A more banal — yet no less critical — task still lay ahead of this beleaguered rabbi

This year, Martin Luther King Day was a bitterly cold Monday in January. Heavy snow the night before left everything buried in white.

I have learned that while a national holiday is a welcome day off for many, I am “on call” the entire day. The minyanim are crowded, and people drop by to schmooze.

I have a certain ambivalence toward legal holidays. One the one hand, they allow me to catch up with people who otherwise are tied to rigid work schedules, and let me connect with them in a relaxed daytime setting. This is preferable to late-evening appointments, when all the parties are tired and spent.

On the other hand, however, it means that more people than usual are vying for my time and my appointment load is much greater.

By the end of the day on a legal holiday, the difficult problems people have shared with me have become my issues and challenges, because I share their pain.

This particular Martin Luther King Day also saw Mr. Trump sworn in as the 47th president. As could be expected, people’s excitement was palpable. Many congregants wanted to ensure that the rabbi was up on the current events in Washington.

Amid the deluge of difficult marriage issues, questions about schools and seminary placements, and the hullabaloo surrounding Mr. Trump’s inauguration, a more banal — yet no less critical — task still lay ahead of this beleaguered rabbi.

Namely, with the temperature predicted to drop to single digits, and the snow freezing into a solid wall of impenetrable white stuff, the question that gave me no rest was: When — or, more importantly, how — would I clean off my car?

As the day progressed and the sun began to set, my car remained encased in snow. Thoughts of my car being sealed in perpetual permafrost until Pesach filled me with dread and fear.

Having neither children at home nor a gabbai or assistant to help me, the job of clearing my car was left to me and only me.

When four o’clock arrived, and the women went home to meet their children returning from school, and the men shuffled off to Minchah, a window of opportunity miraculously opened.

I approached my car with trepidation. I found it wrapped in a solid wall of frozen snow. I was unable to clear it.

I was able to get into the car, however. I started the ignition and turned the defroster on high.

Desperate, I called out to Hashem, “Ribbono shel Olam, I have to drive this car tomorrow. I can’t see through the snow-sealed windshield. Can You please send one young person to help this senior-citizen rabbi clean off his car?”

Suddenly, before I could say another word, a snow brush appeared on my windshield. I could make out a hand holding the brush, and amazingly, my car was suddenly flooded with the rays of the setting sun.

As the window cleared, I finally saw the mystery mitzvah man. I quickly opened the door to thank my liberator. A young man I did not know was standing there, snow-scraper in hand.

“Thank you!” I said, “How did you know I needed help?”

With a grin, he replied, “President Trump gave me an executive order to clean the rabbi’s car.”

“You are certainly correct,” I responded. “The order did come down from the Commander in Chief. I should know, I made the request myself.”

He hurried off with a confused look on his face.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1047)