Thought for the week by Rabbi Dovid Lewis, Bowdon Synagogue (From Messenger Newspapers)

Thought for the week by Rabbi Dovid Lewis, Bowdon Synagogue

3:43pm Thursday 24th May 2012 in Thought for the week

HERE is a summary of a wonderful story which I found on line. A NYC Taxi driver wrote: “I arrived at the address and honked the horn. After a few minutes I honked again. I thought about just driving away. Instead I walked up to the door and knocked. ‘Just a minute’, answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor.

The door opened. A small woman in her 90s stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940s movie.

Beside her was a small nylon suitcase. All the furniture in the apartment was covered with sheets.

She took my arm and we walked toward the cab.

She gave me an address and asked: “Could you drive through downtown?”

“It’s not the shortest way,” I answered.

“I’m in no hurry,” she said. “I’m on my way to a hospice.

“I don’t have any family left. The doctor says I don’t have very long.”

I quietly reached over and shut off the meter.

For two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator, the neighbourhood where she and her husband had lived as newlyweds and a furniture warehouse, once a ballroom, where she used to go dancing. Often we’d slow in front of a particular building or corner and she would sit staring, saying nothing.

Finally she said: “I’m tired. Let’s go now.”

We drove in silence to a small convalescent home.Two orderlies came out immediately. They must have been expecting her.

“How much do I owe you?” She asked.

“Nothing,” I said “You have to make a living,” she answered.

“There are other passengers,” I responded.

Without thinking, I hugged her. She held on to me tightly.

“You gave an old woman a little moment of joy – thank you,” she said.

I squeezed her hand, and walked away. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life.”

We’re conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware – beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.