A Mitzvah from a Seraph

A few days ago, my wife and I went to our neighborhood Home Depot to buy a can of paint to finish the borders in my mother-in-laws' room. My wife was tired after painting all day and all she wanted to do was to get home and take a long shower. We went straight to the paint department, bought the paint and walked back to the car, ready to go home.


I put the key in the ignition and turned it. Nothing happened. I tried again. Still nothing. This shouldn't be happening, I thought. My car is only two years old! A look of horror came over my wife's face as she saw the prospect of her long awaited shower receding into the night.


I searched my wallet for my AAA card, but couldn't find it. Then, I remembered I'd lent it to my son because he had lost his, and I figured he'd need more than I did because his ten-year-old car with over a hundred thousand miles was more likely to break down.


I got out of the car and checked the trunk for my emergency kit. It wasn't there. I'd also given it to my son.


I didn't regret either gift. Even if I had the emergency kit, I wouldn't know what to do. I know how to fix mixed metaphors. I don't know anything about cars.


I looked over at the entrance of Home Depot and saw what looked like a mall security car slowly moving away from the parking lot. Dashing over to the entrance, I flagged down the driver and he stopped. However, as I got closer, I saw it wasn't mall security, but Shmira Patrol, Jewish civilian patrols that have been set up in Hasidic and Haredi neighborhoods in the United States.


Would he help a goy--a Cushite like me? I decided to try my luck and ask any way. The young man rolled down his window and when I told him what had happened, he said without hesitation, "Show me where your car is. I'll help you."


He followed me to my car, parked, and then, got out his emergency charger. He opened the hood and told me to turn off all electrical equipment. Then, he gave me a signal to turn on the car. It turned over in one try. He closed the hood, we shook hands, and I thanked him.


My wife took a picture of us and I asked his name, which he told me with a smile.


Now I realize that this young man (a neighborhood seraph, as my wife calls him) could have easily hid behind his badge, uniform, and commitment to his people. But he didn't. He saw two people in need of help and he responded humanely.


So, to our neighborhood seraph, I give thanks. Or as my sister in law would say, "May Hashem bless you."