The Morris family was planning a grand Tu B’Shevat party. Leah and Chavi had already started working on a highly sophisticated baked apple recipe (it required 17 different steps to get just right), while Moishy and Miriam were planning to help Mommy lay out the different fruits in interesting patterns. Everybody was excited. It was sure to be fun!

Then Daddy sprang some news on them.

“I’ve invited two guests to the Tu B’Shevat party,” he announced.

“Who are they?” asked Moishy.

“Mr. Krankowitz, for one,” replied Daddy.

Uh oh. Moishy didn’t pay any attention to what Daddy said after that. Who cared who the second guest was? Moishy was sure the party was going to be a disaster with the grumpy old man participating. He was about to voice his protest, but then he clamped his mouth shut. He knew exactly how Daddy would respond: Mr. Krankowitz was lonely and had had a hard life. It was a mitzvah to invite him and cheer him up.

Miriam had no such compunctions.

“I don’t like Mr. Krankowitz,” she declared. “Tell him to stay home.”

Mommy stepped in.

“Miriam, dear, that’s not how we talk about people,” she informed the little girl gently.

“But he always yells.”

“Let’s think about what a big mitzvah it is to invite him,” Mommy responded brightly.

The party was called for eight o’clock. The table had been elegantly set, thanks to Leah and Chavi, with the baked apples taking center stage. The fruit arrangements looked colorful and interesting. But as the clock ticked away, there was no sign of Mr. Krankowitz.

Half an hour passed, as the Morris children got increasingly impatient. Just when they were about to give up, there was a loud banging on the door.

“Open up already,” came a cross voice. “Why are you making an old man stand out in the cold?”

Somebody opened the door. In came Mr. Krankowitz, wearing a heavy overcoat and galoshes. A thick scarf was wound around his neck and a hat pulled down low over his eyes. Moishy wondered why all this gear was necessary when the old man had only come from across the road, but he decided not to say anything.

Mr. Krankowitz scowled fiercely at Mr. Morris.

“How about a thank-you? I deserve one, I can tell you, coming out on a cold evening like this. For two pins, I’d have stayed home.”

I wish you had stayed home, Moishy thought but didn’t say.

He watched in admiration as Mr. Morris graciously thanked the old man for honoring them with his presence.

Finally, Mr. Krankowitz removed his overcoat and made his slow, ponderous way to the table.

He stared at the baked apples.

“Ha! These don’t hold a candle to the baked apples my mother used to make,” he commented scornfully. “Why, when I was a boy—”

Leah and Chavi shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

Before Mr. Krankowitz could continue, someone rang the doorbell.

(Excerpted from Mishpacha Jr., Issue 744)