By Orit
June 16, 2005
It was erev Shavuot, and sundown would usher in the holiday of the harvest.
I stood in a long line at the bakery to buy fresh challah for a dairy meal a friend was preparing.
A man in his mid-thirties appeared behind me with his daughter, and I explained that I was last in line.
Out of nowhere a short, little, old lady popped in front of me. She was wearing a mint scarf that hid her white hair, and large pink sunglasses that hid the sagging wrinkles around her light eyes.
She looked so sweet and helpless, and no less then 90 years old, that there was no way I could tell her that she cut in line. I remembered the phrase from Leviticus 19: "For the elderly you shall rise."
Then I heard a voice. "You were before her," the man behind me said, his hands on his daughter's shoulders.
"It's okay, I let her go in front of me," I answered, thinking he would understand.
"Well, you should have asked my permission first."
"You mean if I had asked you, you would have refused her?"
"Absolutely."
I was a little awestruck, and turned to the lady as she paid four shekels for a half-loaf of bread. She dropped a half a shekel, and I helped her pick it up, taking my time and trying to set an example.
Her transaction took no more than one minute and it was my turn. I ordered my bread, also in less then one minute, and turned to the man behind me.
"You know, sometimes it's nice to be a human being."
"Listen, everyone's time is precious. My time is precious, your time is precious."
"Fine, but we can also be human beings."
"You can't just let people cut you in line."
"She's not your ordinary person."
"It doesn't matter. This discussion is over. Shabbat Shalom."
I left the bakery, thinking that there was no way to reach a man like that. I felt sorry for him and for his daughter, who had to watch her father admit that he had lost his humanity for the sake of two minutes.
The man also forgot that it wasn't Shabbat, but Shavuot -- the day we are said to have received the Torah. I don't consider myself observant, but I still remember learning that phrase in Leviticus in high school. Maybe, had I not learned that principle, I too would have sent the old lady to the back of the line.
In Tel Aviv it's easy to get caught up in the rat race. It's easy to hop on the "every man for himself" bandwagon and treat others like they don't exist or shouldn't exist, when they do nothing to threaten your personal autonomy.
In the bakery I was given a chance to stop in my tracks, to receive the Torah for two minutes, and to remember that living for myself is not worth it if I kill my humanity -- or little old ladies -- in the process.
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