An elderly man lay dying in his bed.
In the last throes of life, he dimly smelled the delicious aroma of his favorite treat,
Rugulah, wafting up toward his bedroom.


Gathering his strength, he painfully lifted himself up in the bed.
Leaning against the wall he struggled to his feet and slowly made his way out the room
and down the hall towards the stairs.


Gripping the railing forcefully, he labored his way down the stairs.
Out of breath, he leaned against the doorway into the kitchen.
He closed his eyes and imagined himself already in heaven.


There on the table, spread out on waxed paper, lay hundreds of his favorite rugulahs.


But it was not heaven.
It seemed one final act of love from his devoted wife,
seeing to it that he left this world a happy man.


Mustering one great final effort, he drew himself toward the table.
His parched lips parted.
It seemed he could sense the wonderous taste of the rugulah already in his mouth,
reminding him of the pleasures of his life.


His aged and withered hand trembled as he extended it toward the table,
Ready to pick up a final delicious treat when a spatula smacked his hand!!
"Don’t touch" said his wife.

They are for the Shiva."