American Minhag

Edmund Bletchley glanced at the clock on the table next to his bed as he rifled through the dwindling number of socks spaghettied in his sock drawer. He was going to be late (again) if he didn’t hurry. He found two socks that appeared to match, sniffed them to make sure they were clean, and deciding that they were, offered thanks to the Creator of the Universe for helping him make shiddock – a match – of two socks: Baruch Hashem.

Bletchley pulled the black, woolen fabric over his feet and wondered - as he did everyday - whether it was appropriate to involve the most Supreme to help him find his footwear. “Of course,” he further mused, “if it were that big of a deal, maybe next time, the Author of Everything would grant him the care to match his socks when he got them out of the dryer to begin with.” . . . But that seemed far less likely.