Of all the “visitors” to our home,
No one challenges me like the Meshulach.
Uninvited, his image appears on my CCTV screen
All I can see is the black hat,
Cannot make out features.
Cannot recognize him from last year (there are so many).
Collecting for this charity or that,
or a yeshiva specializing in this particular area of Halachah
Or merely for themselves, their families, their mountain of debt.
The false intimacy is readily audible.
The flattery is predictable, my connections with Brisk,
Reb Chayim mi-Volozhyn, Breslov, etc. etc. The Yichus!
They look for the pitch,
Yet they exercise me so!
I chide my spouse that in the next world we will asked at the pearly gates
“Did you spend time in study?
“Did you engage in marital relations?
“Did you yearn for the Messiah?”
(The three classical questions cited in the Talmud.)
Then the Divine One will poke us in the ribs and say
“Did you take care of my Meshulach?”
And that seems to get me out of my resistance and inertia
To descend the steps to the front door
Where, often hiding behind the one Meshulach, is a car load of others.
I offer a drink, (Chicago is brutal in summer and worse in winter).
Most do not remove their footwear, leaving a trail across the hallway
which will need mopping up,
And now the pitch begins.
I have heard it so many times
But each Meshulach demands his time
To present his very unique need for my charity.
In my mind as I listen, compassion slowly grows,
Knowing the drudgery he faces daily
Knocking on door after door, often rejected, humiliated.
And fear that one day I too, might be collecting like him, to survive.
But more than this fear,
The Meshulach forces me to dig
deeper and deeper into my well of compassion
He is the litmus test-on a daily basis- as to my well’s water level
He stretches this digging process to the limits.
Tired, hungry and in no mood for such entertainment,
These nightly visits force me to choose between opening the door
Or ignoring the multiple knocks.
The other challenge is in the amount I feel I should give.
(I have three circles of giving.
The inner circle is charities
such as alma maters and synagogues
for my children and my wife and I.
Those institutions we feel we owe a debt of gratitude.
Easy to give and easy to determine
the annual amount since we have a track record.
The outer circle is easy as well…
These are total strangers who we give a minimal amount
and are dismissed happily.
It is the middle circle that constantly challenges me.
These are the ones that demand from us,
Make claims on us, pressure us to give more,
and require resistance or surrender.)
They are very clever, employing such tactics in a few moments,
worthy of intelligence operatives.
Yet deep down I know they are being sent to test us.
To test our deepest character traits and flaws,
of patience, grace, hospitality, triggers to anger
And compassion.
Often I fail
But fear not
Another comes soon after.
Will they all be there to greet me in the next world?
Fingers pointed at me in accusation?
Siding with the divine district attorney in condemning me to eternal guilt?
Thinking I am done with the day on arriving home,
(The litany of patient complaints and suffering
having filled my heart with sorrow)
Exhausted from the advice and struggle, the drama of the employees,
I just want to rest and recharge.
Just then the door bell rings!
The Meshulach allows me no such luxury.
And the nightly ritual begins.
