The Short Vort by Rabbi Eisenman

I appreciate the downtime when I sit in my office on Shushan Purim.

It's a time to review the events of the last twenty-four hours.

It is a day to take stock and wind down from the frenetic pace of Purim.

Once I became a Rav, I understood all too well why Yom Kippur is referred to as "Yom Ki-Purim"- a day "somewhat like" Purim.

The responsibilities of a Rav to his Kehilla on Yom Kippur are quite daunting.

Nevertheless, in certain respects, they do not rise to the level of intensity and the interpersonal challenges that the day of Purim imposes on the Rav of a Shul.

The beautiful constant flow of people and the necessity to retain a smiling countenance can be a formidable and sometimes strenuous challenge.

The necessity to be directly involved in the collection and distribution of Matanos L'Evyonim is coupled with a need to constantly remain focused on the self-dignity and honor of both givers and the receivers.

The struggle to recall the names, schools, and grades of the children who cheerfully deliver Mishloachh Manos can be demanding and an often elusive and overly ambitious objective.

Dealing with a myriad of Halachik questions during the day has unique Purim-related aspects.

Questions regarding a person who fell asleep for a moment during the Megillah to people who are "sure" that they did not hear the complete multi-syllabic and longest word in the Tanach, "veha'aḥashdarpením" are the most popular.

As I sat quietly in my office this year, as many were recovering from the Purim festivities, my silent sanctuary was punctuated by the shrill of a ringing phone.

It was Mrs. Friedstein* calling.

By the sound of her voice, I could tell she was no longer in the Simcha spirit of Purim.

"Is it too much to ask for my married son to make sure to bring his mother a nice Mishloach Manos?

I know he works hard and has many learning sedarim. However, couldn't his wife, my daughter-in-law, have brought over a simple Shaloch Manos?

Is that too much to ask?

They only live a thirty-minute drive from us!?"

All of my attempted excuses, proposals, and suggestions for possibilities that Mrs. Friedstein should contemplate to give her children (read: daughter-in-law) the benefit of the doubt fell on deaf ears.

"I am sure they had an emergency and had planned to bring you a Shaloch Manos," I contended.

"What greater emergency exists than to visit your mother on Purim?" Mrs. Friedstein demanded to know.

Thankfully, it was time for Mincha.

I informed the irate congregant that I was not minimizing her pain and I would do my due diligence to resolve this crisis."

I arrived at Mincha and noticed Ephraim Friedstein, Mrs. Friedstein's eleven-year-old grandson, with his younger brother in Shul.

I am unsure why I did what I did; however, after Mincha, I approached the two boys and innocently asked them how their Purim went.

From the discomforting giggles emanating from their mouths and their smiling looks, I knew I had hit pay dirt.

"Ephraim, how was Purim? Did you visit your grandmother on Purim?"

The boys looked at each other and then looked at me.

"Well, we were on our way to visit her and had a beautiful Shaloch Manos. However, on the way over, we met some other boys, and before we realized what had happened, we all ate the Shalch Manos. So we never got there!"

I gave them my phone and had them call home.

Afterward, I brought them to my house, and my wife arranged a beautiful Shushan Purim Shaloch Manos to give to their grandmother.

It was already after Maariv when I called back Mrs. Friedstein.

Before I could speak, she excitedly told me, "Rabbi, I have the most thoughtful daughter-in-law in the world and the best grandchildren a Bubby could want…."

I will be away for Shabbos, and the Chulent Shiur will not meet tonight.

Wishing all a Good Shabbos