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The Bar Mitzvah Mysteries 1
The Mystery of the Rich Uncle
The Bar Mitzvah Mysteries 1
The Mystery of the Rich Uncle
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Book Excerpt from The Bar Mitzvah Mysteries 1
The Mystery of the Rich Uncle
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The Bar Mitzvah Mysteries 1:
The first of a great, new Jewish children's book series, this exciting volume of mystery, intrigue & laughter makes for a terrific book that your Jewish kid will not want to put down.
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“Where is everyone?” Moish asked as he threw down his book bag. He shed his coat and tossed it on a chair.
“Ima had an errand, Abba is at work, and Uncle Feivel Berish left early this morning and hasn’t been seen since, at least not by me.”
Moish poured a packet of instant cocoa into his favorite mug, then added the still hot water from the electric kettle.
“Early this morning? He went to bed late last night!” He made a berachah and drank.
“So?”
“So, nothing...” Moish sat down opposite his sister.
“Do you notice anything different about Uncle Feivel Berish?”
Gitta considered before she answered. “Except his clothes? No.”
“He’s been out of the house a lot,” Moish told her.
“He always was. He lives in the beis midrash.” Gitta looked down at her homework. “Usually I like math, but these problems are hard.”
“He wasn’t in the beis midrash yesterday.”
“How do you know?”
“I met him.”
“He was probably on his way.” Gitta erased the math problem she’d been working on and started again.
“He went to someone’s house,” Moish informed her.
“So? He’s allowed to have friends.” Gitta erased the problem again. “Moish, I have to do my homework.”
Moish sat back in his chair. I have homework too, he thought. And a paper. And a chavrusa. And I have to practice my haftarah. He stared at his book bag. There was a mess in there, too, and he had to find the missing notebook.
“Gitta, how would you go about cleaning up my room?”
“I’d burn it down!” she giggled.
“Seriously,” Moish urged. “How would you start?”
“I don’t even know...” Gitta put her head to one side and thought. “I guess I would start by throwing away everything that could be thrown away. Do you want to clean up your room?”
“Sooner or later,” Moish said noncommittally.
“Good luck.” Gitta erased the problem again.
Moish stood up and put his cup in the sink. “Do you want help with that?”
“No, thank you. There are some things you have to do by yourself.”
Just as Moish reached the top of the stairs, the doorbell rang. With a sigh, he ran back down. Since no one was home but himself and Gitta, he looked through the peephole before he opened the door.
It was a policeman.
Moish cautiously unlocked the door.
“Hello, I’m Officer Matt Finder. I’m looking for Rabbi Alter.” The police officer spoke like a man whom people listened to.
Moish’s legs felt wobbly. “Who?” he asked in a weak voice.
Officer Finder took out a small pad and leafed though it. He read something and said: “Rabbi Feivel Berish Alter. I understood he was staying here.”
“He’s not here now.” Moish wouldn’t have minded if he’d sounded more sure of himself.
Officer Finder frowned. “I understood he would be. Will you please tell him I stopped by?”
“Yes. Sure. No problem.”
Officer Finder turned around and went quickly down the stairs. As he got into a patrol car parked in front of the house, Moish heard the policeman inside ask: “Was he there?”
“Nope.”
“He’s not easy to track down, is he?”
“Nope.” Officer Finder slammed the patrol car door, and they drove off.
Moish stood stunned in the doorway. He was after Uncle Feivel Berish! The police wanted his uncle! Moish closed the front door and moved past Gitta, who had come up behind him.
“I wonder why he wants Uncle Feivel Berish?” Gitta wrinkled her nose in puzzlement.
“I don’t know. How should I know? I really don’t know,” Moish babbled. He stared at the closed front door for a moment, then went up to his room, Gitta looking curiously after him.
Why would the police want Uncle Feivel Berish? What could he have done? Did it have to do with Luciano? And the wad of money? And...
Wait a minute! he told himself. You have one little suspicion and you’re already committing your uncle to a life of crime? Get a hold of yourself!
Feeling queasy, Moish sat down on his bed. His room looked worse than ever. It also smelled funny. It took a while, but Moish finally traced the source of the smell; it was yesterday’s spilled cocoa. While he had rescued his derashah, he’d forgotten to wipe up the cocoa. Now it had dried into a glutinous puddle; a sock was stuck in one edge.
Moish moved back and his bed crackled. It dawned on him that he was sitting on something. He stood up and extricated his history notebook from under his covers. Now he remembered putting it down when he had tied his shoes that morning. He supposed he must have forgotten about it when his mother called him for breakfast.
Okay, Moish, he said to himself. Here’s what you have to do: Clean up, do that report, go to ma’ariv, learn with your chavrusa...and all by ten o’clock. Moish groaned and put his head in his hands.
“Moish, phone call!” Gitta poked her head in the door and sniffed. “What’s that smell?” She held out the cordless telephone.
“Never mind,” Moish growled. “Hello?”
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