A Sparkling Gift

One cold day, years ago, at the end of winter, I was closing the door of my Brooklyn apartment and discovered a sparkling yellow gift bag hanging from the outside doorknob.
Within it was a small bottle of grape juice and a box of chocolate-covered jellies that said 'kosher for Passover'. And a note, which was written in children's handwriting, saying, 
'Happy Purim!'. 
Between my class and rehearsal schedule, and lack of religious affiliation, this gift took me completely by surprise.

1. today was Purim?!

2. someone left me a gift?!

Keep in mind, this was New York City. Not Pleasantville! And my life had yet to take on the constantly-charmed quality it has since moving to Jerusalem. This was a little unusual.
Knowing precious little about the Jewish religion or the holiday of Purim, I viewed these items as ritual offerings, not to be consumed. I saved them in my dresser drawer, in my 'room' with a tapestry for a bedroom door.
There is a specification when giving small gifts of food on Purim (called Mishloach Manos-a commandment that comes straight out of the Book of Esther) that, although the gifts should preferably be sent from the giver to the recipient through a messenger, the recipient should know the identity of the giver. The reason is that a gift builds relationships between the giving and receiving parties, and this can only occur if you know from whom you are receiving.
But in the case of my anonymous glittering bag, I accepted it as a gift from all the religious Jews of New York City, who walked by me every day, with whom I rode the train, to whom I was often too shy to admit that I was Jewish. When I lived in New York, before coming to Israel, my instincts were constantly screaming to me that I had a connection with these people which stretched back for thousands of years and would somehow, in the future, become relevant.