Our neighbor for over forty years, a Mengele graduate, has always appreciated Ezi, as much as she hates a certain ex-broadcaster who apparently closely resembles one of her torturers.  And now, just as Ezi was helping me set up my new computer, at  a crucial moment she knocked on the door screaming that Haim Yavin has broken her table.    The table was indeed broken, and Ezi took it to his room and glued it together. 

I stare at my computer in wonder – what defines a righteous man?  Job has nothing on him – he’s once again failed his serology test, has developed a case of shingles on his back, and is burdened with a mad wife.   And yet he has time to fix a table for a schizophrenic neighbor.  You may well ask why such acts of random kindness make me define him as a righteous man since he has not changed the world or discovered a cure for corona.  And yet he is my ideal model for a mensch.  

Whether poor Haim Yavin should be blamed for breaking her table, whether her anger at him made her smash it, or whether someone tried to stand on it and it collapsed, the only important thing is that she live out the rest of her life in some measure of peace.

What does this tell you about blame?  For me the only time blame is worth exploring is if it leads you to a solution to the problem.