Occasionally, a person wonders how he will be remembered by his children and what, if any, particular incident will especially stand out in their minds. Without claiming to be clairvoyant, I would expect that when my children attempt to tell their offspring what their old man was really like, the practical joke played on my mother-in-law during the weekend of my eldest son’s wedding would figure significantly.To appreciate the story some background material is necessary. My wife and I, along with three children aged three through eight made aliya in the summer of 1967, shortly after the Six Day War. Neither my parents nor my wife’s ever accepted this decision as being final, attributing it to the heady excitement of the spectacular military victory, and were certain we would come to our senses and return to the good old US of A.My mother-in-law was particularly upset, for as far as she was concerned, Israel was a haven for poor wretches who had no other place to be. It certainly was no place for her grandchildren, coming from a lovely house and spacious garden in one of the better sections of Long Island. Moreover, according to her theory all Israelis were coming to America and were being replaced by a few foolish, misguided Americans making aliya.At the beginning of every yearly visit to us, she would recite the same litany. “Do you know,” she would begin, “that where I live [Kew Gardens Hills, New York], right on Main Street, there is a fruit and vegetable store called the Ramat Gan Fruit and Vegetable Store? Everyone working in the store speaks Hebrew, as do all the customers. And I tell them that my children and grandchildren are in Israel paying taxes and fighting in the army while they are sitting here in America enjoying the good life.”This same story, with almost no variation, was repeated in a tone of outraged anger, every year for 18 years.Following one of these visits, I vowed to my wife that some day I would get even. “Just how do you intend to do that?” she asked in the tone she usually reserved for one of my “this will make us rich” ideas. “I don’t know,” I replied, “ but the Lord will show me the way.”And He did. IN THE SPRING of 1986 my eldest son became engaged and we began preparing for a big wedding to be held just prior to Pessah. Naturally, the surviving grandparents (both grandmothers) were planning to attend. At about the same time Avi, our former gardener decided to open a small fruit and vegetable store in a new shopping center strategically located between our house and the synagogue where we prayed. This new store was so modest that it had no sign in the front window or anyplace else, for that matter.It is a tradition among Orthodox Ashkenazi Jews that on the Shabbat prior to the wedding day, the groom attends synagogue where he is called up to the Torah. As both bride and groom were Ashkenazim, preparations for our groom’s Aufruf were quite hectic. The Friday prior to the wedding, while the women were preparing for Shabbat, I invited my youngest son to a quiet area of the house.As he entered the area he had a puzzled look on his face, as on the floor there was a very large sheet of oak tag paper and a bunch of thick felt-tipped pens. His puzzlement was due to the fact that all of the family knew that I had no drawing or artistic abilities whatsoever.“We’re making a sign,” I explained, “and I need your help.” The sign we prepared in awkward, uneven block letters, surrounded with symbols meant to depict fruits and vegetables read simply: “KEW GARDENS HILLS FRUIT AND VEGETABLE SHOP.”We waited until late afternoon when we were certain Avi’s store would be closed, stole out of the house with our rolled-up sign, and proceeded to paste it up on the front window.My mother-in-law and my wife’s brother were staying in a rented apartment not far from our home. My brother-in-law, who was let in on the prank, was instructed to walk to the synagogue with his mother using a route that did not go past Avi’s newly christened store. For once, my brother-in-law followed instructions and grandma arrived at the synagogue unaware that justice was about to be done.THE FESTIVITIES in the synagogue lasted into the early afternoon and we were all a bit tired as we trudged home on a route designed to take us past the fruit and vegetable store. As we approached and were no more than a few meters from the shop, my daughter exclaimed “Look, Grandma, they’ve opened a new fruit and vegetable store here in the neighborhood.”At this, my mother-in-law stopped, looked at the sign, and read aloud “Kew Gardens Hills Fruit and Vegetable Shop.” She scratched her head in wonder and without missing a beat stated: “Do you know, that where I live in Kew Gardens Hills, right on Main Street, there is a fruit and vegetable store called the Ramat Gan Fruit and Vegetable Store? Everyone working in the store speaks Hebrew, as do all the customers. And I tell them that my children and grandchildren are in Israel paying taxes and fighting in the army while they are sitting here. I can’t believe that here in Israel there is a Kew Gardens Hills Fruit and Vegetable Shop.”At this point the children, and even my wife, couldn’t contain themselves any longer and were literally rolling on the sidewalk in laughter.My daughter tried to explain that this was just one of Abba’s gags but grandma wasn’t buying it. “Can’t you see that there is a sign in the window?” she said with perfect logic. After everyone had a good laugh and calmed down we went home to sleep it off.The original game plan was to go back to the store that night to remove the sign before Avi came to work in the morning, but we got involved in last-minute wedding preparations and forgot to do this.At about 5 o’clock on Sunday afternoon, the telephone rang and the man on the other end identified himself as Avi the greengrocer. “Tell me, Mr. Dreyer, did you put up a sign in my window?” To this day I don’t know how he figured out it was me or who told him. In any case he proceeded to tell me that at first he thought the mafia was trying to take over the store or something.I apologized profusely, told him I would explain some day and offered to come over immediately to dispose of the offending sign.“Oh no,” he replied “ever since that sign went up, business has been booming. Don’t you dare even touch it.”And so it is that a greengrocer in Kfar Ganim exists, with a proper awning on which is stenciled Que (sic) Gardens Hills Fruits and Vegetables.In the words of the late, great, Casey Stengel, if you’re ever in the area you could look it up.