Concealed carry? I was being threatened with gun violence? Oh my. I had never imagined my eiruv work being interrupted by the Russian Mafia. My mind began racing with plans for a very quick getaway. Maybe I could run down the block to the convenience store? Or jump into a dense clump of bushes? Nothing seemed likely to get me out of this front-lawn showdown.

Taking advantage of my silence, Mrs. Mafia continued voicing her thoughts. “Chaving a gun is very chelpful. Ve didn’t chave this opportunity until Obama vas out of office.”

Lost in the politics of 2017, she shook her head and lamented, “Oy vey, Obama.”

Mrs. Mafia was a Republican? Not that political affiliation mattered when one of us had a gun and the other a drill and some bolts.

Suddenly, I registered her words a second time. Did I just hear the phrase, “oy vey?”

“Wait a second,” I blurted out. “Are you Jewish?”

“Yes I am,” she responded defensively. “Vy do you care?”

“I’m Jewish, too!” I explained, hoping that this would be reason enough for her to keep her concealed weapon concealed.

She snorted derisively. “No vay. I never saw Jewish boys riding around vandalizing property before. And Jewish boys don’t vear that!” She nodded aggressively at my vest and hard hat. “Chow can you be Jewish?”

Um, genetically? I pulled out my tzitzis strings, which had been tucked away for safety purposes. “See?” I said, waving the strings demonstratively. “Do you know about tzitzit?” She stared in disbelief at this unexpected evidence.

“If you are Jewish and wear tzitzit, vy are you dressed up pretending to be an electrical worker? You should be studying the Torah!” she demanded.

With budding relief that my life would likely be spared, I explained that I was doing eiruv work so that the religious Jews in the area could carry on Shabbat. For several minutes, we discussed the ins and outs of Shabbos observance, and Mrs. Mafia-turned-Bubby thawed considerably.

“You know,” she said thoughtfully, looking me over once more, “Zis Jewish vork you are doing is very good, vith your drill and all of your equipment. I vonder if you can fix my mailbox for me. I chave two screws in my mailbox vitch are not matching vith each other….”

What a turnaround! I happily accepted this overture of shalom, and though technically outside the realm of eiruv work, I dutifully replaced the rusted screw in her mailbox with a shiny silver one.

“Such a nice Jewish yingel,” she kvelled. “Thank you very much and chave a chappy Jewish New Year!”

Because I really am a nice Jewish yingel, I returned the following day to drop off a little jar of honey and a shanah tovah note into the Mafia-Bubby family mailbox (this time, I was truly trespassing!). As I drove away, I reflected on the surprising conclusion of the previous day’s drama. I was grateful that the encounter with my new Russian “friend” had ended smoothly, for the siyata d’Shmaya that accompanies me on every eiruv job, and most of all, for the ability to “mach a kiddush Hashem.”

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1100)