Mitzvah

As we were dismantling our house, I had to sell or get rid of a professional sewing machine.  It never really worked right and it was a beast of a machine.

All the hopes i had for it had never emerged.  It was infertile. Impotent, unloved.  and yet I mourned its leaving.


So I put it in the paper and a Russian woman and her husband come to look at it. 
We have a large community of Russian Jewish refugees that come to our city and start over again.

She tries to negotiate with me for it.   I tell her it's broken, she can have it for free.

She becomes angry at me.  Gets close to me.  Starts swearing in a language, sounded pretty severe. Pokes me a few times on the chest with her twenties.

" I work for everything in life.  No one ever gives me anything!"  poke poke she goes. "Who do you think you are, insulting me in this way?" etc she goes on red faced and quite angry.

I struggle for words. 


"It's a mitzvah"  I say scrambling for words. hoping to breach whatever social norm I had broken.

She stop instantly and her face lights up like a spring morning with daffodils out.

This she understand.

She throws her arms around my neck and peppers me with kisses.   Money is put away.  Her husband ruffles me up with hugs.

They promise to cherish the old beast.  It is carried up and out of our  house.

My burden lifts every so slightly. and I chuckle at the gulf that was jumped with one lucky word.

Mitzvah is a connection.