It’s Thursday morning and I’m making potato kugel when the knock comes.

InAmerica the brown-and-gold UPS truck usually carries a sense of excitement as it drives down leaf-covered streets. Usually means it you’re getting something you’ve been waiting for.

Thursday morning’s UPS man however arrives on a motorcycle bringing nothing more exciting than documents for us to sign allowing us to change phone companies.

My husband of course invites the UPS man in for a drink.

The man doesn’t want one.

My husband offers him some potato kugel.

The UPS man says “No.”

We ask “What do you like?”

He says “Meat.”

He asks for a photo ID. I find an old passport but he can’t decide if the woman in the picture is the same as the one in the kitchen making kugel. And this emphasizes the old high school reunion brochure I just got showing all my old friends dressed and successful while here I am covered in kugel in the kitchen in slippers. And if I wore curlers I’d be wearing those too.

This is when he takes off his motorcycle helmet to reveal a shaven head and a handlebar moustache.

He solemnly continues with his paperwork.

My husband asks him where he’s from.

“Israel” he grunts and then adds “ I’m Grouzini.” That’s Hebrew for Georgian.

“You know where that is?” he asks us.

“NearRussia” my husband says to be safe.

“Right” he says and continues with his paperwork.

Well my husband’s not going to let a Georgian Jew go without a little schmooze. “Hard life?” he asks trying to open a conversation.

“Oh yeah” the Grouzini says.

“How old are you?” my husband asks and then says “Wait let me guess 22 23?”

“No.” Finally a small smile. “Thirty.”

“Time to get married.” I know the next move. “What are you looking for?” my husband asks him.

“I’m looking for a wife who can make a warm home. Friday night meals without Internet and television.”

I’m in the kitchen bustling about cooking and washing and the smell of potato kugel —one of those smells that fills a whole house — is getting stronger by the minute.

“Everyone’s unhappy today” the UPS man continues. “Just work work work. They sit around the table complaining or looking at their phones. I want a real home.”

As he describes the world’s distraction and his real pintele-Yid desire I start feeling better about my apron and house shoes.

My husband tells him if he wants what he’s describing as Shabbos he has to move in that direction to get it. My husband just jumped this guy into a Yiddishkeit fast lane and as someone who gets nervous from fast driving I’m getting a little nervous about how he’ll react.

The Grouzini says “It’s hard to keep Shabbos.”

“Take one thing on.” My husband slows down.

The Grouzini thinks.

Then my husband tells the story of a man who wanted a religious wife but he himself was on the edge of his commitments. He described the guy as living on the outskirts of the religious world and wondering why he couldn’t find what he was looking for. The guy was advised to go to a big rebbe — my husband opens his arms to stress big — and the rebbe listened to the man’s story. After the rebbe heard what he needed to hear he took the guy by the collar lifted him up in the air and said “You want a religious wife then move toBoroPark.” The man took the rebbe’s words to heart and moved the next week. Two months later he was engaged to a truly good girl.

The Grouzini hears. “The world’s going through a reverse revolution” my husband expands. “People yearn for homes again.” The Grouzini hears. He agrees. “I want a wife.”

Sometimes or many times the world tries to send us messages like we’re supposed to be doing something else looking like someone else. That’s what Chanukah’s all about. To say here’s a tiny bottle that looks like nothing’s inside but its purity is going to shine not only for eight days but for eternity.

So UPS really did deliver a nice Chanukah gift Thursday morning. A message from G-d saying Hey you there in the kitchen in your house shoes making potato kugel you’re what the world’s looking for.

Thanks for the delivery UPS.