Israel Book Shop presents  the epilogue of a new online serial novel, Beneath the Surface, by Esther Rapaport.

The Egged Number 1 bus wound its way through the city on its way to the Kosel. Sitting on the bus, Dan Weingarten reached up to adjust the small yarmulke on his head, for the tenth time in the last half an hour. It wasn’t like he wasn’t used to wearing a yarmulke—he usually wore one whenever he was around his mother—but he had never felt comfortable with it on his head, and this time was no different.

It had been his decision to wear the yarmulke for this whole trip, just as it had been his decision to travel to Israel at this time.

His mother had recently returned from there, with a glowing report of how adorable Shragi and Menuchi’s baby girl—Lara’s first great-grandchild—was, and a stack of photos to prove it.

“She looks just like Shragi,” Lara had told him, her eyes misting over. “Oh, Dan, you’ve never seen such a proud father! And Menuchi looks so happy, too, so relaxed, so good… Such a wonderful simchah!”

Listening to his mother’s happy talk, Dan had suddenly, inexplicably, felt a desire to go to Israel himself and be a part of this happy occasion. Ever since he had read Shragi’s poignant letter, a good few months back, Dan had felt closer to his nephew than he had felt to anyone in a long time. The letter had awakened something within him, some long-dormant feelings for Judaism, and not long after reading it, he had found himself signing up for a weekly parshah class that was being offered by a rabbi in their community.

“This doesn’t mean a thing, Mother,” Dan had told Lara point-blank, after he’d nonchalantly informed her about the class. “It’s just…something I’m interested in right now. But it doesn’t mean that I’m committing to anything.”

“Okay, I hear you, Dan,” Lara had replied, hoping that the tentative joy springing up in her heart hadn’t become too apparent on her face.

And now, Dan had decided to travel to Israel and spend a few weeks with his family there. He was staying with his sister Betty; his relationship with Anne, although a lot better these days, still wasn’t what it used to be.

But he and Shragi had been seeing plenty of each other. Perhaps it was his warm feelings toward Shragi these days, or maybe it was little Chedva, who really was an adorable baby, or maybe it was simply the joy and serenity—which had been noticeably absent from Dan’s own life for a long time—that permeated the young Ostfeld family’s whole apartment; whatever the reason was, Dan immensely enjoyed the time spent at his nephew’s home.

It was Shragi who had suggested that he visit the Kosel.

“Who comes to Israel from so far away without going even once to the Kosel?” Shragi had said to Dan.

Dan, rocking Chedva (“My great-niece—and I myself am still not even married!”) to sleep in his arms, had given a non-committal shrug to the suggestion, and the subject had been closed.

But now it was the next day, and for some reason, here he was, butterflies in his stomach, on his way to the Kosel.

***

The Kosel loomed, towering and huge, before his eyes, but Dan held back. Turmoil raged within him. Should I approach? What for? It’s not like I ever pray or anything…

There was something so pulling, so magnetic about the holy site before him, but he just couldn’t bring himself to walk up to it, and so he stayed where he was, far back in the Kosel Plaza.

He let his eyes wander over the crowds of people milling around him. Two soldiers clad in army uniforms, their eyes focused seriously on the Wall before them. A young mother pushing a baby carriage, with a whining child holding on. A group of yeshivah boys, wearing white shirts, black pants, and black hats and reminding Dan of Shragi. An elderly woman with a colorful turban wound around her head, holding a clanking box in her hand and calling out, “Tzedakah! Tzedakah!”

A girl in a long, flowing skirt walked nearby, and the jostling crowds made her drop the piece of paper she held in her hand. Without thinking, Dan stooped to pick it up for her. He glanced at the paper for a moment, and his eyes widened.

Why would Shragi’s wife, Menuchi Ostfeld’s, name and address be on that paper?

The girl was already looking around for her missing paper, and Dan approached her with it.

“Here, this is what you—Oh!”

All other words became stuck in his throat as he stared in silence at the familiar face.

Diana.

Diana was looking at him with the same mixture of shock and disbelief.

“Wow,” she finally managed to say. “I never thought I’d meet you here!”

“I could say the same thing about you,” Dan said, the expression on his face one big question mark.

For a long moment, neither one said anything. Then Diana spoke up.

“I may as well tell you. I…I’m planning to convert. To Judaism.”

If a purple giraffe had appeared just then, Dan couldn’t have been more shocked.

“What?! You?! But your parents…your family…”

Diana spread out her palms. “Sometimes,” she said, “you have to sacrifice certain things for the sake of truth…in order to get to where your heart is leading you. Believe me,” she added, “it wasn’t an easy decision. A lot of inner turmoil and many sleepless nights went into it…but I believe I’m doing the right thing. ”

“And…your family?”

Diana shrugged. “The way they choose to deal with my decision is up to them. And…deep down, I know they know—we all know—that my grandmother would have been proud…”

She turned questioning eyes on Dan. “And you?” she asked pointedly. “The yarmulke…?”

“It’s…it’s not real… I mean, I don’t really wear one. I only put it on while I’m here in Israel…” Dan found himself stumbling over his words. Finally, he decided to be honest with her. “I…I’m at…what you might call ‘a crossroads.’ I’m not sure where I want to be…who I want to be… Apparently, you’ve done a lot of thinking since…since knowing me, and…well, I guess you could say that I have, too. But unlike you, I haven’t yet made any conclusive decisions.”

Diana was quiet. When she finally spoke, her voice was trembling, but filled with conviction.

“Look,” she said. “I’m not here to lecture you or anything, and the truth is that I really need to get going, but…I can’t help but wonder to myself: You have the most beautiful, most truthful heritage just sitting on your doorstep. There are so many people, myself included, who wish they could have been born with what is your natural birthright…and you’re not sure if you even want it, if perhaps you should just throw the whole thing away?!”

By now, tears were in Diana’s eyes, and, embarrassed at her show of emotion, she mumbled a quick, “I have to go. Good luck to you, and all the best,” and turned to leave.

Dan watched her become swallowed up by the crowds, his gaze unfocused. It was a full half an hour before he himself turned to go.

***

Later that night, while preparing for bed, Dan suddenly realized something. Since his trip to the Kosel, he hadn’t once reached up to adjust his yarmulke. Somehow, it just seemed to rest comfortably on his head. As if it was natural for him to wear it.

As if it truly belonged there.

The End

Check back in a few weeks for a brand new serial novel, or subscribe to our blog to get notified when new posts go up.

Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 38 of a new online serial novel, Beneath the Surface, by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every Thursday or Friday.

The minute darkness fell on the hall with the upholstered seats, the audience quieted down.

“Good luck, Menuchi,” Simi said as she squeezed Menuchi’s arm.

Menuchi eked out a smile. “Thanks, and good luck to you, too,” she murmured, without shifting her gaze from the screen in front of her. Adina had repeatedly explained what she had to do, and it was really very simple; nevertheless, as she usually was during tense times, Menuchi was overcome with uncertainty. What if the slide show got stuck? What if part of the translations wouldn’t appear suddenly? And if…

“And if and if and if!” Adina had exclaimed impatiently. “Why do you always have to think about the worst-case scenario? This program is so simple, even a five-year-old could operate it.”

“Well, I’m not a five-year-old,” Menuchi had replied. “So maybe you should find someone more age-appropriate?”

“Who knows English and Hebrew fluently, and who is familiar with the play, and who will know exactly what will happen and when so that she can change the slides with the translations? No, I don’t think I’ll find someone like that,” Adina had explained calmly. “Besides, you can relax. I’ll be next to you every free minute that I have, and the technician will also help you if there are any problems, which I hope there won’t be.”

Without wanting to, Menuchi’s eyes came to rest on her right hand, which was gripping the mouse tightly, afraid to move. Was the trembling discernible, or was it just a feeling inside? Simi was completely calm. Well, this wasn’t the first time she was taking part in organizing a performance. But for Menuchi, this place on stage was completely unfamiliar. Even at her elementary school graduation, she hadn’t stayed on the stage for a moment longer than she’d had to. After the main choir, she had fled the stage and watched her friends performing from the safety of the audience. Had she been jealous? At the time, she hadn’t thought so. Today, she knew that she had been. She’d swallowed their every move with wide eyes, and had tried to imagine herself up there, but knew that there was no chance it would ever happen. She just wasn’t cut out for blinding spotlights whose color changed every few minutes and caused her to see stars. No, she preferred the darkness.

Menuchi looked around her. Yes, she was sitting in the dark now, yet she was still on the stage. But even now, if given the choice, she would flee. How wonderful it would be to sit in the audience, who had just come to observe, without the burden of making sure the performance was a success!

“Menuchi, the principal’s on the stage!” Simi whispered in her ear.

Mrs. Deutschlander’s words reverberated through the large room. She didn’t speak for long; she just thanked the audience and all those who had worked behind the scenes to make the evening a success.

“To our wonderful director, Mrs. Ariella Schick, whose days and nights of effort will become obvious tonight!”

Resounding applause.

“To the teachers at our seminary, who devoted their hearts, souls, and talents to the success of this evening!”

The applause continued.

“To our dear secretary, Mrs. Suri Rosenblum, who worked endless hours toward helping with the production!”

The applause crested again after it had almost died down.

“To our devoted house-mothers, Mrs. Nechama Kushelevsky and Mrs. Chasya Ehretreau, for their warmth, lovingness, and help, we have no words, simply no words!”

The clapping continued.

“To the writer of this unique play, who invested her all, with outstanding results—as you will see very shortly—thank you, Sima Ostfeld!”

The clapping increased. Many of Simi’s friends and Bnos girls were in the audience.

“And last, but not at all least—” Mrs. Deutschlander turned over the sheaf of papers in her hands. Where was the next page? Had she flipped two pages mistakenly?

“And last but not least,” she continued by heart (what a shame she couldn’t yawn in front of everyone), “thank you to the one who the girls wait for every afternoon, the one who spearheaded the whole idea and translated the script…” And here, the exhausted principal got a bit mixed up as she announced, “Mrs. Sima Ostfeld!”

She didn’t notice her mistake. She thanked the audience with a nod and descended from the stage. Oh, she was so tired!

The clapping was enthusiastic on the one hand, and confused on the other. Why had the principal mentioned the same person twice, separately? And why did this teacher/organizer/translator get the title of “Mrs.” only the second time around instead of both times?

Menuchi had hardly been listening in the wings, but toward the end of the list, her ears naturally perked up. At first, she thought she hadn’t heard right. Then she realized that it hadn’t been her mistake, but rather Mrs. Deutschlander’s. And Simi’s “It’s not fair! I’m going to tell them to apologize and correct the mistake right now!” was also fairly loud.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Menuchi whispered back. “It makes no difference to me!”

Then a thought crept into her heart. Even if you are right, Menuchi, and it doesn’t matter to you at all that Mrs. Deutschlander made a mistake, doesn’t your mother deserve to have the correction made? She was surely waiting to hear her daughter’s name mentioned, and was probably quite disappointed.

Yes, her mother was no fool. Anyone who had been remotely involved in Menuchi Ostfeld’s life in the past two months would realize right away that it was a mistake, that Mrs. Deutschlander had said Simi’s name again instead of hers. Still, was she allowed to withhold this nachas from her mother? And what about her mother-in-law? Shragi’s mother was surely thrilled to hear her daughter’s name, but she had certainly expected to hear praises about her daughter-in-law as well. Didn’t the two mothers deserve it?

But Menuchi didn’t say a word. The forgiving smile remained unchanged, despite her racing thoughts, and, like anyone else who found themselves in such a situation, she remained seated. What could she say? “Actually, yes, go and say that they meant me, not you.” That was all she needed. Perhaps she should get on the stage herself, take the mike, and announce, “Honored guests, take note of the serious mistake that just occurred. Instead of praising me, they praised my sister-in-law. Tell me, dear guests, is that not a dreadful mistake? My sister-in-law’s name has graced enough stages in the past; why is it that the first time that this pleasure was supposed to be mine, I didn’t get it, and it once again fell into Simi’s hands like a ripe apple, like…” Menuchi’s ruminations stopped as soon as she saw Adina appear on the darkened screen in front of her.

“Turn the spot onto me,” she said quietly to the lighting technician, and immediately, all eyes turned toward the figure in the spotlight on the stage.

“First of all, thank you all for coming to see us tonight,” she said in a charming, American-accented Hebrew. “I wanted to say a special thank you, in the name of all my friends, to our special principal, Mrs. Deutschlander…” A polite round of applause filled the hall. Adina waited patiently, then added, “All the thanks in the world would not be sufficient to express our hakaras hatov to her.” Once again there was applause, and once again she paused. “I also just want to add that there was a small mistake. Our wonderful afternoon teacher, who is also our friend, and who helps us with everything, and who translated the play, is Mrs. Menucha Ostfeld!”

Another round of applause, as polite as the previous one, could be heard, although it was beginning to sound a touch impatient. Really, who cared about these lists of credits? Did they come to a professional performance or an elementary school play?

Adina disappeared into the darkness, and music filled the hall. The heavy velvet curtain parted slowly, revealing the dim stage. Small lights danced in circles on the floor of the stage. A voice could be heard from deep in the wings, and written words began flowing across the screen suspended over the stage.

“Antwerp,Belgium. 1945. European Jewry was drowning in the heavy ashes that the flames of fury had left behind. The smoke was still hovering in the atmosphere, coloring the sky in dark shades of black and gray. The darkness was as thick as a moonless night. No one knew what each day would bring, what tomorrow would hold.

“And from within the deep darkness that enveloped everything, and which seemed endless, stars began to appear. Stars of illumination, of hashgachah. Little sparks that glowed brightly, symbolizing—more than anything—the tremendous hand of Hashem, and the constant eye that He keeps on the world.”

All the muscles in Menuchi’s neck and arm were tense. She couldn’t miss a single word, a single second. She didn’t look at the stage, which was growing steadily lighter. Her eyes were fixed on the small screen before her, and the only place she allowed her eyes to stray to was the large screen over the stage. She could hardly see the actresses, but she could hear their voices clearly.

“I don’t believe what I am hearing. How can a normal woman even think of doing such a thing? She belongs to the Jews, to the Jewish nation. You have to give her back to them!” Diana/Helen.

Laughter. “I have to? Interesting; I didn’t feel that. I have no intentions of changing my decision. If you want—take her and take care of her!” The woman who had raised Lara. Millie.

Then, “Come, dear. I’m sure it will be wonderful for you with all of us, and it will be wonderful for us to have you.”Rosatrying to persuade “Lara”—who was being played by Chasya Ehrentreau’s adorable granddaughter.

“No, we’re not Jews, but she is. I imagine you’ll accept her without any problems.” Bob Molis (Sandy), in a commanding tone, to the principal of the Jewish school inLondon.

“Hmmm…can I see her documents?” A bit of suspicion in the voice of the principal, or rather, Chaya.

“I came to invite you to the wedding,” Lara said (after growing up several years in half an hour, and now being played by Miriam Fass, from the first-year seminary class) to Bob and Diana Molis, who had remained unchanged save for a few more wrinkles in their faces and some white hairs that had been added to Bob’s head. (Sandy had poured a bit too much talcum powder on her wig. That was okay; the audience would think that the financially difficult years had sped up Bob’s aging process…)

“Grandma, we got a letter! Grandma!” A new Diana Molis, another Ehrentreau grandchild, about seven years old, came onto the stage. “It’s fromBelgium, Grandma, where we live. Who do you have there besides us?”

“A lot of people,” the elder Diana Molis said, opening the envelope with trembling hands. “Oh, I can’t believe it! Her Susie (Simi had changed the names, of course) had another boy! You know,Dee? Once, long, long before you were born, I went toBelgium. There, I met a girl, a Jewish girl…”

“A Jewish girl?” the young grandchild asked, eyes wide with admiration. “Like Jenny, in my class?”

“A Jewish girl,” Diana/Helen affirmed. “I helped her go back to her nation, and I think I did a great thing.”

Leah’le, Mrs. Ehrentreau’s English-speaking granddaughter, was only playing Diana in this scene. By the next scene, Diana had grown up already and was being played by Karen.

“I don’t…money, bus,” Karen said in Hebrew; it was the only Hebrew sentence in the whole play, and for a second, Menuchi lifted her hand from the mouse, before quickly putting it back. She, Menuchi, was now being played on the stage, responding to Diana the tourist, who was at a loss.

“I speak English; would that help?” she heard Adina’s voice. Adina had decided that she would play Menuchi, who had been renamed “Ruchama.”

“Ruchama?” Karen asked. “That’s a bit of a hard name to pronounce. Could you give me your address? I want to return the bus fare to you.”

“Oh, there’s no need,” Adina said easily. “Don’t worry about it.” Unlike the real Menuchi, Ruchama in the story was a direct grandchild of the grown-up Lara, not only by marriage.

The next scene took place inBelgium, in the large living room of the Molis home. It took time to rearrange the stage, and while the props girls worked on it, Menuchi sat quietly and stared dreamily into the small lamp standing on the table beside her. Simi wasn’t there. She had gone to help place a few things on the stage.

“Nu, what do you say?” Simi asked, returning to her post. “It’s going well, baruch Hashem, isn’t it?”

“Fantastic!” Menuchi smiled, her eyes still fixed on the lamp.

“I’m just thinking how emotional Savta must be, sitting there in the audience. Seeing part of her life being played out on stage must be something really special, don’t you think?”

“I agree, speaking from personal experience.” Someone took the small lamp because it was needed on stage. Now it was dark, and Menuchi could not stare at the lamp anymore, so she sufficed with gazing at the small red letters on the bottom of the laptop screen in front of her.

“Right, you’re also starring here.” Simi chuckled. “I forgot. But Ruchama came out a bit different than the real Menuchi. She’s a bit too extroverted. I didn’t mean that the character should have such a personality; I actually wanted something softer.”

“Well, the one who is acting me has quite an effect on the character, doesn’t she?” Menuchi said, raising her eyes to Simi, grateful for the darkness. She didn’t know why, but she felt a blush beginning to rise in her cheeks. “Don’t forget that this is Adina, and I don’t think we have much in common.”

“You don’t have to have things in common,” Simi said casually. “You’re both special. The fact that you’re different doesn’t…” She didn’t finish the sentence because the stagehand waved at them just then, calling, “Menuchi, we’re continuing!” Menuchi sat up straight in her chair, feeling her muscles tighten again.

Relax. Why are you so tense? Who’s attacking you? a little voice inside her chided. This tenseness is very uncharacteristic of the calm, almost apathetic Menuchi who, even before the biggest finals, sat and ate her sandwich tranquilly, without being fazed by the hysteria around her!

Yes, but in school I was confident enough in myself to feel calm. In other areas, that is much less the case; that’s the first thing. Besides, then, Simi wasn’t right there next to me. I didn’t feel threatened.

Enough with Simi! What do you want from Simi all the time? How long are you going to let your imagination run your life? She’s not even looking at you now. You’re the one who has decided to sit here like a wound-up spring, and instead of enjoying this beautiful evening, you’re trembling like a leaf. Come on—it’s enough already!

The screen shifted again, and the stage lights focused on Karen, who was sitting in a leather recliner, closely perusing a sheet of paper.

“Miss Diana, I clean here now. Good?” Zahava, the Molis family’s “housekeeper,” asked.

Karen rose and walked over to the window, reading the paper in her hand in deep concentration. “I have to get toIsrael,” she said in a dreamy voice, placing her hand on the windowsill. “I have to speak to her face-to-face… To see the beautiful blue evening sky, and the twinkling stars of nighttime… I need to inhale the atmosphere of that country.”

***

Almost three hours later, Menuchi was standing outside, gazing at those twinkling nighttime stars Karen had been referring to. She had managed to slip out from a back door of the auditorium. She needed to be with herself in order to digest the joy. The excited reactions and hugs inside the auditorium were too much for her. It wasn’t like anyone had forgotten about her, but she didn’t feel comfortable there. That’s the way she was, and that’s the way she would remain.

“Menuchi! How dare you run away!” she suddenly heard a voice at her side. It was Adina; who else? “They’re looking for you inside! You’re the star of the night! The whole success is because of your idea! And how did I play you? I was good, wasn’t I?”

“Stop, Adina, please,” Menuchi said, partly demanding, partly pleading. “Go continue playing me, okay? Just tell anyone who’s looking for me that you are me. You’re great at that! All those lights just blind me. I’m happy here, in the dark.”

Adina gaped at her. “Should I bring you a chair?” she suddenly asked, and Menuchi couldn’t figure out if she was serious or not.

“No, thanks,” she answered hesitantly. “I’m not planning to stay here for long—just two or three minutes more. My mother will probably start looking for me, and so will my sisters and my mother-in-law. But I wanted a few minutes of down time, to breathe the quiet and see the stars.”

“I thought you liked the dark,” Adina said pointedly.

“Yes, I do, and it’s the darkness that gives the stars their power. The fact is that we don’t see them during the day, right?”

“Right, right,” Adina replied, not taking her eyes off Menuchi, as though fearing she would run away from her. “And now, would you be so kind as to come inside?”

Menuchi sufficed with a small smile as they opened the back door. She needed to squint for just a minute as she got used to the blinding lights inside, and seconds later, she was surrounded by an overwhelming, excited wave of chattering girls.

Almost like a star.

Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 37 of a new online serial novel, Beneath the Surface, by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every Thursday or Friday.

“Did you see the ad, Menuchi? It’s great, isn’t it?” Adina’s voice came through the receiver energetic and enthusiastic as always. It sounded like she had been up for at least two hours, Menuchi mused, yawning quietly to herself.

“I didn’t see it. I don’t have a newspaper,” she replied and stuffed her Tehillim into her bag. Quick! Where was the key to the clinic? Why was she always rushing to leave at the last second possible? And why did the phone almost always ring just as she had one foot out the door? She scurried around the apartment with the cordless phone pressed to her ear.

“Ditza did a fantastic job. The graphics are gorgeous. Ask your mother-in-law to bring the paper to work for you!” Menuchi was tempted to ask how Adina was so sure that her mother-in-law even subscribed to the daily paper, but decided she didn’t have enough seconds to spare for such a question.

“A neighbor here in the building brought the ad up to us,” Adina continued.

“Read it to me, please,” Menuchi asked as she slipped her feet into her shoes.

“One side of it is Hebrew and the other side is English, and it says: For English speakers, and even those who aren’t: The Light of the Night—A Riveting Performance Based on a True Story. Full Hebrew translation on screen!”

“I can’t believe we’re up to this already,” Menuchi said dreamily, forgetting the ticking second hand on the clock.

“Yeah. Two months of unbelievable pressure are finally coming to an end. It’s a miracle there are two Adars this year; otherwise, we would have had to cram it all into one month. I can’t believe we’re finished with practice already!”

“I can’t believe it either!” Menuchi exclaimed, her eyes pasted to the window. “He just pulled away! The bus pulled away! Adina, I have to leave this second if I don’t want a line of ten angry people waiting for me when I get to the clinic! They won’t understand why my mother-in-law chose such a clumsy receptionist, and they’ll be right. I’m running, Adina!”

“Make sure you don’t fall!” Adina answered back, but by then she was talking to the dial tone.

***

“You’re leaving! Is it final?” Surprisingly enough, it wasn’t the first time in the past two months that Diana had been asked the question. She was busy stuffing her belongings into a large knapsack, while Limor observed her from her perch on a nearby chair.

“Yes, Limor,” she replied with a smile, straightening up and stretching her back, stiff from being bent over for so long. “I have no words to thank you for your hospitality. It was wonderful to discover someone friendly, who speaks English, and who was nice enough to host me in her home for two months. Thanks ever so much. I’ll also tell your mother as much before I leave.”

“You should know that I feel like I have to thank you. It was wonderful being in your company these past two months. At least my mother saw that taking an interest in Judaism isn’t a crazy notion that only her daughter has; you share it. Would you like some more books?”

“What do you have to offer?”

“The Book of Our Heritage. It’s in English and is based on the Jewish calendar.”

“I read almost the whole thing already, remember?”

“And you don’t want to finish it?”

“Even if I do, I prefer not to take books from you right now. How will I return them? I’m sure that I can get a hold of a lot of material on topics that interest me inAmerica.”

“Where will you live?”

“I don’t know yet, but I’m not worried. I’m the type that manages, that deals with the situation as it comes.”

“Right, so that’s exactly why I’m wondering, why are you leaving? What don’t you like here?”

“First of all, even if it’s good for me here, that doesn’t mean that the situation is ideal. I’m sure that my presence is a burden on your mother.”

Limor’s attempts to persuade her otherwise did not change Diana’s opinion.

“And in general, I don’t think I have anything more to learn from Rabbi Biderman, and he hinted as much during the last lesson. He’s speaking to you, Jewish girls, who are obligated in all the mitzvos. He’s not speaking to me. He told me that I’d have more opportunities inAmerica.”

“Opportunities for what?”

Diana didn’t answer. She smiled placidly, swung her knapsack onto her back, and picked up her tote-bag with her free hand.

“But why are you leaving now already? Your flight only leaves at five in the afternoon!”

“I want to pass through Bnei Brak on the way, to say goodbye to my friend,” Diana explained, not sharing some of her hesitations about this plan. Menuchi had told her that her grandmother, Mrs. Weingarten, had arrived fromBelgium. Diana didn’t really have any desire to see her, but on the other hand, she really didn’t want to forgo a final visit to the Ostfelds. She wanted to see Anne’s smile, to experience the warm atmosphere in their home, and to speak a bit to Menuchi. She owed her so many thanks. It was perhaps in her credit that she had embarked on this fascinating odyssey, whose end she was not at all sure of.

Where was the end? Diana didn’t know. But she was sure that the G-d of the Jews would guide her along the right path.

***

“Hello, darling!”

Menuchi closed her eyes and allowed herself to be smothered with kisses. Shragi’s grandmother was clearly very excited. Menuchi’s Yiddish wasn’t so terrific, and she wasn’t able to keep up with the stream of Lara Weingarten’s animated chatter. But she caught the general gist of what Shragi’s grandmother was saying, and that was enough for her.

“You’re wonderful!” the older woman concluded in Hebrew.

“So am I! So am I!” Yehhudis exclaimed, jumping up and down on the leather sofa.

“Of course you are!” her grandmother replied. “Are you happy that I came to visit you?” Yehudis burst out in rolling laughter and hugged Lara tightly around the neck.

Menuchi and Simi sat on the side, holding a whispered conversation. Ten-month-old Yehudah Kalman sat on Menuchi’s lap; she was jiggling her leg to rock him, wearing a dreamy expression on her face. “What’s going to be with Yehudis tomorrow?” she asked suddenly.

“Miriam is coming to watch her and Yehudah Kalman.”

“So when will you be at the hall? Are you planning to come before your mother?”

“Yes. She and my grandmother are planning to come at the time the play is called for, like the rest of the audience. I think I’ll come a bit earlier, even if I don’t have a specific job to do. I imagine you’re going very early, right?”

“Yes, I want them to explain to me again how to operate the screen. Adina explained and demonstrated it to me several times already, but I want her to show it to me on the laptop that will be there. I want to be one hundred percent confident that everything is clear.”

“You’re right.”

They fell silent.

Menuchi coughed.

Simi stroked Yehudah Kalman’s chubby cheek.

“He’s really grown so much!” Menuchi said hastily. “Baruch Hashem, it looks like he’s catching up to other kids his age, right?”

Simi tried to find an answer more exciting than, “Yes, Baruch Hashem,” but Shragi, who appeared at that moment, spared her the effort.

“Hello, everyone! Welcome, Savta!”

“Shragi! It’s you!” Menuchi gazed in amusement at how his grandmother fell onto her beloved grandson. The whole room was enveloped in a heady joy. It looked like Simi was thinking similar sentiments, because she leaned back in her chair and observed everyone with a smile on her face.

“How’s Dan?” Shragi asked a bit hesitantly.

“Well, he took me to the airport.”

“Did he say anything special?”

“No. We both keep more quiet than we speak around each other. I just pray for him all the time. Hey, how did I forget? He did say something special. He asked if the letter that you wrote to him before the wedding is still on the shelf in my living room.”

Chani entered the room with Yitzi as her mother finished the sentence. “Do you think he wanted to read it, Mother?” she asked, practical and to the point as ever.

“I wish, but how should I know?”

Shragi turned to Menuchi, who was trying to follow the conversation, without much success. “You see, Menuchi? You wrote to her, and I wrote to him. You would think we coordinated it!”

Chani decided that the time had come to send Yehudis off to bed. She had already brushed her teeth and washed up, and just had to put on pajamas. She motioned to Simi to take her sister.

“Come, Yehudis,” Simi said as she rose. “Let’s go to your room and put on pajamas so we can go to sleep.”

“I don’t want you! I want Menuchi! Menuchi should dress me!”

Menuchi stood up right away.

“No way!” Simi protested. “Let Menuchi sit and relax a bit, after the way she’s been running around the last few weeks.”

Menuchi offered her hand to Yehudis.

“So together! You and you! So it won’t be boring!” The little commander decided that this plan suited her fine.

So we won’t be bored? Our conversation already dwindled into silence two minutes ago, Simi mused.

Has Adina influenced Yehudis to try to bring us closer forcibly, if we can’t manage on our own? Menuchi reflected with a smile.

But they both turned toward the pink bedroom with obedience. Quiet soon reigned in the house.

Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 36 of a new online serial novel, Beneath the Surface, by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every Thursday or Friday.

The mirror back on the kibbutz reflected exactly the image that Diana wanted to see: a refined-looking girl, with her hair gathered in a yellow rubber band, wearing a flowing skirt that almost reached the floor. Her thick socks weren’t visible in any case, but she didn’t want to skip even a single detail in her appearance. This was excellent.

She straightened up, smiled at her reflection, and walked out to the gray gravel path, pulling the wooden door closed behind her with her good hand.  Her regular clothes were buried deep inside her suitcase in the room. She had an hour until she would have to go out to the highway to catch the bus to Haifa, and decided to spend it at the cowshed. She hadn’t been there since yesterday morning. She had been minimizing her work hours since she had come back from her two-day vacation with her hand in a cast.

“She’s living here on our account,” Arnon fumed at one of the small kibbutz meetings, “and she hardly shows up at the cowshed. Who needed this whole thing in the first place?”

“Don’t exaggerate. It’s still pretty worthwhile for us,” one of the senior kibbutz officials said, taking a handful of peanuts from the dish in the middle of the table. Arnon nodded. Yes, sure it was worthwhile, taking into account the volunteer situation today.

Now Diana walked toward the paved path between the metal fences that cordoned off the cows. She held her skirt carefully, ensuring that the hem didn’t touch the floor, which was covered with trash. She was amused at the way she was walking; it reminded her of a play she had participated in as an eleven-year-old schoolgirl. She had played the role of the queen. Then, too, she had worn a long dress and had taken care with every step not to trip.

“Hey, what happened?” She reached the milking building just as Noga, Arnon’s wife, was walking out. Noga looked at Diana almost threateningly. “What’s with the costume?”

“Excuse me?” Diana raised a conciliatory eyebrow. “I did think that I had the right to dress as I please. I don’t think it’s within your domain. Please take care of things that are relevant to you, such as Golda, your mother-in-law, who’s been in bed with the flu for two days. Have you visited her?” And without waiting for a response, Diana continued walking to the milking machine. She made the rounds of the cows for a few minutes, and then hurried to the Haifa-bound bus. Noga’s constant supervision was beginning to irk her deeply.

Just yesterday, Noga had tried to convey the message that Diana’s frequent visits to Golda did not find favor in her and Arnon’s eyes. “We are afraid that you just feel obligated to go there. There are enough people here your own age, and you don’t have to be friends specifically with her. She’s not someone who represents Israeli society in the right way, and it’s a shame that you should get a distorted picture.”

“First of all,” Diana had shot back, “you’re mistaken if you say there are a lot of people here my age. Where are they all? And secondly, who told you what kind of perspective I came to see?” She didn’t make any effort to conceal her disgust. Really! They thought they could dictate to her who to be friends with! Didn’t they realize that she had come to see exactly the different aspect that they were trying to conceal? She had come to see the differences, and on the kibbutz it was hard to find them. And that’s why she had traveled to Bnei Brak. And that was why she was now on her way toHaifa.

Through a bit of research she had done with Golda’s help, she had discovered that there was a small synagogue, not far from theHaifaport, where there were lectures in English for young people interested in learning about Judaism. She definitely wanted to hear what they had to say.

“But it’s for Jews,” Golda had tried to explain. “Do you think you would get in? It’s obvious that you’re not…” The strange friendship that had developed between them enabled Golda to state things as openly as they were.

“My clothes?”

“That, too,” Golda had replied. “But not only your clothes. I think that if you speak to a rabbi, he’ll realize right away who you are.”

What would her mother say if she would have heard that her daughter was looking for ways to look Jewish! “Well, I’m not up to talking to any rabbis quite yet,” Diana said, a bit irritated. “Should I change my clothes a bit?”

“Maybe that will help,” Golda said doubtfully. “If you’ll be dressed like a girl who’s already started taking an interest in religion, it will definitely affect the overall impression you’ll make.”

So Diana had gone toHaifato buy a few articles of clothing that would lend her the appearance she was trying to adopt. She needed two nights to come to terms with her own decision—and for Wednesday to come, when the lectures were given.

And now she was on her way. Menuchi Ostfeld had hesitantly suggested when they had met that she find someone who was an expert at answering questions such as hers. “But what do you need it for…?” she had asked quietly. “It’s enough that you’re doing what you have to do. You really don’t have to get into any new obligations.”

“I’m not getting into anything,” she had answered Menuchi lightly. “And that’s exactly what I want—to hear what I’m obligated to do.”

She had taken Anne’s phone number in order to maintain contact. Anne wasn’t too enthusiastic, but she had been cordial and polite. “Tell us what’s happening with you,” she had said. “We’ll be happy to help if we can.”

The bus began to climb the steep, winding roads on theCarmelmountainside. Diana took a deep breath and gazed at the expansive, square-shaped fields spread out at the foot of the mountain and at the sea, reflecting the twinkling sun. She closed her eyes and let the sun’s rays warm her face. She had a distinct, unequivocal feeling that what she was doing now was absolutely the right thing for her.

***

One more sentence…that was it.

Menuchi shook her hand and put the little electronic translator back into her bag. The translation of the last scene was now complete, and the seminary principal would surely be happy. The principal had called yesterday specifically to ask Menuchi to translate the rest of the play as soon as possible.

“We’re all very grateful for your excellent idea,” she had said. “The play is really written well and the director was most impressed. She wanted to know when she can get the ending. Time is short. We’ve set a date for the end of Adar, before the girls go home for Pesach.”

Menuchi didn’t dare ask if the girls would be returning after the vacation. She hoped they would be. Chasya had told her that it looked like the seminary had decided to battle for its existence. “Now people will have finally heard about them. First of all, there will be revenues from the performance, and if it will be successful, maybe they will perform again in other places. Besides, in order to be able to cover the expenses of the play itself, which are quite significant, they decided to try—Oh, why am I blabbing on about other people’s business? It’s really not right of me.”

The upholstered chair squeaked. Menuchi rose and went into the other room, pushing open the door. She didn’t hear the humming of the machinery, but rather her mother-in-law’s soothing tone.

“Um…” Menuchi said, using her usual form of addressing her mother-in-law to get her attention.

Shragi’s mother turned around.

“I finished translating the last few pages. How do I send a fax? The principal asked me to send it straight to her office.”

“I’ll do it in a few minutes,” Chani replied. “The fax machine is a bit temperamental and is always jamming. I doubt you’ll manage with it.”

Menuchi nodded. “Is there something special that has to be done now?”

“No,” Chani said with a chuckle. “Rest.”

Menuchi smiled and returned to the waiting room. Rest? No way. The night was just over! Apparently, the work here really was quiet and placid. Being a secretary in a school, on the other hand, was a completely different story. That job was always interesting and fast-paced, especially if there was another pleasant secretary sharing the office. But here it was really quiet, even boring.

Two days earlier, her mother-in-law had asked her to substitute again. And Menuchi had agreed—like the previous time—after quickly thinking it over. The amazing thing was that she now wholeheartedly agreed with Simi’s words that, in the past, had made her so angry. ‘Boring work’? Yes, Simi had been right. ‘There’s nothing to do there’? That was also true. ‘I need something else; it’s not for me’?.Yes, Simi had been right there as well. Menuchi could not imagine energetic Simi sitting here and dreaming, like her sister-in-law was doing right now.

And what about you, Menuchi? Do you like this kind of work?

Well, there are advantages and drawbacks to it. I’m suited to steady, simple work without too much excitement and emotion. Simi feels differently? So what! Maybe it’s not good enough for her, but for me it’s fine!

Menuchi doodled with a pencil on the play script she had sitting in front of her on the desk. She would also be one of the parts in this play. She wondered who would act that part. Simi had incorporated her into the story, with a few minor changes. The exchange of letters between Diana, interested in Judaism, and Menuchi, played a prominent role, and in the end it emerged, before Diana’s conversion (Simi had decided that the end would be flat without it), that “Ruchama Cohen” (Menuchi in the play) was the direct granddaughter of Lara “Gold,” instead of by marriage. (When their grandmother had given them permission to perform some of her life story, she had said two things, Simi had told Menuchi: First, she wanted to come and see the play, and second, they shouldn’t use her real name. She allowed them to keep her first name, Lara, but absolutely forbade them to use her family name.) Dan and his whole role were totally omitted from the story. Menuchi wasn’t sure that the plot was rich enough, but had decided to keep her thoughts to herself. Who was she to express an opinion on things that were so distant from her?

“Menuchi?” Her mother-in-law emerged from the inner room, wearing her white lab coat. “Do you know who just called my cell phone?” As she spoke, she began fiddling with the fax machine. “Diana.”

“Really? What did she say?”

“She’s been traveling to Haifato hear some shiurim from a rav there. I don’t remember his name, Ritterman or Biderman, something like that.”

“Did she tell him who she is?”

“From what I understood, no. But she’s become friends with a girl—Jewish, who is also becoming religious, and she told her. That girl advised her to leave the kibbutz and come live with her. In any case, I hope I convinced her that if she wants to really make any progress, she has to do it in the most direct, simple way.”

“Dr. Ostfeld!” a call came from the inner room. “You can come! I pinched my cheek and didn’t feel it!”

Chani smiled at Menuchi and retreated toward the room where her patient sat. “I couldn’t speak for long, but I really hope she’ll take what I said seriously. Otherwise, I’ll have to find this Rabbi Ritterman and let him know.”

“What for?”

“It’s very unhealthy for her to present herself as a baalas teshuvah. You know what kind of problems can crop up? For example, she might go live with a family inHaifa, and…”

“But she told her friend the truth.”

Chani chose her words carefully. “Either she did or she didn’t. To tell you that I trust her one hundred percent? I don’t. She makes a serious impression and her intentions are positive, I think, at least the way she’s presenting them. But if she continues hiding her identify, that will definitely raise very serious suspicions on my part.”

***

“Sandy, go over that last piece again, if you don’t mind, and try to live what you are saying.” The director, Mrs. Schick, looked fresh and vibrant as ever, even after two straight hours of rehearsals. She didn’t miss a single mistake that an actress made, or overlook any lines recited without the proper emphasis or inflection.Sandy, playing Bob Molis, grimaced.

“No, not like that. Bob is supposed to look defeated, not hostile.”

“I wasn’t Bob Molis now; that was my own face,” Sandy said. “I was just wondering how many more times I’d have to say these few sentences.”

“As many times as I ask you to,” Mrs. Schick replied. “Let’s go!”

Sandyturned to Helen, playing Diana Molis fromEngland. “Everything’s gone…” she said tiredly and slumped down on the nearby bed. “Or rather, almost everything. We’ll have to invest all over again from scratch.”

“At least you knew what to expect,” “Diana” said in an encouraging tone. “You didn’t have any illusions. You prepared yourself, more or less, for what you have to do now.”

“Do now?”Sandyasked morosely. “I certainly do know what I have to do now. I have to sleep.”

“Excellent, Sandy. That was wonderful. The tone was very genuine,” the director complimented her.

“It really was real!”Sandy replied, as she turned to “Diana.” “Are you going out now?”

“Yes, do you mind?”

“Not at all. I’m planning to spend the next few hours sleeping anyway. Will you be back for dinner?”

“Certainly. Should I wake you up?”

“Whatever you want.” AndSandyturned her head to the wall.

“What a dry conversation,” Helen said dolefully and looked at Sandy, who kept her gaze pinned to the wall. “And this has been going on for the past two days already. Bob seems on the verge of—”

“Face the audience, Helen.”

“—collapse. And me? I’m not too far off from that either. One of us has to shake this off, and pull the other one out. Nothing will come from grieving. The world doesn’t begin or end with chemical factories that have collapsed into nothingness.”

“Don’t stand in one place, Helen. Turn a bit. It gives the scene a more realistic look.”

“True, my heart is telling me to stay here, beside him,” she nodded toward Sandy, who lay motionless on the bed, “but my mind is telling me to go out, to breathe, to air out a bit. And it’s not only for me. It’s mainly for him.”

The director clapped her hands sharply, and “Bob” jumped up from the bed.

“You were wonderful, girls. I have no words! I’m going now. Continue practicing yourselves whenever you have time. The principal will give me the last scene tonight, and I’ll be here tomorrow for rehearsal. Tell the girls who have parts that I need all of them here—no being late and no excuses!”

“Yes, Menuchi told me yesterday that she planned to finish today,” Adina remarked from her perch in the corner of the room where she had been watching. Yay, Menuchi; she must have gotten it done!

***

There were a few questions, as usual. Rabbi Biderman answered them all with alacrity and then closed his sefer and turned to go.

“Excuse me, Rabbi, I have a question,” someone spoke up.

The rabbi stopped.

“I came here from Belgium, and I’m a bit interested in Judaism…”

Rabbi Biderman nodded.

“But I have a problem. I’m…um…not Jewish.” How had Anne put it, when she’d spoken to her on the phone? Truth cannot be obtained through lies, only through truth.

His forehead creased; she noticed. “Right now I don’t have any specific questions,” she hurried to add. “I just wanted to know if you object to my attending your lectures.”

“I have to look into it,” he said seriously. “Judaism does not seek out new people. Why do you want to convert?”

“I don’t…I’m not yet sure that I really want to actually become Jewish.” Her tone was cautious. “But I’m rather convinced that the Jewish religion has it right. I want to find out and see what you have to say regarding me, as a non-Jew.”

Rabbi Biderman kept his eyes on a plant standing in the corner of the shul’s foyer. “Gentiles have the seven Noahide laws, in principle,” he replied. “It’s enough for you to just know those. You don’t have to learn the rest.”

“But I want to learn,” she replied. “I want to be convinced, before I commit to anything, that your Torah is the truth.”

He smiled and moved his black hat back a little. “For that you don’t have to come here each week. Twenty minutes, perhaps a bit more, is enough for that, depending on how much you already know. In any case, I will give you an answer at the next lecture regarding your participation.”

She nodded and returned to her place. Limor, her new friend, was waiting. “Did he agree?” she asked.

Diana repeated what the rabbi had said. “So be it,” she concluded. “I couldn’t have hoped for more.”

Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 35 of a new online serial novel, Beneath the Surface, by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every Thursday or Friday.

After pausing hesitantly one more time, Menuchi picked up the phone that she had just hung up and dialed reluctantly.

Simi picked up.

“Um, hi, Simi. How are you?”

“Hi,” Simi replied cheerfully—as always, come to think of it. “I’m good, baruch Hashem. How are you?” Her voice was warm, much like her mother’s. It was the same voice that she had been using to speak to Menuchi for an entire week already.

Come on, Simi’s waiting for an answer! “Baruch Hashem, fine…” Ribono Shel Olam, what are you supposed to make small talk to a sister-in-law about when you have a favor to ask her? School? Shidduchim? The pages we worked on together? Whatever came to mind seemed trite and tasteless to Menuchi. Simi waited.

“Um…” Menuchi despaired of finding a topic for small talk. She would just state her request directly. “Tell me, maybe you have an idea of what I can give, I mean buy, for the seminary girls I teach?” The girls I teach. How presumptuous. One would think that I spend twenty hours a week with them. “I mean, for a good-bye present. My lessons there are stopping for now because the girls are starting vacation in two weeks. Less, even.”

“What vacation?” Simi asked, puzzled.

“They’re being sent home early for Pesach vacation. There are serious money problems there, and it looks like the school might even close down permanently.”

“Oh, no, that’s too bad. So you’re stopping to work there?”

Menuchi clicked the wallet on her bed open and closed. Ugh! Such questions! “Yes,” she said quietly.

“What a shame…You actually enjoyed it there, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did.” Why ‘actually’? Is something wrong with the fact that I enjoyed giving those lessons?

Simi didn’t see Menuchi’s narrowing eyes, which was better off for both of them. She was busy admiring Menuchi in her mind. How easily she shared the fact that she no longer had a job! What would happen if she, Simi, would also display a bit more openness?

“Interesting. So we have something in common. Something happened today that hurt me also.”

Menuchi raised an eyebrow and listened closely. “What?”

“They didn’t accept my play.” Simi was struggling valiantly to preserve her pride. “They said that they had found something more suitable.”

“Oh… Did you finish writing it?”

Simi nodded vigorously, and then remembered that Menuchi couldn’t see her so she added, “Yesterday.” Why did Menuchi always hone in on the small, marginal details? Did the emotional aspect not interest her at all?

Meanwhile, Menuchi was scrabbling to find something comforting to say without sounding too pitying. “Oh, that must be so…disappointing. But maybe you can still do something with it? I’m sure it’s a great play.”

“Thanks.”

A heavy silence hung on the line, and Simi deliberated whether or not to conclude the conversation. Wasn’t it a shame to mar these moments of empathy between them with embarrassing silences, or worse, sentences said for no good reason that were later regretted a thousand times? Suddenly she remembered that Menuchi had called her for something. “So you want an idea for good-bye presents…” she said, scratching her forehead in thought.

“No, not an idea for good-bye presents,” Menuchi said with sudden haste. “I mean, not anymore. I just had an idea…for something else, actually. Do you have a few minutes to hear me out?”

***

Julian hummed loudly as he took out his wallet.

“The problem is not the money, sir,” the worker in the greasy overalls told him.

“But rather?”

“Your axle needs to be changed, sir, and there’s no way the car will be ready in two hours no matter what. Try in the evening.”

Julian increased the volume of his humming, as he was wont to do when under pressure. What should he do? “Alright,” he stopped humming for long enough to say, and then picked up where he had left off. Maria? He quickly dialed, but discovered that she—and her car—were not available right then. He figured that she must be on yet another shopping trip.

His father was available, though, and insisted that he was in the area and would be at the garage in ten minutes flat.

Julian exited the blackened building that reeked of benzene and went to wait on the main road. He had managed to regale the wild brush growing on the side with two classical songs, and had begun a third, when his father’s silver Renault slowed near him.

“Hi, Dad,” he said as he entered, closed the door, and made himself comfortable in the passenger seat. “What’s up? Is everything okay? You look a bit distracted.”

The older man preferred to nod silently in lieu of a response.

“What is it? Are there problems? At home? At work? You? Mother? Diana?”

The last two guesses hit the bull’s eye.

“Diana. I just left the house after a very frustrating conversation with your mother,” he said and spit the butt of his cigar into the ashtray between the two seats. Julian took out his own box of cigarettes, but his father refused. “Not now, thanks.”

“Are there problems with Diana?”

“I wouldn’t call them problems, per se.” Roy Molis’s tone sounded pretty unconcerned. “But it’s causing problems. So, where do you need to go, home or to work?”

“To work, but it’s not urgent,” Julian said, his eyes on the road ahead of them. “Perhaps we can go someplace quiet nearby and you’ll tell me about it. Where are we now?”

“Just nearStatsPark.”

Julian wrinkled his nose. “Not a very fascinating place, but there will be a bench for us to sit on, won’t there?”

His father was rather doubtful. “Today is Saturday, the Jewish Sabbath.”

“So?”

“They’re here, don’t you see?”

Now Julian saw.

“On their Sabbath many of them come to walk here, but if I’m not mistaken, when Mother and I were young and we lived not far from here, the Jews used to come more. We had Jewish neighbors on the same floor, and I remember them having a special name for this park. They called it ‘Shulen Park’ or something like that.”

“What’s ‘shulen’?”

“It’s the name of a special food the Jews eat on their Sabbath. The oldest son of that neighbor’s family explained to me that right after their meal, which included this food, they went out to walk here a bit, and so the name stuck.”Roysuddenly turned the wheel in a broad stroke and drove back on to the road he had come from.

“What’s the matter?”

“I don’t want to be there today with all of them.”

“Why? Don’t tell me you’re suddenly avoiding Jews. Is that something new since Diana went toIsrael?”

“Not at all, but why do we have to put ourselves in a place where so many people will see us?”

“What’s with her?” Julian reverted to the original discussion.

“She met Dan Weingarten’s sister inIsrael, and she wrote to us that she’s planning to keep up a ‘casual relationship’ with her. She’s still living on the kibbutz up north, but isn’t very happy there.”

“Wait a minute; does she want to come back?”

“No. She wants to stay there. To study.”

“What?”

“To study.”

“I understood that. But to study what?”

Diana’s father clasped his hands together, and then quickly grasped the wheel again when the car made a frightening jerk. “That’s exactly what’s getting your mother so worried. Diana didn’t write exactly what she wants to study.”

“Judaism, perhaps?”

“That’s what it looks like.”Roy’s eyes were focused on the back fender of the car in front of him.

Julian processed what he had just heard. “She wants…to be Jewish?”

“She writes explicitly that she doesn’t, but who knows.”

“Doesn’t the possibility concern you?” Julian asked tensely. He realized that his father’s run-in with his mother this morning was likely the first of many such confrontations in the near future. His father would agree; his mother would object. Father would support; Mother would fight.

“It doesn’t thrill me, but what can I tell you? There are so many ways of life in the world today. Who says that my way is the best, the most correct? If one of my children wants to try a different direction—by all means!” He waved his hands with an inviting motion, and then once again grasped the errant steering wheel.

***

Simi and Menuchi walked under the streetlight just as it switched on.

“…And on the stage will be a screen with subheads translated into Hebrew. I think it shouldn’t be a problem to make a slideshow on the computer with subheads that change as the play progresses.”

Menuchi spoke with such uncharacteristic confidence that Simi didn’t recognize her. She was like a different person.

“But the performers will have to be exactly at the same pace as the slideshow. Imagine if someone sneezes and then everything will be delayed by a second—the translations won’t match what the girls are saying and doing!” Simi fretted.

“Well, the slideshow doesn’t have to be automatic.  We’ll switch the screens manually, according to the pace of the performance. Is that possible? You’re a bigger expert than I am in this.”

“Yes, it’s possible.” Simi nodded. “I think your idea is great. But why should we suggest it to the administration in such a roundabout way? Why don’t you tell them about it yourself?”

The bulb in the stairwell was burnt out, as usual, and Menuchi hoped her blush wouldn’t show in the dark. “I don’t have the nerve,” she said, rather bravely. “And why does it make a difference who suggests it? Let’s first see if things can still be changed.” Hey! Do you know who you’re talking to? This is not Adina, who, despite her domineering personality, is still a good listener. It’s Simi! Perfect Simi! Talented, confident Simi!

But Simi walked up the stairs beside her, matching her pace; to Menuchi it seemed she was even going a bit slower than she herself was.

They heard activity from inside the apartment. “Menuchi’s here!” a cheerful voice called out. “And she brought a guest. Welcome!”

“You’re early, Menuchi,” Helen said. “We haven’t finished decorating yet, Chasya’s not here yet with the cake, and Adina’s not back either. How are you? Who’s this?”

“My sister-in-law,” Menuchi said. “Hello, everyone. Wow! What did you prepare here?” They really had the place set up for a party! Music played in the background, and the table was covered with a burgundy tablecloth and laid with drinks and cups. Simi smiled at everyone and shook hands with those girls who proffered theirs.

“Hello! Oh, Menuchi, you’re here already?”

Menuchi turned to the door. Adina’s foul mood was apparent. “Hello, Adina,” she said with a soothing smile. “Where did you disappear to? I was looking for you.”

“Where did I disappear to? To buy you a present. What strange questions you have tod—” She stopped in mid-sentence as her eyes focused on a point to Menuchi’s right.

Simi smiled at her. “Wait a minute; aren’t you sometimes the monitor on Yehudis’s bus? I didn’t know you’re in this school!”

Adina was silent. Menuchi looked at her questioningly. “Adina? On Yehudis’s bus? Are you sure you’re not mixing her up with someone else, Simi?”

“No, I’m not. She even came upstairs to us once. But she’s pretty new at Givol; you haven’t been there more than a month, isn’t that right, Adina?”

“I’m…uh…well, it wasn’t really right of me to go there without telling you, Menuchi,” Adina said as she stuck the package she had been holding into a small cupboard in the corner and stood up straight. Her eyes flitted quickly between the two sisters-in-law. “But I really wanted to help. I only meant…the best. Maybe you can come with me to the kitchen now, just you two?”

“She just wanted to be nice,” someone said, and Simi identified her as one of the three girls who had come to visit Menuchi that Friday night. “She wanted us to come and tell you how Menuchi missed out on the trip so that she could help you out.”

“Thank you, Ditza,” Adina said dryly. “Come to the kitchen a minute, Menuchi and Simi.”

Simi entered the kitchen, somewhat confused. She wasn’t sure she understood what was going on here. Adina had this captivating pull, and she was also Menuchi’s good friend, or so it seemed. And moreover—Menuchi didn’t know until this minute about Adina’s volunteer work at Givol. What was behind all the secrecy?

“It’s better that I speak my native language, okay?” Adina told Simi. “Menuchi will tell you what I said soon.”

Menuchi listened with folded arms. Adina spoke quickly, and both her tone and facial expression were very apologetic. Simi observed her from the side. There was something very moving about the scene—Adina’s animated stream of words facing off with Menuchi’s placid listening. What a contrast, Simi thought to herself. But it looks like they understand each other very well.

Menuchi asked a question or two, not sounding very pleased, and Adina answered her. Then they both turned to look at Simi.

“Am I supposed to say something now?” Simi asked with a smile.

“No, Menuchi has to say something,” Adina answered in Hebrew. “Nu, Menuchi, tell her everything.”

Menuchi really didn’t want to—that much was clear. “Another time, Adina, okay? You did nothing wrong, and it makes no difference to us at all. I’m sure Simi agrees.”

“Too bad it makes no difference. I wanted to make a difference. I thought that maybe it would help if I would…”

“Adina, it’s fine. She didn’t come here because of that. She didn’t know that you know me, and I didn’t know that you were volunteering there. Listen, we came for something more important. We have an idea for how—”

Adina shook her head adamantly. “Ideas in a minute, Menuchi. Please, tell her and that’s it. Otherwise, I’ll feel like a liar. I want her to understand that I didn’t do it just to stick my nose in.”

Simi decided, as a loyal sister-in-law, to rescue Menuchi from her obviously uncomfortable position. “Adina, it’s fine. Menuchi doesn’t have to tell me anything if it isn’t comfortable for her. I really see no reason to be angry at you.”

“It’s really very…silly,” Menuchi said, her face pale. Adina genuinely did not grasp what a bind she had put Menuchi into! Adina wanted her to tell Simi plainly and simply that, “There were apparently times that I spoke about you with such obvious pressure, that Adina picked up on it, and so she was looking for ways to make peace between us.” What was Adina thinking?! That this was an argument between two second graders that could be resolved with a dash of hocus-pocus? She should stop pressuring! Who knew how much of their exchange Simi had understood?

Simi had absorbed something. She also understood what Ditza had said earlier, before they had retreated to the kitchen. She deliberated whether she should mention the trip that Menuchi had missed for nothing, but when she saw her sister-in-law’s face, alternating between red and white, she decided that now was not the time. The day would come when she would apologize for her obtuseness that day, and at the same time she would perhaps ask what Adina had wanted to achieve by volunteering at Givol. Right now, it didn’t interest her all that much. But that day wouldn’t come before her connection with Menuchi would become a smooth, knot-free one, and she would be sure that her question wouldn’t confound Menuchi and make her feel like she did now.

“Okay, Adina, it’s fine,” she repeated. “I promise I don’t think anything bad about you. It makes no difference to me why you came to Givol.” Did she detect a look of gratitude on her sister-in-law’s face? “In any case, we came here today to suggest something.” She took her sheaf of stapled papers out of her bag. “What do you say about doing a play? A big play that will introduce the public to your school and maybe help it get back on its feet?

“Menuchi? Can you translate what I just said?”

Pale-faced, Menuchi repeated the sentences in English without looking at either of the girls. Simi prayed she wouldn’t regret the whole idea.

Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 34 of a new online serial novel, Beneath the Surface, by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every Thursday or Friday.

“The bottom line is that you have to prepare the questions at home. You can’t just come to class, call a girl’s name, and then begin to quickly scan the Chumash or Navi. Precious time is wasted, important details are omitted, and the test becomes ineffective.” As Mrs. Deutsch, the didactics teacher for limudei kodesh studies, completed her sentence, the bell rang—if its hoarse buzz could be called a ring. She put her spiral notebook back into her briefcase.

“That bell has got to get fixed,” Simi remarked to Rachel as she hurried to the door.

“Hey, where are you going? Aren’t you washing?” Rachel asked in surprise when she saw Simi turning right.

“Not now.”

“So when will you eat?”

“Later.”

Rachel shrugged and joined the stream of girls heading toward the sinks. Simi must be hurrying to the Bnos leaders’ room again. She liked her friend very much and it never entered her mind to envy her, but Simi being a leader meant that she, Rachel, was sometimes left out in the cold, and such moments generated a bitter, unexplained taste in her mouth. Or maybe it was explainable. It was only natural to feel this way, wasn’t it?

“Running there again, isn’t she?”

Rachel whirled around in annoyance. She found it strange that some girls still behaved so babyishly despite being in seminary. But that’s the way things are. Childishness doesn’t always disappear as people grow older. On the contrary, it often becomes more pronounced.

“Who’s running?” she asked, as though not understanding Lakey, the girl standing right behind her, who had made the comment.

“Simi. Did they call all the leaders to go? I heard there’s a new program being planned.”

“It’s not for us; it’s for the lower grades,” Rachel clarified.

“I didn’t think that it was for us. Really, who, at our age, is interested in recycled activities or anything else for that matter? We have more important things to be busy with.”

“True, there are other things we’re busy with, but who said they need to conflict with extracurricular activities?” Rachel objected. “We can do both—invest in the important things,” namely, schoolwork and shidduchim, “and also enjoy the programs.”

“Personally, choirs and silly high-school get-togethers don’t interest me. The truth is, they didn’t interest me much in earlier years either,” Lakey remarked, and looked morosely out of the window. A warm morning sun reflected brightly off the windowsill. “The only purpose they served was getting us out of class.”

“That’s a shame,” Rachel, ever goodhearted, replied. “It’s too bad you didn’t enjoy them then, either. I don’t think it would hurt us, even now, to have something to break up the monotony of the constant schoolwork. But no one’s giving us that choice—so we’re just learning.”

“You want to ease off on the schoolwork?” Lakey’s tone was as surprised as if Rachel had suggested they climb the tree visible from the window they were standing near. “In the lower grades you need the variation. But us? We should be getting used to having heavy workloads already now, without looking for ways out. Are you planning to be the type of woman who’s always looking to get out of routine for a break? I’m not.”

“Neither am I,” Rachel replied candidly. “But I’m not a woman yet. Why shouldn’t I take advantage of the time I have left without the responsibility of a house and a job? Why shouldn’t I enjoy this time? Do I have to pressure myself now because, b’ezras Hashem, I hope, within two years, I won’t be able to go out wherever I want, whenever I want?”

“Sorry, you two, but this is a silly argument.” Someone stuck her head in between the two girls. “You’re standing in line to wash, and when it’s your turn, you don’t even pick up the cup, because you’re too busy arguing and discussing the crucial question of whether a time-out activity during school is good or not. Why, did someone tell you about a change in the schedule in the next month? Our test schedule doesn’t show me any time for extracurricular activities!”

“Maybe the test schedule is not enough for them!” Orit snickered from the back of the line. “Maybe we should ask the principal to give us another few hours of enlightening class time? And another test or two?”

“Come on, get moving over there! How long does it take to wash?” another girl called from the back.

Rachel hastily washed her hands and hurried back to the classroom, feeling a bit guilty. What exactly had Lakey wanted? What had been the point of their foolish argument? Lakey was generally the bitter type, but recently, it had become much worse. It was almost impossible to carry on a normal conversation with her! She was tense as a spring and as sharp as its pointed end.

She heard a light cough behind her. Rachel turned around to find Simi, whose face was a peculiar shade of red. Rachel didn’t see Simi blush often, and wondered what the cause was. Had someone angered her over in the leaders’ room? Had she been embarrassed?

Maybe both.

“The bell’s in less than ten minutes,” Rachel remarked, glancing at her watch. “You didn’t eat yet, did you?”

“No, I didn’t.” Simi sat down on the nearest empty chair.

Rachel set her bread down on the desk. “You’re not planning to eat today?”

“Not right now,” Simi replied tersely, her eyes pools of fury.

“Did you forget your food?” her devoted friend probed.

“No. I’m uptight right now.”

“Oh… Someone got me upset before, too, when I went to wash.”

“Who?”

“Lashon hara. Someone.”

“You’re right.” Simi raised her eyes to her friend. “I hope it wasn’t me…?”

“I told you, it happened at the sinks,” Rachel said, picking up her bread again. “You weren’t there, right? One girl drew me into a strange fight and a lot of other girls started to laugh. You know I hate that feeling.”

“No one can stand being laughed at,” Simi said. “Try to forgive the girl.”

“I forgave her already. She was so confused…”

“Well, maybe we’ll be seeing her name in the paper tomorrow, in the right-hand column on the front page, where the engagements are listed,” Simi said seriously. “If that happens, remember not to tell me that she’s the one who annoyed you today. You know I get upset at anyone who bothers my good friend.”

“Thanks for the backing. By the way, I don’t like it when people get my friend angry, either.”

“Who told you that someone got me angry?”

Rachel swallowed her bite quickly and replied, “Your face. Don’t you know I have a degree in reading people’s faces? Especially your face.”

They both laughed, but Simi’s laugh lasted exactly one second before she grew serious again. “They didn’t accept my suggestion.”

“What?”

“Like you heard. I really have no idea why I was so convinced that they would want it.”

“Wait a minute—did they read it yet?”

“Just the synopsis that I gave them on Tuesday. I sat over it on Monday night with Menuchi, after Diana left. Why was I so stupid to be so busy with it before I got the school’s okay? I spent hours translating it with Menuchi, and then a whole day yesterday writing more than half the script, all for nothing! The coordinator said it doesn’t really go with the theme.”

“So let her read everything you wrote already.”

“I offered, but she said it wouldn’t change the decision. They already decided on a different idea.”

Rachel crumpled up her sandwich bag and rose to throw it out. Simi observed her every move.

“It’s an amazing story, that correspondence between your sister-in-law and that girl. Did you put that part in?”

“I did, but I changed things a little. I didn’t write anything about my uncle, and I basically made up a whole new ending.”

“What did you write?”

“That Diana the granddaughter wants to become a giyores, and she meets Menuchi here—all with different names of course. Menuchi—like in real life—doesn’t know that Diana is not Jewish, until they meet somewhere—and that’s the last scene, which I didn’t finish yet; I hadn’t decided where and how exactly it will take place.”

“Does she convert at the end?”

“Dunno. It’s a bit too much of a happy ending, don’t you think?” Simi grimaced, and the bell rang, as if to complete the dismal picture. “Actually,” she continued, “it’s obvious that Diana won’t become a giyores, because the last scene won’t get written. I have no reason to put any more work into this now.”

Rachel fixed her with a piercing look. “Don’t be such a defeatist; it’s not like you! You think our school is the only one that can put on a play?”

“What are you suggesting, that I sell it?”

Rachel glanced toward the door; the teacher hadn’t arrived yet. “Maybe. Other schools might want to use it for their graduation plays, for example. I think it’s a really great story, and the fact that it really happened adds a lot…”

“Almost all of it really happened,” Simi corrected.

“What difference does it make? The part about Menuchi—there’s so much siyata d’Shmaya there! I think that it shows a lot about her. After all, megalgelin zechus—good things happen through good people. She’s very special, isn’t she? Refined, you know what I mean?”

“Right, she’s very refined,” Simi replied, looking at her friend closely. She had never shared with Rachel her dissatisfaction over her poor relationship with Menuchi, but she was sure Rachel had picked up on the situation between the lines.

“I wonder what she’ll say when you tell her that the play wasn’t accepted. One thing’s for sure: she won’t complain that you made her work for nothing.”

Simi deliberated whether to tell Rachel that she had no intention of saying anything to Menuchi right now. Menuchi certainly wouldn’t ask on her own initiative, as usual, and if the topic would come up again, she, Simi, would quickly explain that the plans didn’t end up materializing.

The Navi teacher who entered at that moment resolved her dilemma. Simi sufficed with a small, noncommittal smile and quickly took her seat.

***

“Are you coming today, Menuchi?” Adina Baumel asked on the phone.

“What for?” Menuchi asked tiredly. Yesterday morning, as she was preparing her daily lesson, the phone rang. The principal was on the line. It was the first time Menuchi had spoken to her, because until then, everything had gone through her neighbor, Chasya. Menuchi didn’t know if the principal’s personal call was something to be happy about or not. She had a feeling that the latter was the case, and indeed, she was on the mark. In a few plain words, the principal explained that the administration was very grateful for her efforts, but they had no choice but to suspend her lessons.

“They’re stopping everything, you see,” Chasya had explained later. “The school is about to close. The girls are all going back home and that’s it. Isn’t it a shame?”

A shame? Was that the only word Chasya could come up with to define the situation? Just ‘a shame’?

“It’s terrible! So frustrating! We’re in such shock!” the girls who Menuchi spoke to told her, and she shared their sentiments.

Now, on the phone line, Adina sounded a touch impatient. “What for? For a party!” she said. “And don’t sound so down. I have much better reasons to be in a bad mood. You’re not the one coming home in the middle of the school year to people’s ‘I told you so’ looks. You’re not the one stuck without knowing where you’re going to continue your schooling and what will be in the future. This job of yours came to an end, and people find new jobs every day. But which school is going to accept me now, on a few days’ notice, without any guarantee from me that I’ll continue there if things here do work out?”

“First of all,” Menuchi replied, “if jobs are things that people find every day, then you’re invited to find me a new one. Second, the loss of the actual job doesn’t bother me as much. The little bit of money that I made, forgive me for saying this, didn’t make much of a dent either way. I was planning to look for a morning job anyway. I’m just feeling so bad about the school, and about the fact that I won’t be seeing you girls every day. I liked it, you know? But I really don’t have to sound like it’s the end of the world. You’re right.”

“As usual…”

“Not as usual, but like a lot of times. By the way, are there girls who are planning to go somewhere else and not come back, even if matters here get sorted out?”

“Sure there are. We’re not yo-yos. We can’t be constantly moving from one school to another.”

“It sounds like you’re angry at the school.”

Adina chose her words carefully. “Not angry, exactly, but disappointed. You tell me, do you really think this is the right way, to just cave in and send home dozens of girls?” She was referring to the second class, too. Menuchi had almost forgotten that the school consisted of more students than just “her” seventeen.

“I really don’t know,” she replied cautiously. “But I imagine they know what they are doing. They must not have had a choice.”

“The question is what you call a choice. I think that they had other options that they didn’t want to take advantage of. Did you know, for example, that some of the fathers of girls here offered to give long-term loans?”

“And?”

“The administrator is such an organized, straight guy, he doesn’t take loans unless he is one hundred—no, one thousand—percent sure that he will have from where to pay them back. Meanwhile, no one’s found the person willing to give a donation of thousands of dollars to pay back that loan when it’s due, if need be.”

“I don’t know why you sound so accusatory.” Menuchi was still treading carefully, aware that Adina was very wound up. “It’s actually a very good habit. Do you know that it says that someone who borrows money with no intentions of paying it back is called a rasha?”

Adina huffed angrily. “What’s with you, Menuchi? Who’s talking about not paying? No one thinks he won’t pay. The question is where he will take the money from, and if he doesn’t have a clear-cut answer to that question, he won’t take a cent. Chasya always says that people don’t know enough about our school, not here and not inAmerica. If they would know more about it, people would give more money. By the way, is five shekel for a six-pack of crayons considered expensive?”

“You can find cheaper. Where are you calling from?”

“One of those everything stores. I want to buy goodbye presents.” Adina fell silent and looked at the loaded shelves. She would tell Menuchi before she left about her volunteer work at Givol, and her desire to help out, which didn’t exactly unfold as she had planned. But not on the phone, and surely not during such a testy conversation.

“Okay, then I won’t bother you,” Menuchi said as she pulled her wallet out of the drawer. Goodbye presents! How had she forgotten about those? She had to find something small for each girl who was leaving. Maybe a keychain with tefillas haderech on it? But that was so trite! What could she buy that would be nice, inexpensive, original, and a real memento from her?

She had to think.

She could also consult Simi. Today she was more open to the idea of a direct conversation with her sister-in-law. Things had changed a bit between them. And after such a long time in the freezer, any thaw in their relationship was a welcome sign.

But she still wasn’t sure enough about herself. She certainly didn’t want to share the latest developments. Even without this, she thought she knew what Simi’s opinion was on her lessons in the seminary. Each time—in the few times they had spoken about it—Simi had probed, “And you enjoy it there? Are they interested? But they hardly pay you anything! And the mentality is so different…”

Perhaps the mentality is different, but that doesn’t bother us. You don’t have to come from the United States or England to be different from me, so different that we’re worlds apart. We could live in the same country, in the same city, and even have the same family name—yet feel like strangers with each other.

So should she tell Simi that she couldn’t even hold on to this job?

But she couldn’t ignore the progress in their relationship. Since Diana Molis had met her there in the house, Simi now looked at her with admiration. Admiration for what, Menuchi was not sure. Was it for the letters she had written? The idea to write hadn’t even been hers. Diana had asked if she could send questions and get answers. And who had formed the answers? Her father.

But that’s the way the world turns. People like full circles in life, and if she was the one who tied the loose ends of the circle together and brought about the change—then she was perceived as deserving the credit. Not that she objected to the new way she was being appreciated; it was a nice feeling—especially when it came from Simi. And there were also the humorous aspects. For example, after the whole story became known, Shragi’s Aunt Betty had called her, so excited that Menuchi could almost feel the phone tremble. “You know that I’m the one who gave the ‘yes’ on you? My sister was in the hospital with Yehudah Kalman and I went to the Tamir Hall to see you at a friend’s wedding. Did anyone tell you that?”

Menuchi had reassured her that yes, of course, they had told her. That story always bothered her. Who knows, if her mother-in-law would have been able to go herself to see her… Enough, why do you let these inferior thoughts get the better of you? Why does it make a difference how exactly it happened? Everything is from Above; what’s important is that your mother-in-law like you now, and about that you have (almost) no doubt.

“So I knew then that you were something special. I told my sister, ‘Listen, Chani, you won’t regret listening to me on this one. She makes a wonderful impression!’ Nu, I was right, wasn’t I? She never regretted it!”

Shragi’s grandmother from Belgium had also called, and with Menuchi’s poor Yiddish, and Savta’s broken Hebrew, the conversation was somewhat stilted at first, until they remembered that they both spoke English. Although the kisses could not be sent through the phone, Savta had promised to come visit soon, maybe before Pesach, to kiss her directly. Menuchi had closed her eyes in trepidation at the thought of all those promises being realized.

And if Simi was among the admirers, then what was there to be afraid of? But Menuchi sensed that there was something to be afraid of. Perhaps all that enthusiasm would dissipate soon, especially when Simi would hear that her sister-in-law hadn’t even managed to hold on to the strange job that she had.

But it wasn’t Menuchi’s fault. She could explain that, couldn’t she? She hadn’t been fired because of a personal shortcoming. The school was closing down. On that Friday night, when Ditza, Sandy and Chaya had visited her at her in-laws’ home, Simi had seemed curious, not snide. Perhaps she had discovered that the girls were “with it” and “normal”? But what had she thought before that?

She’d try to call, Menuchi resolved. What time was it? Two o’clock. Either Simi was home, or she wasn’t. It couldn’t hurt to try, could it?

Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 33 of a new online serial novel, Beneath the Surface, by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every Thursday or Friday.

Ten minutes after the Orchos Tzaddikim lesson ended and Menuchi left, Mrs. Deutschlander, the principal, appeared at the apartment. The girls crowded around her.

“How are you girls?” she asked warmly, casting glances around her. “I haven’t visited you here in quite some time. I think the last time was…”

“On the first day of school?” Millie filled in for her.

“Right. On the first day of school. Are you managing?”

Adina perused the older woman’s face closely. Was that a fresh crease in her forehead? Perhaps.

“Will you join us for supper?” Chasya Ehrentreau asked, suddenly emerging from the kitchen. “And how are you? You don’t look so good.”

“Oh, I’m fine,” the guest replied, entering the large kitchen. “I didn’t come to eat. I came to speak to you, girls.”

The girls all took their places, chattering as they usually did, not worried in the least. Adina scanned their faces in surprise. How could they maintain such a calm demeanor in such a strange situation? Or perhaps it wasn’t so strange that the principal had suddenly shown up to speak to them, and she was the only tense one because of the snatches of conversation she had overhead.

The aroma of omelets wafted through the kitchen. “It smells delicious, Chasya,” Mrs. Deutschlander said. “Come, girls, let’s get to the point. Unfortunately, I don’t have especially good news for you.”

The chatter died down at once. Chasya also turned from the stove to face them.

The principal fixed her gaze on an abstract point on the wall above the narrow window. “We made a decision this afternoon, just a few hours ago, and I decided to tell you about it. Immediately.” She fiddled with her fingers and leaned back in her chair. “There have been problems recently. Serious financial problems.”

The silence was heavy and thick.

“You know that our seminary is funded by a frum foundation inNew York.”

“And our tuition payments, right?” one of the girls at the end of the table asked.

The principal smiled thinly. “Yes, but the organization subsidized your payments. The tuition you pay is about ten to fifteen percent of the operating budget, and even someone who doesn’t understand much about economics can imagine that if we were to be left only with the tuition payments as our income, then that’s in essence nothing.” She fell silent and scanned the attentive expressions. “And that’s what happened. The foundation ran into severe difficulties in recent months, as you may have realized, and has now collapsed completely. There are a few people who have agreed to pay specific sums, but it’s barely enough to cover the shortfalls, and certainly not sufficient for our regular needs. To be very honest about the outlook for the next few months, we have no idea how we will fund the school.”

“Loans,” someone suggested.

“You’re very sweet,” the principal said, “but you can imagine that Rabbi Fogel has already considered all the options. How can he take loans without knowing with confidence that he will find a source from which he can pay back the money? Or worse, knowing with near certainty that there will most likely be no such source…” She returned her eyes to that point over the window.

“So…?” Ditza asked quietly.

“So that’s it. The way things look now, your Pesach vacation will begin earlier than scheduled, in two weeks, and regarding your return dates, you’ll receive notification.”

The dropping of jaws had been expected.

“Will there be such a date?” someone asked with a forced smile, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

“I really hope so,” Mrs. Deutschlander said, unsmiling.

“We’re going home in two weeks? In the middle of Shevat?”

“Can’t you arrange something? Is there no other solution?”

“And what am I supposed to do for over a month at home?” Marilla, a British girl, queried. She was the only one of them who was from a completely unobservant home.

“It’s more than two months. And that’s if we come back in time, of course,” Helen whispered.

Chasya, standing at the counter, silently pressed the “on” button of the food processor. The information wasn’t news to her; two weeks ago, Mrs. Deutschlander had confided in her that there were serious fiscal issues. But to such an extent? She hadn’t dreamed the crisis would escalate so rapidly.

The principal looked at all the girls sitting around her. Some of them had compassionate expressions; others seemed to be in shock. There were those who looked very concerned. She sighed. “Dear girls, regretfully, I don’t have answers to your questions. Right now, I’ve told you all I know. When I learn more details, I won’t keep them a secret. What can I tell you? May Hashem help everything turn out all right.”

“Can we offer suggestions?” Adina Baumel asked. Her fingers were opening and closing rapidly into fists.

“Of course; I’d be happy to listen.” The principal wore a sad smile now. “But take into account that we’ve already thought of lots of possible solutions and rejected them for various reasons. Do you have something specific in mind, Adina?”

“No, but I have to think.” Adina leaned her palm on the table. Her eyes focused on the corner of the table, and a deep crease bridged them. “Maybe we’ll come up with something.”

“Adina always has the best ideas,” someone offered.

“Of course, you can all think,” the principal said, but her smile remained morose. “Who knows? Perhaps you’ll come up with something we haven’t thought of.”

“We’ll think,” Chaya promised.

“Yes, Hashem will help,” Shifi added.

“We love this place!” Sandy exclaimed. “It can’t close! Think, girls, think!”

Adina didn’t say a word. She wasn’t there anymore. She was at the window in her room, opening and closing it. It was inconceivable for the seminary to close down. There were too many girls who came from weak homes, and this place was literally a lifeline for them. It just couldn’t close!

Onwards. B’ezras Hashem, a solution would be found. It just had to be.

***

Gershon Ostfeld approached the house and was surprised to find a familiar figure standing idly in front of the glass door.

“Hello!” he said. “Are you waiting for Shragi?”

Menuchi started uneasily. “Um…no, thanks. I just thought…” Not exactly. There was another hour and a half until Shragi would arrive, as they had arranged, but when she had come two minutes earlier, she realized she really didn’t want to go upstairs.  She didn’t have the strength to endure another hour of her every word and expression needing to be carefully considered a hundred times. Suddenly, all she wanted was a few minutes of peace in the cool evening breeze before she would enter the warm home, literally and figuratively, and start posturing. Literally play-acting. She had to calculate her every word and smile, wondering whether it was acceptable to Simi, and if she had or hadn’t said the wrong thing. Usually, because of the many thoughts whirling in her brain, she’d begin to stammer.

But now she had no choice but to smile politely and go into the building. All she needed was for her father-in-law to go upstairs and tell them that she was waiting downstairs. For whom? Why? Simi would wrinkle her nose at her sister-in-law’s “strange” acts. Her wonderful mother-in-law would surely silence her daughter, but that wouldn’t change Simi’s opinions. She would continue to stew quietly.

And emotions that are heated when they are covered up—like in a pot—come to a boil very, very quickly.

Menuchi was still in the middle of the staircase when her father-in-law opened the door to his apartment. His “good evening” resonated in the stairwell. He glanced behind him, saw Menuchi climbing the stairs slowly, and left the door open.

“Hi,” Chani said, emerging from the kitchen. “We have a guest.”

“Oh, you knew already that she’s here? She’s on her way up,” her husband said as he took off his coat and put his hands near the vent from where warm air was blowing.

“Who?” Chani looked into the stairwell in confusion. Just then, Menuchi appeared at the entrance to the apartment.

“Oh, Menuchi!” Chani said with a broad smile. “Hello! Come in! I’m so happy to see you. Here, Simi and Yehudis are here.” She returned to the kitchen, followed by her husband; their daughter-in-law brought up the rear.

“Meet Diana Molis,” Chani said to her husband, switching to Flemish. “She’s inquiring regarding a few subjects relating to Judaism.”

“Good evening,” Gershon said with a nod and turned to his wife. “Questions? Perhaps Shragi can help her. Is he expected this evening?”

“Who said he’ll be interested in getting involved?” Chani asked in Hebrew, nonchalantly turning to Menuchi so it would seem as though she were addressing her. “Menuchi, meet Diana Molis. Have you heard that name in our family’s history? I don’t think we’ve mentioned it much, but it does appear in my mother’s memoir.”

Menuchi’s perspective:

Right at the beginning, when my mother-in-law spoke to my father-in-law in Flemish, I thought I heard the word “Molis” but I wasn’t sure. I was busy with Yehudis, who had accosted me when I came in the door, but between one hug and the next, I peeked at the only seated figure in the kitchen. Everyone else was standing, but it didn’t seem to bother her in the least.

I knew that face from the past, and I think I also knew exactly from where. But why should I have thought that it was really her? Just because she also spoke Flemish? Of all the Flemish-speaking girls in the world, my mother-in-law hadn’t found another guest besides Diana Molis, my former pen-pal?

But then she introduced me to the guest, and all my doubts fell away. “Of course I know her,” I said in a confident tone in English and smiled at Diana. Simi, standing on the side, opened her eyes wide. “We corresponded a bit a while back. Right, Diana? How do you get here?”

“I thought you looked familiar!” Diana rose from her chair, her satchel falling to the floor. “So it’s you, Menuchi! What are you doing here, in Anne Ostfeld’s home?”

I turned to the right to smile at my mother-in-law, and I was almost able to see my own reflection in her wide-open eyes. She stared at me in shocked silence. Shragi’s father, mother, Simi, and Yehudis were all gaping at me. The latter two were silent because they didn’t understand a word of Diana’s excited reaction, but why were my in-laws looking at me so strangely? What was so amazing about us knowing each other? Yes, it was interesting that specifically my pen-pal was their guest, and I still didn’t know what she was looking for there, but it wasn’t so far-fetched from reality. Why the shock?

“You wrote to each other?” Shragi’s mother coughed.

“Yes,” I replied naturally. “A few letters. This is my mother-in-law, Diana. My husband’s mother.”

“Really!” Diana exclaimed. “This is not a small world, like they say—it’s a tiny world! How many people do I know inIsrael? Just a few. And of those few, you two are so closely tied!”

She returned to her chair and her satchel. “I even brought your letters with me,” she said with a smile, while I wondered what was so amusing. “Even though the last letter really annoyed me, and I mean really.” She raised a finger and wagged it at me in jest. “You brought me to this country, Menuchi, and so did you, Anne. You could say that you’re both to blame.”

She suddenly sat straight in her chair and her cheerful smile froze on her face. Her hands clutched the sheaf of familiar papers, but she didn’t look at them. “Or…or is this all a conspiracy that you worked on together?” she asked coldly.

“Together on what?” I asked cautiously. I didn’t know what I was being cautious about, but I knew something major was unfolding. Diana’s question was blatantly accusatory.

She didn’t directly respond to my question. “Yes, that’s the truth, right? You both planned this—together—to persuade me…to…” She kept pausing between the words, and then left the sentence hanging. She handed me—or almost threw at me—the bundle of letters, and shouldered her bag. It was only then that I noticed her hand in the cast.

“Take that,” she said scornfully. “I’m going back toBelgium. I have a few things I need to think about again. You tricksters!”

I noticed out of the corner of my eye that my mother-in-law seemed to be coming out of her frozen state. Something about Diana’s words—which were of no signficance to me—had obviously touched her.

“What’s the matter, Diana?” I asked firmly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Tricksters? Who? What kind of conspiracy? If you don’t mind my saying, I met you before I knew my mother-in-law. And besides, if you will recall, I wasn’t the one who asked you to write to me!”

“Um, right…” she said thoughtfully, and proffered her hand. “So give me back the letters.”

I hesitated for a moment and then complied.

“I had no idea about the connection between you two, until this second!” Shragi’s mother said, and I was happy to hear that she had regained her power of speech. She turned to me. “You corresponded with Diana, Menuchi? She told me about you before, and showed me a few lines from your letter. It’s written beautifully!”

“Thanks, but the wording is my father’s,” I replied. Now it was Diana’s turn to fix us with a puzzling look.

“And you know what her connection is to us, don’t you?” my mother-in-law asked quietly. I heard the sounds of chairs being dragged across the dining room floor. Suddenly we all noticed that Yehudis wasn’t there. Simi hurried out of the room.

“She was going to marry my brother, Dan. That’s her.” Shragi’s mother choked, as though she had swallowed too big a bite of something. “Your letters, according to what she says, are what persuaded her not to do so.”

I looked at Diana, who nodded vigorously, at my father-in-law, who was leaning on the counter with a creased forehead, and at my mother-in-law, whose face slowly broke into a broad, understanding grin.

But this time, I was the one left in the dark. Diana? How could that be?

Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 32 of a new online serial novel, Beneath the Surface, by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every Thursday or Friday.

The door to Mrs. Deutschlander’s office was only partially closed. Adina Baumel put her gray bag down on the old counter in the kitchen and switched on the kettle.

Mrs. Deutschlander’s voice wafted out of the office; she sounded tense, and it was no wonder that her high-pitched tone came through the rather flimsy door. “So what should I do, fire the teachers? Reduce the hours that the girls learn?”

Adina took out a glass cup from the cabinet along with a small saucer. She opened the sugar container and rummaged around for a clean spoon. She didn’t really intend to eavesdrop on the conversation, but it didn’t sound by their tones like anyone was trying to keep matters a secret.

It was quiet in the rest of the apartment cum school building. The girls had already left. Only she was still there, making coffee for the principal, something that had become a habit after spending her long afternoons in conversation with her as the principal tried finding a suitable job for Adina. This was the third or fourth cup for the day.

“I’m afraid we’re going to have to take much more drastic steps,” Adina heard Rabbi Fogel, the seminary administrator, reply. His voice was lower, but also reached Adina’s trying-not-to-listen ears.

“I hope you don’t mean to let them out for Pesach vacation too early, like we did two years ago for lack of any other choice. We have a lot of material to cover and programs to implement until then, and besides, there are girls for whom it would just be a shame. Every extra day spent in their homes can be harmful.”

Adina paused with the steaming mug in front of the door. Should she prepare another cup? Perhaps Rabbi Fogel was fleishig? Her deliberations were cut off by the decision to knock.

“Are you still here, Adina? Thank you.” The principal rose, took the cup from her, and set it down beside the administrator.

“I wanted to ask if Rabbi Fogel wants tea or coffee,” Adina said pleasantly.

“No thanks; I’m on my way out.” He collected a few papers and slid them into a large blue briefcase.

Mrs. Deutschlander was pale. “Are you going to the school, Adina?”

“Yes, I’m on my way,” Adina said, catching the hint.

She returned to the kitchen. “I’m going,” she told Suri, the secretary, who was standing there tugging the teabag out of her mug. “I see that the hot drinks are very popular around here.”

“Why, do you have something else to offer?” Suri asked, walking back to her desk with her tea.

Adina followed her, ignoring the uptight voices coming from the small office. “Aren’t there crackers or something? There always used to be.”

“Used to be,” Suri said, sitting down. “Your lunches, for example, used to be much more generous and filling. But there’s no money, bubbala, just no money.”

“That’s what it looks like,” Adina said dismally, returning to the kitchen for her bag. “Bye, Suri. Besuros tovos.” Suri had heard the worrisome conversation as well as she had, apparently. She was probably worried about her job. Poor girl.

And Menuchi! What would be with Menuchi? Would she also be fired? Adina walked morosely towards the bus stop. Yes. Menuchi’s wonderful shiurim were also in jeopardy. And what about the other lessons? Were they also not in danger?

Twenty minutes later, Adina found herself at the entrance to the school. She wouldn’t see Yehudis Ostfeld today, to the best of her recollection. Her class finished early today and she’d probably gone home already. How many more times would she get to see the dark-haired, giggly child? And what about Menuchi, her special sister-in-law? When would Menuchi find out about what was happening at the seminary?

Dismal thoughts flitted through her mind as she entered the fourth-grade classroom. Someone ran over to her and threw his arms around her. “Chezky!” she exclaimed, hugging him back. “How are you?” He laughed in response.

For the next two hours, Adina kept busy, running from the classroom to the office, and from there to the occupational therapy room, and then to the speech therapist, not allowing herself to dwell on what she had heard in the seminary. Only once she was sitting on the van did the most pressing question of all take up a position in the front of her mind: Was her beloved seminary in danger of closing? And if yes, was it only a temporary measure—such as beginning Pesach vacation early, as the principal had mentioned—or would it close down completely?

She, in any case, had not particularly succeeded in achieving what she had set out to do when she had taken on this volunteer position. She still hadn’t had the opportunity to convey any messages from Simi to Menuchi or vice versa. Except for this past Shabbos. Ditza had reported that they had spoken about the trip, as she had asked. And was that successful? Had Madame Simi deigned to display any signs of admiration?

Suddenly, her plan seemed foolish and somewhat gossipy. Why, for goodness’s sake, did she always have to get involved in people’s relationships? Wouldn’t she be much better off just sitting on the sidelines?

“Adina,” Esty, the Monday bus monitor, called to her. “Don’t you have to get off?”

“Um, yes…” The screech of the brakes shook her out of her reverie. “Thanks, Esty.”

***

“Uh, hello,” Simi said with a slight smile to the girl standing in the doorway.

The girl mumbled something in Flemish, a language that Simi was familiar with, but did not know well enough to understand. When the guest received no response, she switched to English. Simi preferred to stop her at this point.

“One minute,” she motioned. “Come in.” She waved the guest inside as she went to call her mother.

Meanwhile, Diana remained at the kitchen door, scanning the room with curious interest. Two sinks? For what? Did they like to wash pots separately from dishes? Or cutlery apart from cups? Maybe they liked to put fragile dishes in a separate sink?

She suddenly noticed another discovery—a small wall of granite separated the two sinks. What was that all about?

“I’m sorry about the mess,” she heard Anne’s voice behind her. “I see that it interests you.”

“I actually didn’t see it,” Diana replied, turning around. Anne was holding a baby who seemed to be a few months old. “He doesn’t look like you,” she added.

“Who, the mess?”

“No, this cutie pie.”

Anne chuckled. “Yes, most of my children resemble my husband, more or less. The third is the only one who looks like me. How’s your hand?”

“Much better, thank you.”

Chani brought her into the kitchen. “I hope that you don’t mind sitting here instead of in the living room. I just want to wash the dishes while we speak.” She had no particular interest or desire in being an especially polite hostess. She would be courteous and pleasant, but would not go out of her way.

“Nonsense; I didn’t come for a visit. I just came to get my bag,” Diana lied, sitting down on the first chair. “I would like to meet your children,” she said.

“My children?” Chani, already holding the soap bottle in her hand, turned around at once. She replaced the bottle on the counter and went over to the second chair. She would wash the dishes later; there was something more pressing now. She had to discuss this issue openly.

“I would be happy to show them to you, Diana,” she said, “but first, I’d like to know, honestly, what it is you really want. Did you just miss me?”

Diana didn’t lower her eyes. “And what will happen if I tell you and you don’t believe me?”

“I can’t promise to believe you, but I do promise to try, at least.”

“Okay. So I told you already and you didn’t believe me.”

“You told me?”

“Yes, in the minute and a half that we spoke before we went to the hospital. I told you there are two things I want to find out.”

“Regarding Judaism?” Chani clearly recalled the exchange, but what could she do? As Diana had said, she wasn’t convinced she could be sure that the young woman was speaking the truth.

Diana sufficed with a nod of affirmation.

“And that’s why you came all the way here? Was there no one left inAntwerpfor you to ask?”

“There are many places in the world, but what can I do if this particular place draws me?”

“My house?”

The Belgian guest laughed. “I actually meant this country, but the truth is that you also have an interesting house.”

“What’s interesting about it, for example?”

“These two sinks. Is that also a Jewish thing, or is it just a personal preference?”

“You reminded me that the dishes are waiting very impatiently for me.” Chani rose. “You know that Jews are forbidden from eating milk and meat together, right?”

“I remember hearing something of the sort.”

“This law includes many aspects besides the actual eating. One of the basic laws that stems from that one is that we must have separate dishes for meat and milk foods, and that’s why we also like to have two separate sinks.”

“Is that one of the laws that does have an explanation? You have some laws that you don’t know why they were commanded, right?”

“I see that you’ve learned some of the concepts!” Chani was surprised. “Don’t tell me that my brother took the time to teach you these things!”

“He knows something?”

“Sure he does. He grew up in an observant home and went to the Tachkemoni School, which is officially called a Jewish school. The fact that he changed is his problem, and it is one that many youngsters experience.”

“There are complaints among us as well about youngsters becoming less conservative.”

Chani didn’t take pains to conceal the grimace that made her opinion on the comparison very clear. Her back was facing Diana in any case.

The girl continued: “But I’m surprised at Dan. It’s one thing among us; anyone who invests a drop of time into thinking into things realizes right away that it’s all nonsense. But you? The more you probe, the more you discover that,” she paused, searching for the right term, “that these are deep and serious issues, I mean…” She fumbled around in the side pocket of her huge tote bag . Where were those pages from Menuchi? “I told you. I’m not looking into this to change myself. It’s just a matter of interest. But I asked around in a few places, and what should I tell you? The conclusion I reached, in the first stage, is that members of the Christian religion—at least those whom I asked—talk without understanding what they are talking about.”

Chani didn’t know how to react to this declaration. Was Ms. Molis serious about what she was saying, or was she a great actress whose true motives were as yet unclear?

“That’s a very sharp conclusion to hear from someone who was brought up in a Catholic environment,” she said cautiously.

“Yes. I believe that you’re convinced of that even without listening to me,” Diana said with a sigh.

Chani nodded. “Definitely.”

“Maybe I really have come to a sharp conclusion, but I didn’t need a lot to reach it. A few hours of philosophical questions and answers that had no foundation brought me to this conclusion rather quickly. You know, I never really thought of seriously researching my own religion, but when you raised those simple questions to me and I delved into them a bit deeper, expecting simple, clear answers, I was stunned. There wasn’t a single answer that satisfied me! And they…” Here, she sighed again. “They take everything from Judaism. That is the source. They took everything from there, and made minor changes.”

“That’s a well-known fact. They take and then distort,” Chani said placidly. “That’s not news to me, but which clergyman admitted that to you?”

“No clergyman did. A friend of mine told me; she’s Orthodox and from Israel.”

“FromIsrael?”

“Yes, she’s Jewish.”

Chani carried two steaming mugs to the table. “What do you say! Truth to be told, I never suspected you were friendly with Orthodox girls…and fromIsraelto boot. Where did you find such a friend?”

“On my last visit here, we rode the bus together. Then we exchanged letters, and she’s the one who convinced me that you were right, that it didn’t pay for me to marry Dan. I listened to her.”

“I-ma!!! Sari’s g-g-going!!! Simi!! Come say go-goodb-bye! And walk her out!! Like Av-v-vrahm Avinu!! Get offfff the phone, S-simmmi!!”

A quiet voice was heard from the dining room.

“Excuse me, Diana, I must go out for minute,” Chani apologized.

She left the kitchen. “Goodbye, Sari! Thanks loads. Yehudis, please stop screaming. Don’t you see Simi’s on the phone now?”

“So sh-sh-she should wave g-g-oodbye!”

Simi waved at the embarrassed volunteer.

“Here,” Chani said firmly. “She waved goodbye. Now calm down and come to the kitchen. We have a guest and no one likes to hear you shrieking.”

“A g-guest?” Yehudis ran to the kitchen. Simi, who hung up the phone at that moment, followed her. Diana was sipping her coffee, and put the cup down politely, smiling at the girls.

“A g-guest! A g-g-uest!” Yehudis sang as she bounced around. “G-guest, do you know tha-that I’m Yehudis? Do you know me? I d-d-don’t know you!!”

Diana stared, wide-eyed. Simi hated that expression. She saw it so often on the street, on curious faces of people who turned to look at Yehudis when she screamed, stamped her feet, or just skipped around in a strange way.

“Dan didn’t tell you about her?” Chani asked naturally, switching on another light. She didn’t like the house flooded with lights, but when the sun set, she had to turn more on. The few times she had forgotten, Yehudis had gotten hysterical that the kitchen was dark, and didn’t enter the room for the rest of the evening.

“What didn’t he tell me?” Diana was puzzled. She continued staring at Yehudis. “I’m just shocked at the way she looks! She’s a carbon copy of Dan!”

Simi didn’t understand a word. She just stood in the kitchen doorway, casting hostile glances at Diana.

“A carbon copy?” Chani looked at her daughter as though seeing her for the first time. “Could be. I haven’t heard anyone else say that, but now that I think of it, there are very few people who know both her and him, so that doesn’t mean much. I thought you were looking at her because…”

“No, no,” Diana said hastily. “Now I see that she’s a bit, er, jumpy…”

“A nice way to put it.” Chani smiled and sat down, gently drawing Yehudis to her. “This is our Yehudis. Complications at her birth caused her some brain damage. Did Dan forget to tell you about his special niece?”

“Forgot or not, he didn’t tell me.”

Chani almost wanted to say, “It’s not hereditary,” but decided, to be on the safe side, not to inform Diana of that fact. Let her have another reason to keep her distance from their family.

Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 30 of a new online serial novel, Beneath the Surface, by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every Thursday or Friday.

At the top of the stairs sat a young woman, looking at her with a smile-cum-grimace of pain. “I had hoped it was you,” she said in Flemish (!), “but really didn’t believe that this would be the way our meeting would occur.”

Chani gaped at her. The face was so familiar! But the tone of voice, the lilt… No, it couldn’t be her; she had nothing to look for here. So who was it?

“Could you please bring me a broom?” the girl asked as she struggled to stand up. “It was supposed to be a gift for you, but the trash can will obviously be the new recipient.”

“A gift?” Chani echoed. “For what?” Suddenly the picture came into focus. This girl—whose identity she was not sure of yet—had obviously come to see her. Apparently she had fallen and something broke. Perhaps she had been injured?

One thing was clear: the girl needed help, urgently, and instead of doing so, she, Chani, was standing and gaping at the scene and asking questions.

“First things first,” she said briskly. “Come inside.”

“Oh, so you’re not throwing me out,” the girl said with relief, limping slightly as she crossed the threshold.

“Throwing you out? Why?”

The girl turned. “If you would do so, it really wouldn’t be fair of you. After all, I did what you wanted. But then, when we spoke, you were so hostile and cold, so it’s only natural that I would be afraid of such a thing.”

“Very natural,” Chani echoed, sensing her last doubts falling away slowly. It was her; it was her voice, and she had come here, obviously as a gesture of good will of some sort.

And perhaps not? Perhaps it was all a show?

She would have to be careful.

She led her unexpected guest into the living room. What now? Should she serve some refreshments? Wait, she had to sweep up the glass in the stairwell. Someone else could fall and get hurt.

But could she leave this gentile girl here herself? Who knew what she could do in the interim?

Chani quickly weighed the options in her mind and decided in favor of sweeping the hallway quickly. What could Diana actually do in her living room? Break another vase? Look at the sefarim in the bookcase? Drag the tablecloth off the table?

With artificial casualness, she moved the chair closest to the door so that it was directly opposite the door. “Sit down,” she said pleasantly. “I just want to clean up outside so no one should get hurt.” At least she’d be able to keep an eye on the girl.

“Oh, I should really be doing it,” Diana protested, and began to follow her.

“Sit, sit,” Chani said, slightly alarmed. “You just fell. You should sit and rest.”

Diana nodded and returned to the chair. Her hand really hurt; it must have been quite a blow.

Chani went to the kitchen and returned with a plate of cookies, two cups, and a bottle of soda. “Eat something,” she instructed, and then went out to the stairwell, casting the occasional worried glance behind her.

Three minutes later she was back. The plate of cookies was as full as it was before; both cups were as dry as when she had brought them from the kitchen. So the refreshments hadn’t kept her guest busy for the last few moments. What had? She looked around suspiciously. Everything seemed to be in place.

“You’re to blame for the fact that I came here,” Diana said, clutching her wrist. If she’d rest it for a few more minutes, the pain would pass. “You asked if I believe in the World to Come.”

“You said you did.”

“Right, I do believe. Definitely. But I discovered that there are other things that are worth examining also.” She sighed. “I tried to look into them. I got all sorts of answers that confused me and I decided to come here.”

Chani observed her visitor’s face. It looked completely serious. Was this all a ploy to soften the family’s opposition to her marrying Dan?

“Have you told this to my brother?” she asked cautiously.

“Oh, no. I haven’t seen him for at least two months.”

“So why are you interested? Why does everything arouse your curiosity?” Chani hoped she didn’t sound too crass.  “You know, Judaism does not accept people who choose to convert solely because they want to marry somebody.”

“I wasn’t even thinking in that direction,” Diana said, a trace of hurt in her voice. “I have no plans to change anything. I’m just interested.” She hesitated whether to add something and then decided not to play her whole deck just yet. She also didn’t reveal the letter from Menuchi. She would try to go on the offense, and if the answers would not be identical, she would simply return toBelgiumand pick up her life where she had left it off.

The pain that suddenly intensified silenced her thoughts. The dull ache in her arm suddenly became a sharp, searing spasm. “This is extremely painful,” she said, biting her lip.

“It doesn’t look good…” Chani looked carefully at the swollen arm. “I think it might be broken.”

“I also think so,” Diana groaned. “So, we can’t say that our conversation started off on the best foot because it didn’t really start. Do you have any idea what I have to do now?”

“You’ll have to get to a hospital and take an x-ray. They’ll decide what to do after that.”

“What are the terms for tourists?” Diana could barely speak by now.

“I don’t really know. It’s been many years since I came here as a tourist. But let’s see, do you have travelers’ insurance?”

Diana nodded in affirmation. She tried to lean back in the chair, unsuccessfully.

Chani breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s already good. Look, you have to get admitted.”

“Will there be anyone who speaks Flemish there?”

“There’s no way to know that, but there will certainly be English speakers. I’m just wondering how much time it will take you to find them.” She weighed the situation, and a vague, unexplained sense of responsibility motivated her to sit up straight and say, “Okay, I’m coming with you.”

“To the hospital?” Diana was scrimping on her words. Her wrist was taking up all of her attention and she could hardly focus on forming coherent responses.

“For the admittance procedure, until you can manage on your own.”

“Why are you doing that?”

It was the same question Chani was asking herself. Diana could just take a taxi and worry about interpreters herself when she got to the hospital. Still, with a broken arm and a strange language, it would probably not be a pleasant experience.

So? Who said you have to be the one to take care of her? Does the mitzvah of chessed even apply to non-Jews?

Chani considered replying to Diana’s direct question with an equally candid response, something like, “Believe me, I really don’t know.” But instead, she just smiled. The fact that she didn’t know did not lead to any hesitations. She called Simi at school and told her to come home at one to pick up the children. In the time it took for her to get Simi to the office and give over the instructions to her, Diana sat on the edge of her chair, gritting her teeth.

***

Almost an hour had passed. Yitzi and Yehudis had finished eating, built a Lego tower, taken it apart, and had a loud fight, replete with screaming and wailing. Simi had to separate them before it became physical.

“Enough, Yitzi!” she cried impatiently. “Stop annoying her and go do your homework!”

“She’s getting angry for no reason!” Yitzi said, his face clouded with anger. “I didn’t do anything to her, and a whole day—”

“Okay, okay,” Simi said impatiently. “You should try to understand her. She doesn’t like it when—”

Now it was his turn to cut her off. “Maybe she should try to understand me once in a while?! Monday is finally here, the day that I like best because Ima picks me up from cheder. And suddenly, she couldn’t come today. Why? Where did she go?”

“I told you that I don’t know myself,” Simi said with irritation, and went to take out some papers from her schoolbag. She had really hoped to continue translating with Menuchi today, and instead she was spending her afternoon mediating between bickering siblings. “Someone here needs my help,” Ima had said on the phone. Who was that someone? Who could it be?

“Oh!” she cried with relief as she heard the doorbell. “It must be Odelia! Yehudis, go open the door!”

“Od-d-delia d-d-doesn’t c-come on Monday!” Yehudis chided her. “Only S-Sunday!” Today it’s S-sari!”

“Excellent, so go open the door for Sari.”

As soon as the volunteer came in, things calmed down a bit. Sari sat down to do Yehudis’s homework with her. Itizk, naturally, dragged his briefcase to the same room, and Simi was able to sit in the kitchen, where it was quiet. Yehudah Kalman cooed softly, and she deliberated whether to try and progress with the story. Suddenly the fax machine hummed to life.

She walked over to the machine and took the sheet that it had emitted, with a swoosh. The page was covered in large, familiar handwriting. Savta Weingarten’s writing.

“What’s doing, dear Ostfelds? I tried to call yesterday and no one answered. Dan popped in for a quick visit. No special news, which is also good. It snowed here all night, and I miss you all, and your warm country. Perhaps I’ll come visit. I really enjoyed my last stay. Love, Savta.”

Savta wanted to come again! Simi placed the paper on top of the fax machine. She remembered only three visits from Savta, once when she was in kindergarten, another a few years ago, and this year for Shragi’s wedding. Savta loved her daughters and their families, but wasn’t happy about their choice of where to live. “Why did you have to leave Belgium?” she’d asked Anne and Betty disappointedly. “We also have very Orthodox communities. Isn’t that enough? And your summers are so hot!”

Now she wanted to come again. She had enjoyed the last visit. Apparently the differences between the two countries had also become more pronounced to her recently.

Simi returned to Yehudah Kalman’s carriage and her pages in English. Then the door opened.

“Hello!” Ima sang out as she walked in. “I had a guest,” she added in response to the question mark on her daughter’s face. “She broke her arm, it seems, so I took her to the hospital to make sure she’s managing. Now she’s waiting on line for the arm to be set and put into a cast,” she explained breathlessly as she took off her coat.

“Broke her arm? A guest?” The question mark only grew bigger.

“Yes.” Chani paused for a fraction of a second. “Diana Molis.”

“What? The lady that…” And then, “No, it can’t be her. Her granddaughter? The one that Dan…?”

“Yes,” Chani replied and slumped down onto the chair.

“Why did she come here?”

“That’s the point. I’m not quite sure that I know.”

***

Chani entered the living room. “This small bag is hers,” she said. “She remembered in the hospital that she’d left it here.”

“So she’ll be back,” Simi stated with certainty as she eyed the bag nestled on the sofa. “Ima, should I go to Menuchi now?” She suddenly remembered what she had been busy with before.

“Why not?” Chani turned to her. “It’s only 2:30. You made up to go at three, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but to schlep on the bus now… I thought I’d go straight from school, not have to come home first and then go back in that direction.”

“So call her and suggest that she come here, either before or after work. That dorm is not too far from here.”

Simi hesitated.

“What’s the problem?” her mother probed. “You don’t want her to?”

“I’m just trying to decide…” Her daughter sighed. “I’ve already learned that before I take any single step—even if it looks really simple to me—I have to think a thousand times if she’ll like it or not.”

“I think natural behavior is the best way to improve the problematic communications between the two of you,” Chani said gently. “Imagine that Rachel, your friend, would be your sister-in-law. What would you do in this case?”

Simi laughed bitterly. “If Rachel was my sister-in-law…? Not that I’m making light of Menuchi, but whenever I tried to imagine my future sister-in-law, I envisioned someone like Rachel, more or less, and…”

“Enough,” Chani cut her off. “Menuchi is your sister-in-law, and she has her own positive attributes. Let’s go, make that call.”

***

The bus finally appeared and Diana climbed the stairs, grateful for the woman who informed her that the 2 line would take her closest to where she wanted to go. Her backpack was strapped on and her right hand was free to support the cast-encased left one. Someone on the bus promised to show her when she had to get off, so Diana was free to allow her thoughts to roam.

At the hospital, she had told Anne that she had forgotten a bag at their house and would come back to get it. “No problem, gladly,” Anne had said. “Maybe tell me where you’ll be and we’ll get it to you,” she had even offered.

But Diana hadn’t told her. First of all, for the simple reason that she herself had not had—and still didn’t have—the faintest notion of where she’d be sleeping that night. She would look for a simple, inexpensive place to stay. Anne had explained to her gently that she wouldn’t find what she was looking for in Bnei Brak. Well, then, she’d have to go back to Tel Aviv. That wasn’t so bad. She could tour the city tomorrow, just like she’d planned to do. That’s what she liked—not to be dependent on any organization or group and to be able to decide herself where she’d sleep tonight and what she’d do tomorrow.

But the main reason she didn’t share her whereabouts with Anne was because that would defeat her purpose. She had left the bag there intentionally so she’d have a reason to go back. She had a lot to speak to Anne Ostfeld about—and Diana had found her to be a very pleasant person. She just hoped they wouldn’t peek into that bag, because they’d probably wonder why she was coming back for a well worn, totally empty wallet. They didn’t know her, Diana; otherwise it would have been clear to them that when Diana Molis set a goal for herself, she reached it in most cases.

Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 30 of a new online serial novel, Beneath the Surface, by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every Thursday or Friday.

Simi’s perspective:

I think this was a very good idea. It was an interesting, if not fascinating, hour, and it was the first time I have seen Menuchi so relaxed. Perhaps it’s because here, her strong point was in the limelight. I hope that a few more such sessions will improve things between us.

She wanted me to leave the pages with her. I refused, and I hope I didn’t do any damage by doing so. I was just afraid that she would get ahead and translate on her own. After all, we don’t really have to sit and do this together. She can read it when I’m not there and write the translation, like she offered to do. But I do want us to sit together and work on it.

The day after tomorrow, I have to submit my ideas to the counselors’ box in school. Perhaps I’ll go write the background for the play now, and even the beginning scenes, from what I’ve learned already. We’ll see how it flows.

I’m leafing through the handwritten pages of my translated version, trying to decide with what to open. Perhaps the street fight should be the first scene, and that woman, Diana, will suddenly appear like a rescuing angel? Maybe I should write it in the order that she wrote her memoirs? Or should I begin with her description of the Belgian streets? Or maybe inLondon, even before she decided to travel toBelgium?

Now I pick up the English copy of the story. I told Menuchi that I want to reread the part that we translated already and I want to keep my word. My eyes quickly scan the lines, not stopping in order to understand. Half a page, and then another one, the second page, the third—there, that’s as far as we got. One moment, what’s this woman’s family name? She doesn’t mention it even once. She writes everything in first person, and even omits her first name.

I go into the kitchen.

“Ima, I’m trying to write a summary of the play. But what was the name of the woman who wrote the whole account? She didn’t write her name down even once!”

Ima took the pages from me.

“She wrote it, here,” she said, pointing. “When she was asked at the refugees’ office.”

I look again. I don’t need Menuchi to translate such a simple sentence. “My name is Diana Molis,” the page says, black (albeit a bit blurry from the fax) on white. I return to my room, sit down at the desk, pick up my pen, and begin to wri—

“I w-w-want Simi! Simi sh-sh-ould help me! Simi! Simi! Si-mi! Co-o-me!”

I put down the pen and return to the kitchen, to my sweet, special sister who wants only me to sit next to her as she eats her dinner.

***

When more than two minutes passed after the last patient left and no one appeared at the entrance, Chani rose from her swivel chair. “Dorit?” she called as she walked towards the waiting room.

Dorit, the receptionist, raised her eyes. “It’s empty today, Dr. Ostfeld. Do you want me to call and see what’s going on with the next appointment?”

“Yes, please,” Chani said, pressing the blue button on the water machine. A cool stream of water flowed into her Styrofoam cup.

“We’ve run out of regular plastic cups, Dr. Ostfeld,” Dorit said with a smile, her ear glued to the telephone receiver. “I’ll buy a new package later. Hello? This is the receptionist from Dr. Ostfeld’s office. I wanted to remind you that Motty has an appointment today.”

She listened to the speaker on the other end for half a minute. “I understand. Please try to remember to let us know about any changes in the future. Bye.”

She hung up. “Motty Carmi won’t be coming today. He has a big exam that he can’t miss. His father apologizes for forgetting to call us to reschedule the appointment.”

“And who has the 10:10 appointment?” Chani asked.

“It’s an empty slot, actually. The Rubinstein twins were supposed to have the 10:10 and 10:30 appointments, but they cancelled this morning.”

“Okay, and who’s at ten to eleven?”

Dorit glanced at the appointment book. “Shimon Nursky. Who’s that?”

Chani’s forehead creased. “The name rings a bell, but I don’t remember more than that. He was only here once before. He’s the last appointment today, right?”

Dorit opened the appointment book again after having closed it. “Yes, he’s last.”

“Can you check if they can come earlier? I could really use the extra hour.”

As she waited for Shimon Nursky, Chani decided to call her mother.

“Hello, Mother, how are you?”

“Anne! How are you? How’s your head?”

“Baruch Hashem. Since Yehuda Kalman started sleeping a bit better at night, my head is also improving. And how’s your back, Mother?”

“Baruch Hashem. Dr. Fligelt claims that I have to reduce the dosage of the pills I’m taking. He says they’re driving up my blood pressure.”

“Do what he says, Mother. High blood pressure is not a game.”

“No…” She sighed. “Nothing’s a game with me, Anne. I’ve long passed the age of games. But I told him that my backaches increase my blood pressure as much as the pills do.”

“And what did he say to that?”

“He gave me a prescription for different pills. We’ll see, I guess.”

“Why not?”

“What happened today, Anne? Why are you asking so many questions?” There was a trace of annoyance in Lara’s tone.

“I’m worried about you,” Chani replied. “You’re so far there, Mother, and so alone. Come here to Israel; be near us..You hardly see Dan; what do you have there in Belgium?”

“Truthfully, I don’t have anything here except for a few friends,” Lara said with surprising candidness. “Perhaps I would move, but I can’t do it.”

“Why? We’d be so thrilled, Mother! You have no idea.” Chani tried to capitalize on the unexpected moments of her mother’s mellow acquiescence.

“I know you’d be happy, Anne. You and Betty are truly wonderful daughters, but I can’t.”

“Why?” Chani repeated.

“Because I have to watch over your little brother,” Lara replied solemnly. “He is a baby despite his thirty-two years. He needs supervision.”

“He does what he pleases anyway,” Chani said quietly.

“Still, I’m sure that he thinks more about every step because he knows that I’m here. If I leave him here by himself, this little boundary he has set for himself will disappear as well.”

Lara nodded to herself in agreement as she spoke. Yes, her youngest child still needed her, even if he didn’t know it.

“That’s a real consideration, Mother, and you should know I really admire you. But if you ever decide to come, even if only for a set amount of time, you should know that you’re always welcome to stay with us. I’m sure you’d find some wonderful friends here. There are enough older women around who speak Yiddish and Flemish.”

“I know, darling. I just spoke to one last week… Oh! I completely forgot to tell you. Someone called here, not a young woman based on her voice, and spoke to me in Flemish, saying she lives inIsrael. She asked for your address and phone number.”

“Mine?” Chani was taken aback. “Who was it?”

Lara couldn’t answer the question. “When she contacts you, I’m sure she’ll identify herself,” she said.

***

It took Diana a long time to learn to pronounce the words “Bnei Brak” satisfactorily, but in the end she was pleased with her progress.

“A bus to Bnei Brak?” she asked in her halting Hebrew at the Central Bus Station in Tel Aviv. The balding man looked at her and then pointed in a general direction.

“Where? Where?” Diana asked in Hebrew, very proud of herself. “Ani lo mevin!” In three and a half weeks, she’d done a great job of learning the language!

Apparently sick of speaking to someone who didn’t understand him, the man simply walked away. Diana sighed. The Hebrew she had practiced so earnestly was now working against her. People thought they could answer her in Hebrew at a speed of two hundred words per ten seconds.

“Where is the bus to Bnei Brak?” she asked a woman wearing a green suit, in English. Only then did she finally find out where she had to go.

She reached the right floor and the platform of the 54 bus line, which was just about to depart, almost empty of passengers. She proffered a silver coin with a gold center to the driver, received a few smaller coins in return, and slipped them into her purse. She knew how to examine change here. Golda had taught her to recognize the different coins; right now, however, it didn’t interest her. She just wanted to look out the window and take in as much as she could.

The streets were not especially congested, perhaps because it was still only the morning. People walked briskly; there was some talking, a bit of laughing, and the air was heavy with the exhaust of passing cars. Every so often, she saw people walking their pets, which added their barking to the cacophony. Stores selling clothing, electronics, and food, as well as restaurants, passed by in a blur.

The people are like the ones on the kibbutz, she thought, feeling a keen sense of disappointment. It reminds me of Belgium, the stores, the food, the clothes. So what’s the difference?

But she remained patient, not allowing the depressing thoughts to dominate her mind. Bnei Brak will surely be different, she encouraged herself. You can see on Anne, for example, that she’s different. The scenery slowly changed to a wide boulevard with tall buildings and numerous advertising billboards.

“What street is this?” she asked the driver, hoping he knew some English.

“This? Jabotinsky!” he announced as he turned the wheel with broad strokes.

“Bnei Brak?” she queried.

“In another minute we’ll be in Bnei Brak. Please sit down, ma’am,” he replied.

She didn’t sit, showing him instead the address in Hebrew.

“I’ll tell you when to get off!” he raised his voice to be heard over the deafening honk of a cement mixer driving right beside him. “Now sit!”

She returned to the back of the bus and fixed her gaze on the window again. The bus turned onto a narrow street. It hadn’t traveled more than a few meters when she noticed that the figures had drastically changed. They were very different from the people on the kibbutz, and those in Tel Aviv as well. They looked different, they dressed differently, but it was more. She couldn’t define exactly what it was, but she was positive that there was a significant, tangible difference.

“Hey!” She shook herself out of her musings. “Lady?” She realized that she was being addressed. “This is your stop. Turn left at the intersection; that’s Yerushalayim Street.”

She got off into the Bnei Brak street, inhaling the different atmosphere. The street angled upwards ahead of her, reminding her of theJerusalemstreets she had toured during her previous visit. Perhaps that was why the street was calledYerushalayim Street?

A kind woman directed her to the right street. She found the building herself. What would she do now? Should she just go up and knock? Her mother would recoil in horror at the mere thought. But what choice did she have? To call? That would be even worse. She wouldn’t know what to say, how to express herself.

She would just go up and knock and ask Anne if she could speak to her for a few minutes, and if not then, then she’d ask when a better time might be.

But empty-handed like that? No, that she could not do.

Diana retraced her steps to the main road. She’d look for something she could bring to the Ostfelds, and then she’d come back.

One of the display windows in a store caught her eye. She entered the dim store, scanning the merchandise on the shelves. For some reason, she felt like the proprietress was looking at her hostilely.

“Excuse me? Can I help you?” the woman asked crisply.

“I’m looking for a gift,” Diana replied in English.

“A gift?” the woman repeated. “Wait a minute; you’re not from Romania?”

Diana continued perusing the shelves. “Certainly not.”

To Diana it seemed as though the woman suddenly became transformed; she was much more amenable and courteous. She asked for specifics and advised and showed Diana various items, until Diana left the store with a sculpted glass dish adorned with dried flowers.

“Why should I wrap it?” Diana objected to the saleswoman’s suggestion. “I need them to see it right at the beginning, as soon as they recognize me.”

She walked back upYerushalayim Street, gazing with satisfaction at her pretty gift. Now she just hoped that Anne liked this type of thing.

***

Chani approached the building with satisfaction. She had found Shimon Nursky’s teeth healthy and did not need to administer any treatment. Thus, she had gained almost an hour. True, her cleaning woman and Simi did so much at home, but there were still things that only she could do, and in recent months, since Yehudah Kalman’s birth, many of the myriad tasks had been neglected somewhat. The laundry, for example.

Who would have believed that clean, folded, ironed clothes would not be waiting in her cupboards for their wearers to take them out?

Today there was a new concept in her home: “the clean laundry pile.” There was one on the dresser in her room, another in the children’s room, and another one almost permanently located in the laundry room, on the dryer. And as much as she tried to fold the clothes in the piles, they somehow kept growing anew! Perhaps she could use this hour to finally put them all away?

She carefully skirted the muddy puddle near the path, still extant despite the sunny day, and walked up the path.

***

Diana walked behind her, keeping a safe distance. Only once Anne had entered the building did she dare approach the mailboxes. The only name plate with English lettering was the Ostfelds’. She listened to Anne’s footsteps in the stairwell, waiting for them to fall silent.

After hearing a door close, Diana entered the stairwell. Opposite the entrance she encountered a distorted reflection of herself in the metallic elevator doors. Why had Anne gone up the stairs instead of using the elevator?

She approached the cracked metal door and pressed the elevator call button, but nothing happened. The elevator was stuck. Oh, so that was why Anne had taken the stairs. So she would do the same. But should she go up now, right after Anne had arrived home? Shouldn’t she let her have a few minutes to relax? Who knew how much time Anne needed to put down her bag, boil up some water, make herself a cup of tea (or maybe she preferred coffee? She had heard that the Israelis drank more coffee than the Europeans), and enjoy a few minutes of peace and quiet?

Diana stood downstairs for ten minutes, observing the very still street. Upstairs, Chani managed to create three neat piles of folded laundry.

***

Diana approached the stairs. How much time would she wait for Anne to finish drinking? Who knew; perhaps later she’d be even busier!

Diana grasped her gift carefully and began to climb the stairs, one step after another. The bank of stairs suddenly seemed very short. She was already at the top, yet she had no idea what she’d say when the door would open! Should she introduce herself? Would it be necessary? Would Anne even recognize her after their one meeting, unforgettable as it was? What kind of tones would their conversation take on this time? Would there be understanding and gratitude, or residual tension and resentment? Would Anne even be able to speak to her?

Boom!!!

Diana found herself falling with a thud, accompanied by a quick, sharp tinkling sound. Something had broken, she knew. She looked around her with a dull ache. At the top of the stairs was a square-shaped landing that concluded on the right side with another step, which apparently she, Diana, had not noticed. Now, she was crumpled in a heap near the step, with dozens of glass shards surrounding her. Lying forlornly off to one side was the bunch of fake leaves; the flower petals were crushed under the broken glass.

Inside the house, Chani was just placing Yitzi’s folded Shabbos pants on the top of the pile when she heard a noise. First she thought that the last coffee cup from her Shabbos set had broken. That’s exactly what the cups sounded like when they broke. But then she remembered that she was alone at home and that the cup was nestled safely on the top shelf in the kitchen cabinet.

So what was that noise?

She rose from the bed, abandoning the laundry, and hurried to the entrance, where the noise had come from. The house was completely silent, and Chani almost decided that the noise had come from the next building, whose windows were very close to the windows of her own home.

But then she heard the rustling outside the door.