presence and a response to the directive in Deuteronomy 6:9 to put God’s commandments on the doorframes of their houses.
Before Eli became a Christian, he followed the Jewish tradition of paying respect to the mezuzah each time he went in or out of his home. After he gave his life to Christ, he left the mezuzah in place but no longer followed the rabbinical directives that accompanied it.
One time he needed to leave a message for me outside of the office, and I facetiously suggested that he write it on a little piece of paper and stick it in the mezuzah. He told me that he felt that would be disrespectful, but that I might be onto something nevertheless. When it came time for him to hide the key to his safety deposit box, he removed the little mezuzah, hollowed out a flat space for the key behind it, and then remounted it. He didn’t think God would have a problem with that; he also liked the idea of hiding something in plain sight, something I would be able to get to easily if the need arose.
My hope was that he had taken the same actions here in Florida, and seeing the mezuzah on his doorframe was a good indication that he had. As soon as the little box was loose I would know for sure.
I managed to poke the screwdriver behind the box, pressed it like a lever, and watched one side of the box swing loose. I gasped, my heartbeat pulsing in my throat. There, hidden behind the mezuzah, was a small, flat key. I pushed aside the mezuzah, pried it loose from the wood, and turned it over in my hand.
“Excuse me, is this the Gold residence?”
I nearly tossed everything in the air at the sound of the person who had snuck up behind me. Spinning precariously on the chair, I spied two women standing on the sidewalk, their arms loaded with cleaning supplies.
“Sorry,” one of them said, “we didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“That’s okay,” I replied, smoothly pocketing the key, “I’m just a little jumpy.”
“No wonder, judging by the condition of the house,” the other woman said, leaning to one side to look into the condo behind me. “We’re here to clean up the mess. You called this morning?”
I climbed down from the chair and smoothed out my clothes.
“Yes. Thanks for coming.”
“No blood, right?” one of them asked. “We didn’t bring the right stuff for that.”
“Just…vandalism,” I replied, turning so that they could come inside.
They seemed quite blasé about the mess, and I supposed that came with the territory. If their job was to clean up crime scenes, then they probably saw much worse things than this every day.
They decided to start at the back of the house and work their way forward. That was fine with me, and as soon as they got started, I went to the kitchen, pulled the key from my pocket, and studied it.
It looked a lot like the key to my own safety deposit box, same size, same basic shape. Slipping it back into my pocket, I closed my eyes and tried to remember the other two steps I needed to take that would lead me to the correct box at the correct bank.
A bookcase. It had something to do with a bookcase—but it had been so many years since Eli told me about these things, I didn’t fully remember.
I walked into the empty living room and crunched my way across the mess to where all of their books lay strewn in a heap at the foot of a big bookcase. Second shelf, far right , I could almost hear Eli telling me, and in a flash the entire memory came flooding back: Inside a book, he found the page number that corresponded with his box number and he had drawn a circle around it with a pen. Then he had placed it on the shelf, second one from the top, at the far right.
Unfortunately, his books were no longer on the shelves, so I didn’t know which book he had put the clue in. I would have to go through each one just to find the page I wanted. With a small sigh I cleared a space on the floor, sat down, and began. I figured I would flip quickly through each of the books and see
Before Eli became a Christian, he followed the Jewish tradition of paying respect to the mezuzah each time he went in or out of his home. After he gave his life to Christ, he left the mezuzah in place but no longer followed the rabbinical directives that accompanied it.
One time he needed to leave a message for me outside of the office, and I facetiously suggested that he write it on a little piece of paper and stick it in the mezuzah. He told me that he felt that would be disrespectful, but that I might be onto something nevertheless. When it came time for him to hide the key to his safety deposit box, he removed the little mezuzah, hollowed out a flat space for the key behind it, and then remounted it. He didn’t think God would have a problem with that; he also liked the idea of hiding something in plain sight, something I would be able to get to easily if the need arose.
My hope was that he had taken the same actions here in Florida, and seeing the mezuzah on his doorframe was a good indication that he had. As soon as the little box was loose I would know for sure.
I managed to poke the screwdriver behind the box, pressed it like a lever, and watched one side of the box swing loose. I gasped, my heartbeat pulsing in my throat. There, hidden behind the mezuzah, was a small, flat key. I pushed aside the mezuzah, pried it loose from the wood, and turned it over in my hand.
“Excuse me, is this the Gold residence?”
I nearly tossed everything in the air at the sound of the person who had snuck up behind me. Spinning precariously on the chair, I spied two women standing on the sidewalk, their arms loaded with cleaning supplies.
“Sorry,” one of them said, “we didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“That’s okay,” I replied, smoothly pocketing the key, “I’m just a little jumpy.”
“No wonder, judging by the condition of the house,” the other woman said, leaning to one side to look into the condo behind me. “We’re here to clean up the mess. You called this morning?”
I climbed down from the chair and smoothed out my clothes.
“Yes. Thanks for coming.”
“No blood, right?” one of them asked. “We didn’t bring the right stuff for that.”
“Just…vandalism,” I replied, turning so that they could come inside.
They seemed quite blasé about the mess, and I supposed that came with the territory. If their job was to clean up crime scenes, then they probably saw much worse things than this every day.
They decided to start at the back of the house and work their way forward. That was fine with me, and as soon as they got started, I went to the kitchen, pulled the key from my pocket, and studied it.
It looked a lot like the key to my own safety deposit box, same size, same basic shape. Slipping it back into my pocket, I closed my eyes and tried to remember the other two steps I needed to take that would lead me to the correct box at the correct bank.
A bookcase. It had something to do with a bookcase—but it had been so many years since Eli told me about these things, I didn’t fully remember.
I walked into the empty living room and crunched my way across the mess to where all of their books lay strewn in a heap at the foot of a big bookcase. Second shelf, far right , I could almost hear Eli telling me, and in a flash the entire memory came flooding back: Inside a book, he found the page number that corresponded with his box number and he had drawn a circle around it with a pen. Then he had placed it on the shelf, second one from the top, at the far right.
Unfortunately, his books were no longer on the shelves, so I didn’t know which book he had put the clue in. I would have to go through each one just to find the page I wanted. With a small sigh I cleared a space on the floor, sat down, and began. I figured I would flip quickly through each of the books and see
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