Moishe-Rabeinu

“Mommy! Mommy! Moishe-Rabeinu is here!” I exclaimed, standing in the living room by the window, gazing down the path leading to our house. In the kitchen, I could hear Mom filling a large kettle with water. I also heard the clinking of glasses in the cabinet from which Mom retrieved the special one reserved for Moishe-Rabeinu. Mom was the one who had given him that nickname, with the Yiddish pronunciation she remembered from her school years studying about the biblical Moses. I, who adored her expressions, happily adopted the nickname.

From the window, I now saw the image of this strange vagrant approaching our door. He wore a white robe that fell all the way down to just below his knees. His naked feet were clad in a pair of time-worn slippers which he had unearthed from a trash container. His bald pate, pockmarked with age, was mostly covered with an oversized white yarmulke. His white, tangled beard fluttered in the wind, and as he drew closer, I could more clearly see his deep, brown eyes, slanting down at their edges. Combined with his thick, white eyebrows, his eyes gave off a somewhat melancholy expression. In his bare, sunburnt hand, Moishe-Rabeinu held a large, gnarled stick. His gait was assured and steady, regularly tapping the sidewalk with his stick, heralding his own arrival.

As he stood by our door and pounded it with his stick, I left my place by the window and rushed to the entrance. “