I am from Netanya. I went in to shul to daven Minchah, planning to continue afterward to the large supermarket “Osher Ad,” and I had prepared accordingly. Besides the money I needed for the shopping trip, I had also brought with me enough money to pay for a taxi home.
In shul, there was a Yid asking for tzedakah. His story touched my heart, and I very much wanted to help him. I gave him the money I had set aside for the taxi ride back home.
And so, I returned home after davening, took more money for a taxi, and left for the store, going there by foot, to return by taxi, b’ezras Hashem.
While I was shopping, my phone rang, registering a well-known, beloved number. It was my father.
“Abba,” I said. “What’s new?”
“We’re on our way to visit you,” my father said enthusiastically. “We left Haifa, and we’re nearing Netanya. Where are you?”
“I’m in Osher Ad.”
“Okay,” my father said. “The store is really on our way, and you’ll certainly need a car to get everything home. So when you’re done shopping, wait there, and you’ll join us for the ride to your house.”
I finished my shopping, and soon after I had packed up my purchases, my parents came with their car, offering all the comfort and pampering that only beloved parents can give, and they brought me and all my things home.
It took me a good few minutes to make the connection: I had donated the money for my return taxi to tzedakah, and Hashem sent me a free ride. I hadn’t lost out on anything.
