of whom I hadn’t seen in years.

“Chani!” several of them squealed, sounding like the high school girls we once were. “It’s so good to see you!”

“Same!” I said as I embraced my old friends. This was a total treat!

Devorah, the baalas simchah, gravitated to our table, which was full of giggling and excited exclamations. She pulled up a chair to join us as we shared pictures and stories of our current lives over the fruit cup appetizers. I was having a thoroughly good time, especially since the babysitter did not call even once to complain. Mid-meal, I got up to stretch and headed to the sweet table in the corner where I helped myself to some of the salads that were set out.

“Are you here for Devorah?” the woman with a sleek wig standing near me at the sweet table asked.

I turned around. “Oh, Mrs. Farkas! I didn’t see you!” I said. She was my mother’s old friend, whom I hadn’t seen in years. “It’s so nice to see you again! Yes, I’m here for Devorah. We went to school together back in the day.”

“So this is a bit of a class reunion, then?” Mrs. Farkas asked with a smile, looking over at my exuberant table of friends.

I smiled. “Something like that.”

“Do you still live locally?” Mrs. Farkas asked me.

“Not anymore,” I said. “We moved to Boro Park about five years ago.”

“Oh, wow. Where in Boro Park do you live?”

I told her which block I lived on, and she reacted with surprise.

“That’s where my mother used to live!” she said. “Until she wasn’t well just recently…Her name was Gutwein. Did you know her?”

“Wait a minute,” I said, the cogs in my brain forming the connection, “was your mother the woman in the house next door who used to sit on the second-floor porch with her aide?”

My new acquaintance nodded. “She lived by herself and it added a little life to her day when she saw all the kids playing outside. She used to sit on that porch for hours. One minute,” she added, as if a thought had suddenly struck her, “you said you lived in the house next door?”

“Yes,” I said.

“I don’t believe it! Are you the one who used to wave to my mother every morning with your little girl? Do you have a daughter with blonde braids, brown eyes, and dimples?”

I nodded in affirmation, smiling at her description of my daughter, who was no longer so little and never wore braids anymore. “That’s exactly what she used to look like. I used to tell her to wave to the lady on the porch every morning while we waited for the bus,” I confirmed, remembering those first days after our move.

Tears sprang to my mother’s friend’s eyes as she shook her head in amazement.

“You have no idea what you did for my mother, Chani!” she said emotionally. “I would be talking to her on the phone and she would say, ‘Wait a minute! It’s those neighbors again with the little girl, and she’s waving to me!’ You can’t imagine how excited she was to see your little girl waving at her so happily.”

The emotion in her voice struck me hard. I had never dreamed how much it meant to that old lady that we waved to her every morning. I couldn’t have imagined that she would appreciate it enough to not only tell her daughter about it, but that her daughter would remember it as well. It must have been truly special to her.

“Wow,” I said, feeling emotional myself, “I’m so happy we were able to bring some happiness to your mother like that. It was such a small thing, I never would have known that it meant so much.”

Mrs. Farkas nodded emphatically. “You can’t know what a difference the little things can make. It wasn’t easy for me to travel so often to visit my mother, and she didn’t have any other children living within walking distance. That little wave was sometimes her only reallife interaction with another Yid for the day.” I was overcome. The revelation of what my little deeds could do stirred me. If only I’d done more, as I’d contemplated doing on so many occasions! Just a little wave had meant so much, surely, we could have done even more.

As the party wrapped up and I headed home, Mrs. Farkas’s words reverberated in my head. ***

It wasn’t too long after that I found myself on 13th Avenue, rushing busily to finish my errands so I could be home to put up supper in time. I had my little Yanky in the carriage, and Rivkala, now ten years old, was at my side.

After exchanging the shells I’d bought the wrong size of and picking up the crafts I’d promised Rivkala we would buy, I relaxed a bit as I consulted my list. We were almost done. The last errand I had to do would be on the way home. Now we could stop to take a break and still be home in time.

“Who wants ice cream?” I asked my kids. Yanky, almost two, shouted “Me! Me!” from his Bugaboo seat facing the world. Rivkala dimpled and looked excited.

It was a scorching, humid day, and I knew that they could both use some cooling off. We entered the cool air-conditioned store, where we ordered our refreshing treats.

“We also need to buy for Zevi and Moishy,” Rivkala pointed out seriously. She was right. The boys were playing at their friend’s house, but if they heard that their siblings had had a treat while out with Mommy, Mr. Jealousy was sure to rear its head.

“We can’t buy a cone, though, it will melt all over before we get home!” Rivkala added, chuckling at the thought.

“So what should we get them?” I asked, enjoying her delight as she licked her own frozen treat.

“Let’s get them ice cream sandwiches,” she decided after looking in the window display of boxed ice cream treats. She pulled out a box of them.

“It will also be a Shabbos treat,” I said as I saw how many sandwiches came in the box. There would be plenty left over for later.

Checking my watch again, I wiped off my kids’ faces and quickly paid for the ice cream sandwiches. I hoped they would stay frozen in the sultry heat.

As we turned the corner off Thirteenth, I nearly missed her.

She was a beautiful old lady, sitting with her aide on a bench in her front yard, gazing out on the bustling street. Somehow, she immediately reminded me of Mrs. Gutwein, our neighbor who turned out to be Mrs. Farkas’s mother.

I slowed, then stopped the carriage, looking at her with a big smile.

“Hello,” I said, once I’d caught her attention. Rivkala shuffled her feet uncomfortably at my side. She didn’t like the funny things her Mommy did sometimes.

“It’s hot today, isn’t it?” I asked the woman sitting there, who had returned my smile.

“Very hot,” she agreed, her Eastern European inflection coming through even with just those two words. “But look how many people are out on the street, shopping anyway!”

I nodded, smiling. I was about to wave goodbye and continue on my way, as Rivkala was wordlessly requesting, when my eye fell on the bag hanging from my carriage hook.

“Rivkala, do you want to share your treat with this nice lady, too?” I asked her, impulsively. Rivkala was shy and unsure, but she extracted one wrapped sandwich ice cream from the box, and handed it to the old woman with a tentative smile.

“Oh, what a treat!” the old lady said, her smile stretching wider. “You have a good Mommy who buys you such treats!”

Rivkala beamed now, and she skipped back to my side. We waved at the old lady holding the ice cream sandwich as we continued on our way.

Halfway down the block, I looked back. The old lady was still sitting there, with crowds of humanity passing her by. Most didn’t even stop to smile.

I was so grateful to have had my eyes opened by Mrs. Farkas, just in time to brighten another old lady’s day. ***

That night, I was schmoozing with my mother on the phone, telling her about my day. I mentioned the little incident with the old woman, and told her where my inspiration had come from.

“I don’t think I ever told you about it,” I said, “but when I moved into my house, there was this old lady who used to sit on her porch and every day I told Rivkala to wave to her.”

I told my mother the whole story, including Mrs. Farkas’s revelation and my feelings that I could have done even more. My mother listened carefully, but when I mentioned that it had been Mrs. Farkas’s mother, she let out a little cry of astonishment.

“Her name was Gutwein, you said?” my mother asked. “She was Bubby’s old neighbor in Williamsburg! That’s how I got to know Raizy Farkas so well. Our mothers were so close then, literally like sisters. If you would have only told her that you’re Bubby’s einikel and that Rivkala is named after her…” she let the sentence trail as we both imagined her joy and nachas. Once again, I was overcome. It was a few minutes before I could collect myself and tell my mother the story that had happened that day with the ice cream sandwich.

“I knew that there’s no way for me to know how far my little chessed could go,” I said, “but I didn’t realize just how much I could be missing out if I don’t do the chessed all the way. Imagine if I had only gone that extra step of visiting Mrs. Gutwein just once. Every time Rivkala waved, it would have meant so much more to her.”

“There’s no way for us to know what we really accomplish with what we do,” my mother agreed.

And I knew now for certain that I would be determined not to miss such an opportunity again. •