Lyla Levy loved Shabbat. Each week, she’d look forward to Friday night, when her Mama would tell mesmerizing stories as she flipped through the old family photo albums, and her Papa would sing the most beautiful songs. On Saturday, Lyla and her brothers, J.P. and Mikey, would race home from synagogue for a bowl of Papa’s famous cholent. The winner got to pick the biggest potato in the pot. After lunch, they’d clear the dishes and sweep the floor as quickly as they could, so they could squeeze in a game of Hearts with Mama before she took her Shabbat nap.

As wonderful as Shabbat was, Lyla always got most excited when it was about to end. Havdalah in the Levy home was a special occasion, to say the least. Papa would play his favorite guitar, and Mama would pour everyone their own cup of grape juice. Mikey loved to turn off the lights, and J.P. got to hold the candle, but Lyla had the distinguished job of holding the besamim, the special jar of cloves and allspice that smelled absolutely delicious.

Lyla had been holding the besamim since she was a toddler, and she took her job very seriously. In fact, one Saturday evening in late June, Papa asked if J.P. and Lyla wanted to switch jobs, now that Lyla was old enough to hold the candle herself. Before J.P. even opened his mouth, Lyla made it quite clear that she would never trade her position as Official Besamim Holder for anything. Well, that settled that. Lyla would be in charge of that spice jar forever, and did she ever cherish it.

Then, just as Papa was about to play the first note on his guitar, something caught Lyla’s attention. The besamim jar winked at her! Lyla looked around to see if anyone else had noticed anything unusual, but no one was even looking in her direction. Lyla immediately rubbed her eyes and looked back at the jar. Surely, she was just imagining things. After all, it was a summer Shabbat, and it was already way past Lyla’s bedtime. She must have been too tired to think straight.

The next Shabbat, Lyla was on pins and needles all day. She couldn’t wait to see what would happen during Havdalah. When it was finally time to say the blessing on the besamim, Lyla stared intently at the jar. Nothing. Everyone said “Amen,” smelled the spices, and passed the jar back to Lyla, who felt deflated. As Lyla stretched her arm to place the jar back on the Havdala tray, she took one last look, hoping with all her might that she’d see one more wink. Nope. When Papa finished Havdala, he put everything away. Lyla was devastated.

Over the months that followed, every Saturday evening, Lyla would wink at the besamim jar, longing for one more wink in return. Lyla knew it was all just a figment of her imagination, but she still liked pretending the besamim jar was truly her friend, because it made her feel like she had magical powers. During the week, Lyla’s Mama and Papa kept the Havdala tray on a high shelf, so Lyla would often sneak a step stool into the dining room and wink at the besamim jar when her parents and brothers were busy. After a while, Lyla even started talking to the jar, telling it all about her dreams, her fears, and life beyond the dining room. It wasn’t quite the

same as talking to her friends, but, with two silly brothers around, Lyla appreciated having a chance to speak without being interrupted.

One afternoon, while her brothers were doing homework and her parents were folding laundry, Lyla snuck into the dining room, climbed onto her step stool, and started talking to the spice jar. “It’s about time you had a name. All my other friends have names,” she told the jar. “I think I’ll call you Bessie.” Lyla smiled proudly. Bessie was a good name. She went on to tell Bessie about a new game she’d learned in the playground at school that day, but stopped midway when she heard footsteps coming from the hall. “Have a good night, Bessie,” Lyla whispered.

Then, just as she stepped down from her step stool, Lyla heard the most adorable voice say, “Goodnight, Lyla.” Lyla was startled! She looked around the room, certain that J.P. and Mikey were playing a trick on her. When she didn’t see anyone else in the room, Lyla slowly climbed back up onto the stool and peered over the edge of the shelf where the Havdala tray was perched. “I thought you were leaving,” said Bessie. Lyla was so shocked, she nearly lost her footing. “Y-y-you can … talk?” asked Lyla. “You’re real?”

“I guess I can,” answered Bessie, who was just as surprised as Lyla. “I never really tried to speak before. And, of course, I’m real. Don’t you remember when I winked at you?”

“I knew it! But, that was months ago. I started to think it was just my imagination. Why haven’t you winked in so long?” asked Lyla.

“Hmmm, I really don’t know. This is all pretty new to me, too. Maybe, it was something about what you did that night. Do you remember how you made sure no one else would hold the besamim and you held me so tightly?” asked Bessie.

“I sure do,” answered Lyla proudly. “I’d never let my brothers take my job. Holding the besamim is my favorite part of the week!”

“I can tell,” said Bessie happily. “Maybe, that’s what gave me the power to wink. I’d never been loved like that before. I don’t think any besamim jar has ever been loved so much. And, today, you did something that people only do for their children and pets, the things they truly love the most.”

“What do you mean?” wondered Lyla. “I talk to you all the time, don’t I?”

“Of course, Lyla, but, today, you gave me something I’ll cherish forever—a name,” replied Bessie. “Now that I have a name, I feel so alive. I feel like I have a purpose. I feel loved.”

“Wow, you must be right,” Lyla agreed. “That must be what makes the magic work!”

Lyla heard more footsteps from the hall. “Oh, no,” she whispered. “I better go before my family catches us. I wouldn’t want anyone else to accidentally ruin the magic. Who knows if it would ever come back. Tomorrow night is Shabbat, so I’ll see you the following night for Havdala.”

“Excellent!” cheered Bessie. “I can’t wait.”

However, that Saturday night, something strange happened. “Time for Havdala, kids,” called Papa as he took out his guitar. “Who wants grape juice?” asked Mama. “I do, please!” replied J.P., Mikey and Lyla. As Mama poured the juice, Papa lit the candle and began to play. Mikey turned out the lights, J.P. picked up the candle, and Lyla gleefully lifted Bessie, who winked at her. This time, Lyla knew she wasn’t just seeing things. When the blessing for the besamim was sung, Lyla proudly passed Bessie around, but her smile quickly faded.

As Papa sniffed the spices, he gave Mama a quizzical look and sniffed a second time. He shook his head. Something was wrong. Mama smelled the spices next, and she, too, scrunched her lips and shook her head. While Papa dragged out the blessing with a nifty guitar solo, Mama grabbed a new jar of spices from the pantry and passed it around. Papa nodded in agreement and moved on to the blessing on the candle. Lyla watched in horror as Mama tossed Bessie into the garbage bin! Lyla did her best to keep calm and act like it was no big deal. Then, as soon as Havdala was over and everyone had cleared out of the room, Lyla ran to the trash and rescued Bessie, who was covered in a banana peel and a spoonful of cold cholent.

“What happened?” cried Lyla. “I have no idea!” replied Bessie, confused and scared. “Maybe my spices just aren’t as fragrant as they used to be.” Lyla sniffed Bessie’s spices, and her heart sank. Bessie was right. The sweet smell of Bessie’s spices had faded. “I’ll never get to be a part of Shabbat ever again,” Bessie moaned. “For the first time, I felt like I finally had a purpose, and now, I’m completely worthless.” Lyla held Bessie close to her heart and whispered, “We’ll find you a new purpose, Bessie. We’ll find you a new holiday. I know we will.” Lyla wasn’t really so confident, but she wanted Bessie to know that she’d try her best. With a new spice jar on the Havdala tray, Lyla was free to take Bessie to her room, where she could chat with her whenever she pleased.

The very next week, the Levy family was preparing for Passover. Lyla had a good feeling that she’d be able to find something for Bessie to do at the Seder. After all, there are almost 15 steps in the Seder. Surely, one of them was perfect for a jar of old spices.

Lyla brought Bessie to the Seder on the first night of Passover. When it was time to dip the karpas in saltwater, Mama passed around pieces of celery. However, Lyla offered another option. “Why don’t we dip these spices?” asked Lyla. “That’s a good question, Lyla,” answered Mama. “But we are supposed to dip a vegetable, something that grows from the ground.” Lyla thought for a second, then asked, “Don’t spices grow from the ground?” Mama and Papa were impressed. “Excellent point, Lyla,” said Papa. “But I’m not sure too many people want to eat dried cloves dipped in saltwater. Celery, parsley, things like that taste delicious right out of the ground and make us think of spring. Besides, isn’t that the jar that we threw out last week?” Lyla was so embarrassed, she hid Bessie under the table and didn’t mention spices again all Passover.

When Shavuot arrived seven weeks later, Lyla helped Mama bake cheesecakes. “Do you think we should make one spicy one?” asked Lyla. “A spicy cheesecake? Hmmm, I’ve never thought of that. I’ll tell you what, I’ll see if I can find a recipe,” answered Mama. “But I don’t think those spices you’ve been hiding have any flavor left. They barely have a smell anymore.”

Again, Lyla felt embarrassed. It seemed like everyone knew she had fished Bessie out of the trash. Lyla went up to her room and assured Bessie they’d find a new purpose soon. “Just wait until the High Holidays, Bessie. There’ll be plenty for you to do in Tishrei,” she said. “I’m sure you’re right,” replied Bessie nervously.

Before Rosh Hashanah, Lyla’s teacher taught her class about the simanim, the nine symbolic foods many people eat at dinner on the Jewish New Year. On the first night of the holiday, as Papa passed out cards listing all the simanim, Lyla proudly put Bessie on the table. “Do you still have that old spice jar?” asked Papa. “What’s it doing on the Rosh Hashanah table? We only use besamim after Shabbat, and those spices don’t even have a scent anymore.” “I want to use it for the simanim,” answered Lyla. “I’m sure the honey or the pomegranate could use a little spice.” “Lyla, I think it might be time to throw out that jar. It’s pretty much … useless,” said Mama. “I guess there’s no use trying to convince the rabbi to sprinkle some on the shofar tomorrow morning,” said Lyla sadly.

Despite her failed attempts to find Bessie a new purpose, Lyla did not give up. Still, she couldn’t find anything for Bessie to do. On Sukkot, Lyla and Bessie looked at diagrams of the four species—lulav, etrog, hadassah and aravah—but Bessie didn’t look like any of them. And Lyla had a hard time tying a knot around Bessie when she tried to make Bessie into a sukkah decoration. On Chanukah, J.P. and Mikey wanted to win chocolate coins when they played dreidel. Lyla couldn’t convince them to play for spices instead. On Tu B’Shevat, Lyla asked her teacher if it was possible to plant old spices and grow a new spice tree. She did not get the answer she wanted.

Finally, Lyla was out of ideas. “I give up, Bessie,” she sighed dejectedly. “We’ll never find you a new purpose. I guess you were always meant to be a besamim jar, and besamim don’t last forever.” Bessie was upset, but still truly appreciated Lyla giving it her best shot. “I had such fun being your besamim, Lyla. I think that’s good enough for me,” Bessie said with a warm smile. “Maybe I’m just not meant to have another purpose.” Lyla felt like she had let her friend down, but it had been almost a year and they had tried everything. There was just no holiday for Bessie.

A few weeks later, as Lyla prepared her Purim costume, she decided to dress Bessie up in a matching outfit. She gave Bessie a little wig, a beautiful dress and a gold crown. That night, the two Queen Esthers sat in the front row of the balcony in the synagogue. Lyla always liked to look right down onto the stage, where Rabbi Bloom would read the Megillah with funny voices and hand motions for each of the different characters in the Purim story. She sat Bessie on the seat beside her and opened her booklet. Just before Rabbi Bloom began reading, he asked everyone to quiet down for the blessings. As he started the first blessing, the crowd went silent, until, suddenly, a loud cha! echoed around the room. A woman looking for a seat had accidentally knocked Bessie onto the floor and, boy, was Bessie noisy.

Rabbi Bloom stopped immediately. “What was that?” he asked sternly. “Who made that sound?” He looked up at the balcony and gazed at everyone in the front row. No one moved a muscle. “Well? Who was it?” Finally, Lyla timidly raised her hand. Everyone in the congregation stared at her. “It’s my fault, Rabbi,” Lyla said sheepishly. “My besamim jar got knocked onto the floor. It won’t happen again, I promise. I should have left it in the garbage in the first place.”

“Besamim?” asked Rabbi Bloom. “Garbage? Please come down here, Lyla, and bring your jar. Come on, we’ll wait.”

Everyone watched as Lyla dragged herself to the stairwell and made her way down from the balcony. “I’m so sorry, Lyla,” whispered Bessie. “It’s not your fault, Bessie,” she answered. “I never should have been such a fool. Now I’ve gotten us both in trouble.”

As Lyla crept up onto the stage, Rabbi Bloom whispered something to Mr. Miles, the synagogue’s beloved caretaker. Mr. Miles nodded, then hurried off like a rocket. Rabbi Bloom motioned for Lyla to stand right beside him. She reluctantly took her place next to Rabbi Bloom and could feel hundreds of eyes staring right at her.

“My dear friends,” Rabbi Bloom began. “For as long as I can remember, I’ve been missing out on one of the great traditions of the Purim holiday. As I am usually so focused on reading the Megillah carefully, I never have a chance to make noise and wipe out the name of Haman, Queen Esther and Mordechai’s evil nemesis. Lyla, I love the cha-cha sound of your besamim jar. What a brilliant use of spices. From now on, I want you to be my Purim sidekick. You can stand right up here with me and each time I read the name “Haman,” you can shake your jar and lead everyone in wiping out evil. How does that sound?”

Lyla and Bessie nearly shrieked with glee. They couldn’t believe their luck. Lyla excitedly nodded “yes” to Rabbi Bloom. “Excellent!” he proclaimed.

Just then, Mr. Miles returned with four shopping bags practically bursting at the seams. Rabbi Bloom nodded to Mr. Miles, then smiled at Lyla. “In fact, I love this cha-cha sound so much, I want to make it our signature sound of Purim.” Mr. Miles proceeded to hand out hundreds of jars of cloves and allspice, making sure each child and adult in the synagogue had one to shake.

As Rabbi Bloom read the Megillah, Lyla and Bessie proudly led a symphony of cha-chas each time Haman’s name was mentioned. Later that night, Rabbi Bloom kept the beat with his own besamim jar as he and Lyla’s Papa led the congregation in a medley of Purim songs.

As the festive sounds of Purim filled the room, Lyla and Bessie smiled at each other, thrilled that Bessie finally had a new purpose. “Thank you, Lyla, for not giving up,” said Bessie. “There’s a holiday for everyone,” said Lyla. “And I always knew we’d find one for you, Bessie.”

Happy Purim!

By Sam Frommer