“Did I ever tell you about the esrogim and the weddings?” he asks

A scent can take you back to the past like nothing else can. I stand in the succah, hold up the esrog, inhale. I’m a kid of seven again, frolicking in the basement of my grandparents’ apartment building, where my grandfather sold esrogim.

I recall a semi-dark space, crates of esrogim, and those ubiquitous hairy nests they came in. Piles of passul lulavim to fan ourselves with. My big, strong grandfather deftly weaving koisheklach, examining esrogim behind double-bridged glasses.

What did I know then — a kid in a citrus-scented candy store — of dollars and cents? Of shipping costs, profit margins, gross and net?

To me, this was where the magic happened, where Succos happened….

Recently my grandfather was planning an esrog trip to Israel and during one of my calls we got to talking.

“Did I ever tell you about the esrogim and the weddings?” he asks.

“No.” The question has the sweet allure of a story. Three thousand miles away I smile into the phone and sit tight.

He takes me back 32 years. He’s making his first wedding, and coming head-to-head with reality. His regular job made a regular day-to-day parnassah, but he was thrown, like most people are, when it came time to make a chasunah. A friend offered him a loan. People spoke of refinancing and interest. He balked.

Man of faith that he is, he went to a corner and spoke to Hashem. I don’t want help from other people, I want directly from Your Hand.