Thanks to the Mitzvah of Charity, a true story written by the author Yair Weinstock from the mouth of the author of the act (appeared in the issue of "Melakhat Michshet")
It was such a beautiful day. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, the sweet children were smiling at me in the morning as I woke them up for the school day. Everything looked promising and hopeful, and I couldn't imagine that I would end this day in a completely different way, without a license... First of all, I need an explanation for my esteemed readers. My work requires me to use my private car all the time, and if every driver-steered driver knows that without the car it is just like without legs, in contrast, God forbid, the situation for me is many times more acute.
I live in Beit Shemesh and travel to Beitar every morning, and from Beitar I hurry to Jerusalem, and in the afternoon I have to be in Petah Tikva for two hours, and in the evening I study the Daf Yomi with the regular Havruta in Bnei Brak... In short, I 'don't have a chance' to be without the car for even one hour. The car is not only like my legs, but the tools without which I can't even imagine what my life would look like. I got into the car in great spirits, after bringing my son to Haidar and the little girls to kindergarten, I prayed Shacharit in my regular shtibel, I answered the last blessing, and although those who know the matter claim that 'Aleinu Le-Shevah' is not the prayer of the road, I found myself starting the car with my lips muttering the verse 'And the Lord shall be king over all the earth.' What can I do, I hurried. On the desk in the office there was a wave of work waiting for me. Gal? Sea! I had managed to drive exactly two blocks when a taxi came behind me. To this day I don't know exactly what happened there that morning. I had to make a U-turn and the taxi driver didn't notice, or he was in a hurry, the matter is still up for debate to this day. Anyway, I 'broke to the left' and the taxi suddenly stuck in me with full force. Thank God, I wasn't even scratched. I was just a little shocked. The car? It's a completely different story, it got a decent blow that wrinkled the side of the car ugly. My shock deepened when I found out that the taxi in front of me was in a much worse condition and looked like an accordion.
The taxi driver also came out unharmed, but he went berserk with rage and claimed that I was to blame. A policeman arrived at the scene with a patrol car and a siren before I could say 'police,' and showed hostility towards me and open sympathy for the taxi driver. "Of course you're guilty," he said decisively, and before I knew where it was coming from, he declared, "I'm revocating your license!" "What?!" I thought I hadn't heard well. The policeman repeated his words slowly and happily. He wrote me a detailed report with a few copies, and solemnly informed me that my license would be revoked for a period of three months. At the sight of my sobs and the terrible despair that began to roar down my throat, the representative of the law softened and agreed to give me a nine-month extension until the revocation was implemented. "But nothing will help you. In nine months your license will be revoked, you have to learn the lesson."
A small crowd gathered around us. Many of the spectators claimed that the policeman was one-sided and showed a clear and inexplicable inclination towards the taxi driver. Moreover, some of them clearly saw that I did signal with the Winker before I started the U-turn, and not as the taxi driver and the policeman claimed. I came home and forgot about it. Nine months? A whole child, a new creature in God's world, can be born in nine months. But the computer at the police headquarters has not forgotten... When the day arrives, an envelope arrives at my house with a not very pleasant symbol stamped on it, in the letter attached to the envelope I am warned that I must report to the police station in Beit Shemesh until this day and deposit my license there.
You don't start with the police. I also never dreamed of filing an appeal when I have the testimonies of two witnesses against me. According to years of witnesses, nothing will happen... I deposited my license in the hands of a certain policeman at the police station, and set off on my way on foot. "See you in three months," I whispered to the plastic card with my colorful picture stamped on it. I didn't think for a moment that that's not exactly how things would go.
That's not to say that my life has become hell. There's no need to exaggerate. But my life has definitely turned into one big nightmare. Suddenly I learned how difficult it is to travel by public transportation. I started to reacquaint myself with all the sidewalks in Beit Shemesh and Jerusalem. I stopped taxis without a bill and walked a lot, and I was late everywhere. I got used to it. You get used to everything. The only question is how long it takes. And then the trip to Belgium popped up. I forgot to mention that I was born in Belgium, and from time to time I have to go to my old homeland for all sorts of errands and chores. And most importantly, a visit to the home of the parents who will live and an opportunity to fulfill the mitzva of honoring one's father and mother from the Torah. This time, unlike most of my trips when I come to Belgium for a week alone, my partner and I decided that she would live to travel in a full ensemble, with the whole family. Mainly because it was in the month of Av, everyone is on vacation and this is a good opportunity to combine a family visit with my personal needs, and to make the parents happy to see their beloved grandchildren.
I spoke to Yoav, my good friend who lives in Beitar, and we agreed that since my car was still disabled, we would drive with my Honda to the airport and then he would keep my car for a month. It was enjoyable and it wasn't lacking. Everything was calculated, just one small problem we didn't take into account. Instead of him driving on the way to the airport, I sat at the wheel. I admit and confess that it was recklessness and lack of sufficient thought. But these are the dry facts. I drove with my family from Beit Shemesh to Beitar, where Yoav got in the car, and from Beitar we drove straight to the airport. Since I was already sitting at the wheel, I continued to sit there, and Yoav was next to me. What could have been. One more small ride and that's it. We drove fast, the plane at the airport was waiting. "
The Honda driver is pulling over on the side." Does this speaker mean me? Black circles floated in front of my eyes and my hands began to dance on the steering wheel in a stormy hora dance. Yes, the little car with the red license plates and the blue star with an "M" in the center, definitely broadcasts to me. With an unfriendly speaker. My face turned pale like the face of a deceased person. Why did he suddenly decide to domesticate me, it says on my forehead that I am driving in the negative? I barely managed to park the car on the side. The policeman got out of his comfort zone and came over to me. "Licenses, please!" I tried to be naïve. " Licenses , please," the policeman repeats, like a broken disk. I gave him the car licenses and showed him the insurance. Everything was fine. The car passed a test on time and is in my legal possession. Only one small detail was missing. "And where's your license, Mr. Driver?" I think a glass of milk was less white than my face. That's how I felt at that moment. I don't have any, I muttered. I'm in the negative. The policeman caught fire like a Lag B'Omer bonfire. "You're driving in the negative! Ahh," he gritted through his teeth. "Okay, please come with me to the police station. You are arrested and the car is confiscated for a month."
In the back seat, howls erupted from the child's mouth. "We're on our way to the airport," my wife tried to explain to the man in uniform. "We have a flight to Belgium in three hours," she waved at him with the cards to prove her words. But the policeman was tough as steel. "A law is a law," he answered sharply, "you are now coming with me to the police station." We were led like an ox to the police station, and there, after countless arguments and pleas, the station commander agreed to allow me to be released on bail so that we wouldn't miss the flight. A detailed protocol was duly registered, the car was confiscated for a month, and I was warned that the day after my return from Belgium in three weeks (they checked the date of the return flight on the ticket!)I have to report to the police station in Beit Shemesh, my hometown, to start a speedy trial process. Otherwise, it will be bad and bitter and much worse. Did we already say prison?
The vacation passed like a dream. Everyone enjoyed it. My parents derived a great deal of happiness from their sweet grandchildren, the little ones rejoiced with joy in all the playgrounds and public parks. Everyone was happy. Me too, to a certain extent. I remembered what awaited me in Israel the day after I returned, and it was enough to take away all the pleasure from me even at the top of the Ferris wheel in an amusement park, with the children watching from a height of tens of meters in the world below, and screaming with joy mixed with fear as the wheel stops at the top and swings in the air for two minutes here and there to increase the effect...
Everything good came to an end in the end. The unforgettable vacation in Antwerp was over. The day of the flight home arrived. We said goodbye to our parents with greetings and wishes, and hands full of farewell gifts and hurried to the airport. Father Shikhi was the driver. And for a change in his wallet he had a strictly kosher Belgian license. We landed in Israel, put everything in place and it was already night. The children, tired from the flight and the rocking of the roads, fell asleep in an instant, and I was the only one who rolled on my bed and couldn't sleep. Quick judgment. Driving in the negative! I saw the judge waving his finger at me in front of my mind, I could hear his metallic voice and his verdict echoing within the walls of the court: "I ask that the full severity of the sentence be meted out to the defendant, so that they may see and be seen, and hereby impose a two- year prison sentence on him!" According to the law, it is possible to impose a prison sentence for driving while disqualified. Whether to impose a prison sentence, as well as for how long, is at the discretion of the judge. Who will be my judge? Woe to me! It can end badly. Very bad.
I felt bad for my heart. My lips began to sizzle with prayer. Dear Father in Heaven, You are the true judge, and You know the truth that even the suspension of my license was not justified, and even if I did, would I have to sit in prison? What will happen to the wife and children, and the work, and the studies, and the friends, and the shame... Master of the world, perform a miracle for me, I prayed in my distress. And then, between three and four o'clock in the morning. When everyone is asleep peacefully and in God's world, there is a blessed silence, and only the crickets make their voices heard at the level, while I twist and roll from side to side, and suddenly I remembered: The power of charity! – – – Great is the power of charity that can tip the scales from duty to merit. A person gives charity and does not know that at that moment he has changed the scales in heaven.
The Amora Shmuel and the seer in the stars Ablett see a group of workers walking near the lakeshore. The non-Jew Ablett tells Shmuel that a certain worker is about to die. A venomous snake will bite him in a short time. But the man comes back alive, and the astonished Ablett learns that on that day the worker gave his bread to his hungry friend. Thanks to charity, he was saved from death and the snake that should have bitten him died himself. Shmuel explains to Ablett that according to the laborer's luck, he should have died. But Israel is above luck and the merit of the mitzva is to protect it. It is said of us, "And charity will save from death," says Shmuel Lavalt, the non-Jew, the seer of the stars. (See Shabbat 156). Who knows the value of charity. I have heard countless stories of people who have been in all sorts of oppressive situations, and who donated money to charity and saw quick salvation in an unnatural way. This came to my mind in these difficult moments, and I made a vow about the place: Master of the Universe, I hereby pledge to donate 200 shekels to charity, for the poor of the Land of Israel, and my request is flat before You, please send me salvation.
After a minute, I was already sleeping like a baby. A great peace descended on me. I arrived at the police station in Beit Shemesh. The clerk flipped through the paperwork. "Your file has been transferred to Jerusalem." Let it be so. I drove to Jerusalem, by public transportation, of course. After all, I'm in a negative and the car is confiscated. I got to the Clal building in the center of the city, and the elevator climbed between the floors and brought me to the police headquarters. With a beating heart and lips murmuring prayer, I approach the journal. "Yes, sir." I began to explain to him why I had come here, and I can't forget the horrified look he had in his eyes and the melody as he tasted harshly: "You drove without a license, huh?!" "Walk all the way to the end of the hallway, where you'll enter the last room on the left." I was dragged with half-frozen legs to the last room, after such an introduction! I knock on the door and go inside . He goes over to one of the police officers and begins to tell him again what kind of criminal I am. He presents him with the invitation to the police station. " Let me check, wait. What did you say about your ID number?" He uploads the data to the computer monitor, and turns to me. "No, sir, you don't have anything." What does it mean? "You have no negation." What do you mean? " This means that you have no negation. All the best for you, sir, you can go home." It was the worst melody I've ever heard. I go downstairs, and in the plaza in front of the building, I can't resist at all, pull out my cell phone from my pocket and eagerly dial the numbers. 'Miracle!' I roar. 'I have no negation .' My partner Tachi hears the story from me, but is not in a hurry to get as excited as I am. "It can't be," she argues with sober logic. "We live in a computerized age. Today everything is registered and filed. They must have made a mistake and then you will suffer from it. Go back to the office and ask them to check it out ." With a heavy heart, I went back to the same th reatening room. I go back to the policeman and his computer and show him the invitation to the police station again. I'm sorry to confuse you, but I'm not quiet. Say, isn't there some mistake here that I'll pay dearly for later? " Remind me of your ID number," the policeman charged at the keyboard and tapped it with one finger. Number by digit. The data files came up on the screen again. He called a name and muttered to himself. "No!" he solemnly announced. "There was no mistake. There is no license revocation in your name. Good day to you sir ." But it can't be. They revoked my license and warned me to report to the police station the day after I returned from abroad." The policeman began to laugh. "Listen to me, right now you don't have any negativity. But if you really want to, we can arrange for you to cancel immediately. Do you want it?" No, no. Heaven forbid. I've started to step back. I'm giving up the pleasure. "Then you can go ." There's a little bit left to find out. And what about the license that was taken away from me? How will I go? All I need is that I'll be caught by a policeman driving without a license again. "Have you heard of the licensing office?" the policeman sipped from his bottle of Coke, "Go to them and they'll arrange a new license for you. You're free, and don't come to me a third time, because then I'll arrange for you such a negation that you won't forget for life."
I got out of there as long as my spirit was in me. And everything worked out like a sweet dream. I got a new license, and the confiscated car returned to me at a good time and smoothly without any problems. The matter was very strange to me. How did the registration disappear? I spoke to one "insider" who is familiar with the intricacies of the matter , and he told me: "Apparently when the case was transferred from Beit Shemesh to Jerusalem, it was lost. But it happens once in a million, and you're one in a million." Do you know why I was privileged to be one in a million? (The entire story is true and recorded as I heard it from the author of the act. Names, places, and other identifying details, blurred to the point of incomprehensibility)
