The Curmudgeon Must Live in a Jewish Neighborhood

The following incident was probably caused by the first day of Sukkot:

There’s a flat, straight stretch of divided highway, starting not far from my house, which is part of my commuting route. Long Island being the traffic nightmare that it is, even at the early hour at which I travel (5:30 AM), that road is usually quite full. Hundreds of cars go clipping along at 65 MPH while their drivers attend to such last-minute needs as shaving, toothbrushing, or checking their investments in the Wall Street Journal.

Not today. By some coincidence, everyone in the area slept late this morning, except for your humble Curmudgeon.

There was no one else on the road. The darkness was a blanket of peace. By another coincidence, the road had been resurfaced only a few days before; the humming of the tires against the asphalt was a perfect, smooth hum, a single low cello note played by a bow of infinite length. I was doing what I was meant to do, in an appliance perfectly mated to its application, under conditions that could not have been better.

You don't have to be Jewish to benefit from Judaism.

Praise God, from Whom all blessings flow.