The Day After Yom Kippur

The day after Yom Kippur.  To try to hang onto the spiritual high, and to get rid of the headache and exhaustion, I went to walk the boardwalk from Brighton beach to Seagate and back.  As I neared Seagate, an old Jew – skinny, long, gray beard, kippah askew – called out to me:  “Miss!  Miss!”  I looked toward him as he continued “Give me a nice donation?”  I say, “I’ll see what I can do on the way back.” 

At Seagate’s wall, I stop to pull a $5 bill out of my pocket.  I walk back toward the man and he says again, “Can you give me a nice donation?”  I say, “I can give you $5.”  He sniffs in disappointment but takes it as I say, “That is all I can do today.”  He nods.  OK.

I wished for a little gratitude and then reprimanded myself.  Whatever brings him to the point of sitting on a bench at the beach asking passersby for money is much harder than anything I can imagine.  Why should he be grateful for my measly $5?

If teshuvah, tefillah, and tzedakah temper the severity of God’s decree of random death this year, where does this experience fit? Obviously I gave some tzedakah.  But right away the day after all those confessions I had to stop myself from my misplaced desire for some gratitude.  At least I stopped myself.  Is that teshuvah enough?   I pray that this year I keep stopping myself a minute before doing or saying something stupid and unnecessary.  That’s my tefillah for today.  I guess it has to be enough, for one day.