Bubbe Meises

The avocados are on sale.

Mounds and mounds of them are piled up in the supermarket bin, ripe for the taking.  It is several days before Rosh Hashana, and I am at the supermarket surveying the fresh produce. I quickly fill up my shopping cart:  Carrots, honey and pineapple for the tzimmes, apples for the fruit compote.

And the avacados are on sale:  Lush and dark green, two for the price of one. I reach over, grab a clear produce bag and fill it quickly. Perfect for the Rosh Hashana guacamole. And for this price? Ah metziah!

And then, I see her. Her tall turban and long multi-colour striped-gown give her away: a new immigrant from Africa.  She stands over the avocado bin, her toddler in tow.  Longingly, she fingers the avocados. She picks one up, presses it gently, and turns it.  She sighs, and returns it to the overflowing bin. Her eyes meet mine, and make their way to the bags quickly being filled with the ripe avocados.  

It’s not too expensive? She asks me in her accented French. She points to the avocados.

Expensive? I want to say. Are you kidding? They are practically giving them away! But instead, I offer weakly: “Ils sont bonnes pour la santé.” Avocados are healthy.

But her empty cart already tells me all I need to know.

Suddenly, I become my aware of my shopping wagon, overflowing with produce and groceries for Rosh Hashana. I fidget uncomfortably.

And then I hear Bubbe’s voice. My Bubbe has passed on, but her voice of conscience is ingrained in me, in all of us grandchildren.

Mama’leh. Men Reist Nisht Far Di Eigen.  

How do I explain this phrase? It’s a Yiddish expression, born out sensitivity to suffering and malaise.  It’s an idea, a cultural more; not a sentence made of words.

It means: Sweetheart, be sensitive to those that have less. Don’t flaunt it.  “Don’t tear in front of the eyes”.

I move my loaded shopping cart away, to a different aisle.  Away from the piles of avocados, away from the woman with the colourful turban and robe, away from prying questions and away from Bubbe’s voice of conscience.

Ten minutes later.

I turn the aisle and she is still there, the woman with the colorful turban, standing by the avocados. And then I hear her toddler son’s plaintive request: Maman, avocats! Please, Mommy, avocados.

She looks and she sighs.

Mama’le, Men Reist Nisht Far Di Eigen.  

Suddenly, I know what Bubbe would want me to do. I reach into my wallet, walk over, and quickly press a ten dollar bill into her palm. I say to her: Buy avocados. For your son.   

I don’t want to see her reaction, so  I turn quickly away. Bubbe’s way.

Moments later, I step out of the store into the crisp autumn afternoon.  I look up to the beautiful sky and I smile:  Bubbe - This one’s for you!

My husband is waiting to help me with the packages. Yossi, I say. Have I got a Bubbe Meise for you!

Dedicated to the loving memory of my dear Bubbe, Cherna Bas David, whose yarhzeit is this Shabbat. Bubbe taught me, by example, what defines a living Torah and true Judaism.
May her memory be for a blessing.