Mikveh and Supermarket

They speak of a recession, protest the cost of living, bemoan the economic situation, warn about children living below the poverty line, and solicit donations for the needy. I never thought such things pertained to me until the moment of truth arrived. That is when I discovered there were data and strengths within me that I never knew existed.

From a young age, I remember a strong desire accompanying me. I didn’t grow up in such a home, nor was I educated about it at school, yet the desire was whole and strong. I always dreamed of being a scholar whose life revolves around Torah. I loved to learn and wanted the home I would build to be a home of Torah in every sense of the word. In the place where I grew up, it was not common to set up a young man who yearned for Torah in a three-room apartment in the city center, and I knew I needed great help from Hashem for my dream to become reality. Hashem helped me, and my aspiration was also my wife's aspiration. Not only my wife's aspiration but also her father's. Even before we were married, he bought a house in our name, and the large mortgage was registered under his name. My father-in-law works in a respectable, well-paid job, and he had a strong desire for his daughter to have a stable roof over her head. I counted my blessings. I saw Hashem's hand guide my days at every turn.

My hours were dedicated to studying Torah. Morning and evening kolel, tests, and booklets. My wife brought in the livelihood. We raised children, and life flowed smoothly. Hashem graced me, and I saw success in my studies. We lived very modestly and were ready to do much for a life of Torah. We thought it would always be this way, but Hashem had different plans for us.

Rumors began about layoffs at my father-in-law's job, about the business collapsing, and despite that, we did not believe it. It was an old, respectable, and established business. Why would they fire him? Even if they decided to fire some employees, it wasn't worth letting go of a worker who required high compensation, and besides, the manager trusted my father-in-law, a righteous man, blindfolded.

Not long after, the full ugliness of the story became clear. The CEO's son had slyly invested his father's fortune in crooked ways and dubious places. He fled with immense debts, leaving behind a crumbling business, and the employees' pensions vanished without a trace. The wayward son left a scorched field and shocked people whose world changed in a moment and had no one to blame. The scoundrel vanished.

My father-in-law's world also changed in an instant, and so did mine.

The respectable salary of my wife's father disappeared. His savings were gone with the wind. He was left without a job and without a pension, missing the feeling of bread in the basket, a bag of grain for the bad days. But if you thought his spirit would be broken, you were mistaken. He remained a believing Jew, like a rock, refusing to focus on the negative and trying to deepen the good, engaged in what could be changed with a forward-looking mindset. His steadfast confidence influenced us as well.

Naturally, at some point, I transferred the large mortgage on my apartment to my account. With the transfer, I knew clearly something had to change in our lives. I couldn't continue sitting and learning peacefully while such a mortgage weighed on my shoulders for years to come. I would have to leave the kolel, leave the deep discussions of the Talmud to be able to pay the significant sum that fell on us in one clear day.

Great sorrow fell upon me. I loved learning, believed that it would allow me to grow. I dreamed of passing the torch to the next generation, to young men who yearned for Torah. And to realize the dream, I needed to study for many more years. The dream now shatters before my eyes.

What will I do? Maybe I will learn to write Torah scrolls. It's a nice income that doesn't take long hours. Maybe a ritual slaughterer. Maybe a teacher for young children. I tossed and turned at night. I wanted to continue leafing through the pages that were my whole world. I wanted to be like Jacob, a simple man sitting in tents.

*

"Don’t give an answer now," the rabbi whispered. "You need to think it over, consult with your wife. You need to be whole and clear with yourself." I nodded. What could I say but nod my head?

The time of trial arrived, I told myself. A sharp, genuine, and penetrating test. A moment when the truth stands before me without embellishment. To know whether I want to continue studying to be considered part of a prestigious status, to reach an admired and senior position, is my Torah merely a tool for personal gain or is my study solely for the sake of the mitzvah. Studying Torah without glamour, without honor and appreciation.

There isn’t great honor in waking up early in the morning to open the local mikveh, to clean the pits and surfaces with large rubber boots. If I present the rabbi’s proposal without flowery language, he gently said they were looking for someone to clean the local mikveh, a cleaning worker at odd hours. When dawn rises, and the whole world sleeps its sweet slumber, I would have to head to work. Summer or winter when the cold chills to the bone. I would have to heat the water, clean and ensure the place runs as it should. In a few daily hours, I could earn a decent sum, much more than any other job. A salary that would cover the mortgage with dignity.

The job ends early, and already in the late morning hours, I could walk to the kolel without losing my regular learning routine.

*

"Don’t let anyone know," my wife reacted initially. "Don’t let my father hear."

"Could this be a good idea, can you even think about it?" she asked next.

"Even if you take the job, you need to be fully at peace with yourself," she said afterward.

I took the job.

Not fully at peace but knowing for sure I am doing Hashem's will. The work wasn’t easy at first. I’m not used to physical labor, and initially, my bones hurt immensely. Inside, I broke day after day in front of the water pits, and in my mind, I repeated sentences that would place my truth before my eyes in a clear and visible way. Afterward, I would walk as usual to the study house.

I didn’t hide my new job from anyone. There's no point in spending energy on secrets, certainly not on a secret that is bound to be revealed, but that doesn’t negate the fact I didn’t like the good-natured questions and comments around the subject: "Careful not to fall into the water by mistake," "Is it worth it?", How much do they pay?", "Are there benefits?"...

With time, I matured in my soul, and acceptance came to my heart. A compassionate acquaintance with a big mouth accelerated the process, teaching me a full lesson in human nature.

*

The bus was quiet, some passengers were dozing, some were engrossed in listening to their devices, others leafed through the Mishnah Berurah in a pocket edition. There was one who spoke on his phone, his voice clear, bright, and resonant. The conversation drifted and hovered in the bus's atmosphere, and even those not interested couldn’t avoid listening to the dialogue.

I knew the speaker. He sat several seats ahead but could not identify me, unless he stood and turned around.

"Yes, yes. He couldn’t find another job so he went and became a cleaner. Yes. Preparing the mikveh every morning, I know him well." He was talking about me. It was clear. His voice boomed from one end of the bus to the other. The tone was dismissive, the melody negative, the statement so wrong. Although the words were spoken lightly, I was flooded with redness. My face burned with shame. I hoped no familiar face sat nearby who could hear the talk.

It turns out I'm not as brave as I thought. The sentence scorched my soul. No, I'm still not at peace with the high boots, the wet hands, and the mop stick. With reason, I know I chose the right choice for me, but my heart refuses to accept the reality.

*

"Can I ask you something," whispered my longtime acquaintance, the same nice person who introduced me on the bus in an utterly negative way.

Of course, I answered dryly. And now what? Maybe he wants more juicy information to continue talking about how hard I work and how satisfied people are with the warmth of the water or the cleanliness of the pit?

"I’m looking for a job," he said, without blushing. "A new mikveh opened in the nearby neighborhood. Can you reach out to the rabbi and recommend me for the job? I heard the conditions are particularly good." I’ll try, I said, trying to hide my amazement.

That day, I was caught up in thoughts. What do I care if someone says things about me? Why do I care if he dismisses my occupation and suddenly desires the very same job? Am I so dependent on someone else’s opinion? Am I lacking a backbone?

Important lesson received. Every person sees only themselves. You don’t interest anyone too much. People love to talk for the sake of talking. Today they say one thing, tomorrow they think otherwise, and it is a shame that a distant acquaintance who changes his mind with the seasons pushes away the fulfillment in the standing choice, alive, existing, and bearing real fruit.

Something positive has happened since. Something good. Acceptance paving its way, clearing the stumbling blocks and renewed daily choice in the words of Hashem's living.