Leah Gitl Shukhman
It was the evening of Rosh Hashanah. Rabbi Yehuda Fatiyah, rabbi of the Baghdad community and a great kabbalist, was walking home after the evening holiday prayers, reflecting on the great day—the Day of Judgment… His face shone with a special radiance, and in his snow-white robe, the rabbi resembled an angel who had descended for a moment into our material world.
Rabbanit Rachel sat at the table with a book of Tehillim, waiting for her husband. The candles, fueled with olive oil, lit up the house, which was completely ready for her husband's arrival. This time, the rabbanit had found a new place for the candles, setting them near the door so their light reached every corner of the room.
At last, familiar footsteps could be heard. The rabbanit rose to greet her husband. He entered the house, still deeply absorbed in his thoughts, turned toward his wife—and his new, luxurious robe swept through the air, knocking over the candles in an instant. There was the sound of shattering glass, and the house was plunged into darkness. The rabbanit was stunned. But before she could say a word, she heard her husband's voice:
—My dear wife! Please don't be angry, just don't be angry! Of course, it's a shame about the candles, and I ask your forgiveness with all my heart. But the main thing is not to get angry on Rosh Hashanah!
—All right, I'm not angry, the rabbanit said, but how are we going to eat? It's completely dark in here.
—It's all right! Let's go up to the roof. We'll have our meal by starlight; it will be beautiful…
—Yes, that's a good idea, the rabbanit agreed. They did sometimes eat on the roof, enjoying the cool breeze after a hot Baghdad day. So this was a perfectly acceptable solution. The rabbi went up to the roof to arrange a place for them, while the rabbanit took a pot off the stove, placed small plates of simanim on top, and also headed for the stairs. But she never made it there. Not noticing the puddle of oil from the candles in the darkness, the rabbanit slipped and fell… Shards and the contents of the plates scattered all over the room.
Hearing the crash, the rabbi hurried downstairs, helped his wife get up, and said:
—My dear wife, the main thing is not to get angry. Everything is for the best, so this must have been meant to happen. Look how luckily the pot landed: the meat didn't fall out, so it's all right. The main thing is not to get angry.
The rabbanit took a deep breath, wiped her hands, and decided that she really must face this test with dignity. Besides, whom was there really to be angry with? Herself? Her husband? Or the Almighty? After all, everything He does is for the best.
But the trials were not over yet. When the rabbanit bent down to feel around for the ill-fated pot of meat, she let out an involuntary cry: her hand had touched something furry, and a second later the couple saw a shadow dashing away as fast as it could. A cat, drawn by the delicious smell of the well-cooked meat, had managed to slip quietly into their little house (the door was unlocked), snatch the largest piece, step on the remaining food with its none-too-clean paws, and run away before the stunned rabbi and rabbanit could do anything.
The rabbanit sank onto a chair in exhaustion, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. And the rabbi repeated yet again:
—Darling, the main thing is not to get angry. Just don't be angry. Please! It's all right; we'll take a little of the food you prepared for the second day of Rosh Hashanah and have our meal. Or we'll just eat some challah. All your challahs are so delicious—we'll certainly fill up on them. The main thing is not to get angry!
At this meal, there was no ram's head, no apples with honey, no pomegranate—not one of the simanim that promise a good year. But there was the most important siman —calm, mutual respect, and peace in the home.
“You won't believe it,” Rabbi Fatiyah would tell his children and grandchildren when recounting this story, “but I never had a year as successful and happy as that one in my life—either before it or after!”
Our Sages said that a home where wine flows like water will always be blessed. One explanation is that if expensive wine is spilled by mistake, no one gets angry, just as if it were water that had spilled.