It was later than he had planned to leave the bungalow colony. On a Sunday afternoon you really have to be on the road by four, or you’re going to catch some serious Catskills traffic. Route 17 in the Borscht Belt, also known as the Quickway, can get very congested over the weekends, especially with visiting day at the camps on the same day. But Bayla needed help unloading the groceries, and little Batsheva wanted him to read her a story before he drove back to the city. So Baruch ended up leaving South Fallsburg at 5:30. It was going to be ugly on the roads.

Baruch came up to the mountains every weekend, to spend Shabbat and part of Sunday with his family at their summer retreat, and then went back to the city late Sunday to be back at his job Monday morning. Bayla had begged him to stay in the country overnight. “Don’t go,” she pleaded. “Stay with me and the kids. I could really use the help getting them to sleep. And it’s such a beautiful day. Not a cloud in the sky. We can star gaze on the porch tonight, and then you can leave for the city in the morning. I know how you love the stars out here.”

“I should go back today,” Baruch said. “The boss doesn’t like it when I come in late on Mondays.”

“I’ll order pizza from Woodbourne,” Bayla said.

“I really shouldn’t.”

“I’ll order fleishig,” Bayla said. “We can call Dougies. Or maybe Chinese. There’s always Mazel Wok.”

“No, I really have to get back,” Baruch said politely. “You know how my boss can be.”

“Fine, fine,” Bayla agreed, a little disappointed. “I understand.”

Baruch tossed his overnight bag into the trunk of his new car and pulled out of the gravel lot of the bungalow colony onto the smooth asphalt of Route 42. After months of car shopping, he had purchased a brand new Hyundai Elantra. The price had been reasonable—the South Korean cars cost thousands less than their Japanese counterparts—and the car came with so many bonus features he hadn’t even had time to try them all out yet. It had a five-CD player, GPS, satellite radio, and more bells and whistles than he had ever seen on a car. And it drove like a dream.

Baruch was a few miles into his trip when he encountered a new feature that his Hyundai had never demonstrated before.

“Your coolant level is low,” the car said. “Please pull over at the nearest station for service.”

Baruch had never read anywhere in the manual that the car had voice capability. But then he really hadn’t studied the GPS instructions at all. The funny thing was, for a car from South Korea, the voice sounded kind of Yeshivish.

Baruch looked down at the dials on the dashboard. The car wasn’t running hot, and the coolant level registered in normal range. He shrugged to himself. He could certainly make it back to Washington Heights before he encountered any trouble.

Two miles from the Quickway the car spoke again.

“Nu, fill up on coolant. You can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Once again Baruch checked the gauges. All was normal. He continued on his way. Route 17 was a parking lot. (“The Quickway; some joke,” Baruch muttered under his breath.) The traffic was the worst he had ever seen. And to make matters worse, the coolant light went on 10 minutes after he merged onto the highway. Five minutes later, smoke started billowing out the front of the Elantra.

Baruch pulled over to see if he could drive on the shoulder of the highway until the next exit and get off before total engine failure set in. But 100 feet down the side of the road, the car seized up and wouldn’t budge. Baruch couldn’t figure it out. The engine was still running, and the car was in gear, but it was as if someone had slammed on the brakes.

“Warning, obstacle ahead,” the car said.

Baruch looked over the hood of the Hyundai, smoke still pouring from its front grill, but he could see nothing in the distance. He pressed on the gas, but still the car wouldn’t move.

“Obstacle ahead,” the car repeated.

Baruch couldn’t figure it out. What obstacle? He put the Hyundai in park and got out of the car.

Sure enough, 10 feet in front of him stood a large deer, with an impressive rack of antlers. The car had saved him from a horrible accident, not to mention the damage that would have befallen one of God’s finest creatures. Baruch returned to his car, humbled, and with new respect for his automobile.

“Now do you believe me?” the car asked.

“Yes, I believe you,” Baruch said. “I never should have doubted you.”

“Of course you shouldn’t have doubted me,” the Hyundai said. “I’ve been your car now for four months and 12 days. That’s 4,600 miles. Two thousand, 700, and 60 kilometers. [ok? 4600 miles = 7403 km] Have I ever let you down?”

“No, never,” Baruch admitted.

“So trust me next time.”

“I get it.”

It was quiet for a few minutes in the car, as the smoke rising from the hood began to dissipate.

“You have amazing voice capabilities for a car,” Baruch observed.

“Thank you. That means a lot to me, coming from you.”

“You’re like that car KITT from Nightrider, that old TV show with, what’s his name?”

“David Hasselhoff,” the Hyundai said.

“Right,” Baruch said. “Or like the car from My Mother the Car.”

“You think too small,” the Hyundai said.

“How do you mean?” Baruch asked.

“The source of my abilities does not originate with cheap old TV shows. Think back further.”

“Further?”

“Much further.”

“Like what?”

“How about the aton, the donkey, in the story of Bilam in the Torah?” the car said. “Now that was talking transportation, let me tell you.”

“How do you know about Bilam?” Baruch asked.

“You play all those Torah CDs on the way to work: Rabbi Berel Wein and the Daf Yomi. You think I don’t listen?” the Hyundai said.

“Good point.”

“So what did you learn from this episode?” the car asked.

“I guess I need to trust my car more.”

“Anything else?”

“Not really.”

“Let me spell it out for you,” the car said. “If I’m the aton, the donkey in this story, then that would make you…”

“Bilam? I’m Bilam?” Baruch asked, flabbergasted.

“I’m afraid so, my human friend.”

Baruch was not going to take this from a car. And certainly not from a subcompact.

“This is outrageous. How am I like Bilam?”

“Well, your wife wanted you to stay and help with the kids. Did you listen?”

“Um, no.”

“She asked you twice, and quite nicely I might add. Did you do what she asked?”

“I suppose not,” Baruch admitted.

“Did you really go back to Manhattan because you were afraid of your boss, or were you looking forward to your quiet, air-conditioned apartment in Washington Heights?”

“Hmmm, you have a good point there.”

“Then I tried to warn you about the coolant, but did you heed my words?”

“O.K., O.K., I get it.”

“I’m glad.”

“You are a very wise car.”

“Thanks. I was just upgraded last year. I’m all new from my 2.0-liter engine to my four-wheel independent suspension. And I got five stars on the NHTSA crash test.”

“Good for you.”

By Larry Stiefel