First Person
Green Tuesday
Chaim Mayer’s mother usually calls in on Thursdays to remind him to pick up the lokshen kugel for Shabbos, or of a family member’s shulem zucher, which s’volt gepast that he attend. Last week she already announced that she would be having Esrog compote for him. “You know Tu B’shvat is next week Shabbos.”
But today was Monday, a day his sales team is pretty motivated. But monitoring sales calls can become tedious at time, and so he was pleasantly surprised to hear her sweet voice: “A giten, Chaim, how is everything?”
Although a charismatic gentleman and competent salesperson, Chaim hasn’t been doing so well lately. Years ago, when his job consisted of crisscrossing the Tri-State area, shaking hands with clients, shmoozing sports with buyers and showing swatches, he’d been earning a good living. But nowadays, when the business model shifted to being conducted primarily through the phone and email, his poor English skills allowed little inkling of his witty and charming character. To excite a potential client, he always had to sell below cost. That was the only sales-pitch left in his verbal arsenal. But he continued working hard, and it helped that his friend still owned the company.
“Tomorrow’s the day,” his mother said excitedly. Chaim was puzzeled. “Voos is shoin oif a grinem dinstig?” Now that she had his attention, she reminded him that the next day was gimel beshalach, the Tuesday of the week in which the Torah portion tells of the Israelites’ travails in the desert following the Exodus, and the miracle of the manna, provided for them right at their doorstep. And so Chasidim, especially in recent years, believe that reading the biblical account of something-for-nothing economy model ushers in a blessing of income.
“Who couldn’t use an extra boost in their earnings these days?” his mother reasoned, as if she were a professional saleslady in a dress shop on 13th Avenue. She even used the precise name for the reading ritual, Shnayim mikra ve-echad targum, reciting each verse twice in Hebrew and once in the corresponding Aramaic translation of Targum Onkelos.
“Mom, 98% of the folks who will devote an hour of their day for this reading are already on government handouts, and have been so for three generations. I’d say there’s an alarming causal relationship here. It seems to be having the opposite effect”
“Chaim, you know we don’t always see the immediate results; otherwise everyone would have been using this trick. Moreover, you never know if things might not have been worse for those poor yingeleit. Plus, the fact that they always manage to re-certify for food stamps, which you know is quite a lot of money, is testimony to the powers of the seguleh. It’s simple, I don’t know why you even argue.” She sounded slightly irritated.
“Mom, I haven’t even completed reciting V’hi Noam 91 times in each room of my new home, let alone Chamishu Chumshei Torah. If I spent an hour tomorrow, which would you rather I do?”
“What?! Five years living in an apartment without saying the V’hi Noam? You know, I’m starting to think that your sister, who’s turning nineteen after Passover, isn’t engaged yet because of that.”
“Mom, she lives with you, and father did say V’hi Noam 25 years ago.”
“True.” She sounded hesitant, then added tentatively, “but she did babysit at your house on quite a few occasions.”
He was going to say something, but she interrupted him.
“Chaim,” she said, “these things you don’t play around with. Remember how devastated you were when your Faigy was thought to have been diagnosed with yene meise? And only after you installed the mezuzah on your walk-in closet, did the additional testing come back negative.”
“Ok, you’re right, mom.” He had no energy to argue.
Chaim did please his father back then. He affixed a mezuzah case to the doorframe of the large bedroom closet. As for the piece of parchment in it, he used the money instead for his wife’s necklace. And it made her happy, considering the anxiety she was going through. More bang for your buck, was how he saw it.
His mom was excited then too. “Looks like Chaim is doing well, Burich Hashem,” she said to Faigy, marveling at the fine necklace, something Chaim’s father, who had mezuzahs installed everywhere, cases and parchment, could rarely afford for his wife. She pursed her lips and nodded sagaciously. “It’s because he recites Shnayim mikra ve-echad targum.”
Printable Version
I’m Chasidish through and through and never heard of this segula.
You must be Lubabitch and not a *real* choosid
Like this comment?
0
Nice. It would be better to keep these secrets in house. We dont want to risk the gentiles figuring out the secret to our financial might. How will we achieve world domination if they start saying “Parshas Ha’munn” too?
Like this comment?
0
Common, this segulah might be older than potato kugel……ok, that was blasphemy, but you get my point.
Like this comment?
0
Oh Please!!! All the cool kids in Yeshiva had the nice laminated print outs and everyone would fight for a chance in this amazing Segula. lollll
Like this comment?
0
Why would they fight? Wasnt there enough mana for everyone?
Like this comment?
0
Ha Ha, There were always those 5 guys that had like these special printed copies of the blessing and everyone would try to get it (I guess they weren’t smart enough to open the book of Exodus and they got it all.
Like this comment?
1
How wonderful. We just loooove segulos, especially if parnassa related, where the mystic meets the money. I recall this day in yeshiva, after the morning prayers. The entire hall sat down to chant away the text with targum. The broken Aramaic, the intonations, the pitch, the frequency modulations of the trop. It sounded like a bunch of amateurs plucking guitars.
Like this comment?
0
So the class teaching the singsong of mavir sadre is actually a vocational education. I smell government funding here.
Like this comment?
2
אוי
Like this comment?
0
Nice.
Like this comment?
0
Reminds me of the Sephardic farmer who goes to a Chacham complaining about an epidemic that’s been killing his chickens. Chacham gives the farmer a segulah and wishes him well. A week passed and the chickens are still dying. The farmer goes back to Chacham complaining about the segulah not working. Chacham gives the farmer a different segulah. The same shpiel repeats itself weekly, the chickens continue dying, farmer going back to Chacham and Chacham giving a new segulah. After two months pass and eight different segulas failed, the farmer is back and pleads to Chacham for help. Chacham says to the farmer “listen, I still have more segulas – do you still have chickens?”
Highly rated. Like this comment?
4
lubavitchers aren’t into segulos.
Like this comment?
0
ROFL, heysuse!
Like this comment?
0
LAUGHING MY FUCKIN’ ASS OFF. MY HAT OF TO YOU, BRILLIANT.
Like this comment?
0