Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 2 of a new online serial novel, Without a Trace, by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every Thursday or Friday. Click here for previous chapters.

The friendship that blossomed between Yehuda and Zevi after that night was unquestionably an interesting one. It began the morning after their nocturnal encounter.

“Zevi, I think your mother’s waiting for you outside.”

“My mother?” Zevi was surprised.

“She asked me to call you. Go check.”

He went and checked, and was pleased to discover his mother standing on the sidewalk outside, leaning on the gate. “Hello. Did you eat?” she asked when he was still several feet away from her. A light, end-of-winter breeze blew around them. Small yellow bursts of color, peeping between the scraggly grass in the unkempt yard behind them, heralded the imminent arrival of spring.

“Yes.” He smiled. “I just bentched. Hello, Ima, how are you?”

But she hadn’t come to talk about herself. “You’re pale,” she said with a worried smile. “How are you, Zevi? How’s yeshivah? What was for breakfast today?”

He glanced quickly behind him; baruch Hashem no one was within earshot. “Bread, eggs, cheese, and plenty of vegetables.”

“You and your vegetables!” his mother said. “I hope you’re eating something else also. Did you take an egg?”

“They were too gray.”

“Zevi, you’re not in kindergarten anymore! What about some dairy? Did you eat cheese?”

“I made some chocolate milk.”

“Wonderful.” Shoshi sighed with irritation. “What a balanced meal for a growing boy. A slice of bread, two or three pieces of pepper, a slice of cucumber, and a quarter cup chocolate milk. Don’t you think you over-ate a bit?”

He laughed shortly, for lack of any other response.

“Listen, Zevi’le,” his mother said soothingly, “you have to take this eating thing into hand. I didn’t send you to Bnei Brak to lose weight. You’re skinny enough as it is!”

“I’ll try to eat more, Ima,” the seventeen-year-old replied.

“An egg every day!”

He nodded.

“I don’t care what color it is or how impossible it is to peel!”

He nodded again.

“And cheese and leben. Do you know how important calcium is for your bones?”

He blinked. “I know, Ima.”

He met Yehuda on the way into the beis medrash, five minutes late. Yehuda was speaking to one of the older bochurim. On a normal day, Zevi would have flashed a quick smile and continued on inside, but now, he felt an urge to thank Yehuda, although he did not know exactly how.

But Yehuda did. “Hey, Bloch!” he said, grabbing him by the arm. “Was I right?”

“Yes, that was my mother.” Zevi’s smile widened. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure!” Yehuda said, giving his roommate a friendly slap on the back. Then he turned  back to his conversation. “What do you say, that eidus is not on the act, only on the actual obligation of malkos?”

At lunch, as Zevi sat staring with revulsion at the chunks of turkey on his plate, wondering if they had been cooked for longer than twenty minutes, Yehuda passed by him again. “Hearty appetite!” he exclaimed. “Looks like you could use some.”

“You’re right, I don’t have much of an appetite,” Zevi admitted with a weak laugh as he picked up his fork.

Yehuda continued for another step or two and then stopped suddenly, backtracked, and took a plate and cutlery from the middle of the table. “Does anyone usually sit here?” he asked, pointing to the chair on Zevi’s right.

“Not as far as I know,” Zevi replied, moving his plate a bit to the left. Yehuda sat down and picked up the large spoon from the serving platter. “You don’t like to eat much, do you?” he asked, scooping up a spoonful of tough turkey chunks.

“Depends what…” Zevi smiled.

“Nu, so what do you like?”

Zevi hemmed and hawed. The short list of things he preferred to eat would not put him in an admirable light. “Vegetables,” he suddenly remembered, and when he saw Yehuda put down his fork and stretch his long, skinny arm toward the plate that contained a mixture of steamed vegetables—with no identifiable color or shape—he hurried to add, “But only fresh ones.”

“Okay,” Yehuda said resignedly, letting go of the plate. “What else?”

Zevi smiled but remained silent. Should he list the chocolate milk, his mother’s omelets—but only hers—and apples cut into quarters? How embarrassing. Should he tell Yehuda about the chicken steamed in a bit of paprika and salt, without a hint of an onion? Humiliating. The smooth mashed potatoes with no lumps? The white rice with mushroom sauce? Yehuda would think he was talking to a spoiled baby who couldn’t manage without his mother’s homemade food. Well, he wouldn’t be that far off the mark.

Ima had been very worried about how he would fare here in Bnei Brak and had wanted to send him to a yeshivah closer to home, but Abba had insisted that a boy needed to untie himself from his mother’s apron strings, or who knew what would become of him.

But what could he do if the aprons worn by the yeshivah cooks seemed to prefer sticky, bland rice, potato cubes full of spicy paprika, and strong-smelling baked fish? On a day when there was fish for lunch, he didn’t even come to the dining room. He knew it was terrible for a seventeen-year-old boy to be so spoiled, but he just couldn’t! Savta and Aunt Chasi tried to supplement his menu when he visited them once a week, but even their aprons didn’t even come close to his mother’s worn, stained apron, which knew exactly how much effort went into the food she prepared for her Zevi.

***

A bright spring morning dawned in Bnei Brak; the faint scent of blooming flowers rose from the earth, still damp from the rainy days of the past week. In this yard, the scent was especially strong.

Gavriel and Shevi Auerbach climbed the stairs that began in the open yard and concluded on a small tiled landing with a single door.

“Nice place,” Gavriel said, looking around him. Shevi nodded slightly and knocked on the door, which was opened right away, as though someone had been standing and looking into the peephole, waiting for them to knock. She was happy not to have to respond to Gavriel’s remark, because her comeback would have hardly been complimentary. Nice? Gavriel liked pastoral settings; that much she had learned already. Not that she opposed a small building with just two apartments, but when it was so old that it reminded her of her grandparents’ house inHaifa, it was definitely less attractive. She glanced at the garishly fake plant standing near the door, and followed the woman who had greeted them inside.

“So this is the hall, and this is the dining room,” the elderly woman said. “And this is the kitchen and the porch. Here, down the hall are two more rooms. You can look around.”

Having delivered her little spiel, she disappeared into the kitchen. Gavriel turned down the hall and Shevi followed him. “Large rooms,” he said with admiration. “Like they used to build!” Shevi looked at the faded floor tiles. “And these big windows! There’s probably great sunlight here in the morning.”

“Sunlight?” Shevi replied quietly. “I don’t particularly love the Bnei Brak sun. I mean Bnei Brak itself is okay, but…”

“Well, I meant during the winter,” her husband clarified, pulling up the shutters. “In the summer you don’t have to open them. There’s air conditioning here, I see.” She murmured something. Gavrial closely perused a peeled patch on the wall. “This doesn’t look like dampness,” he said to himself, going out to the adjacent porch. “Look how cute this is—this niche is perfect for a washing machine! It doesn’t block the passage and it’s so close to the clothesline.”

Shevi looked sideways at a low opening in the interior wall that separated the bathroom and the porch. It was partially open, and she saw sheets and towels hanging out of it. “Is this supposed to be a laundry hamper?”

“Looks like it,” Gavriel said. “It’s not a bad idea to have it built into the wall. It saves lots of space!”

“I’m not planning to use it,” Shevi said in small voice. “It’s probably all moldy down there.”

“You can check it,” Gavriel soothed. “I’m going to ask her if she can empty it out for a few minutes so I can take a peek inside.”

“Are you serious, Gavriel?” Shevi’s eyes opened wide. “Don’t you dare ask her such a thing!”

“Why not?”

Shevi sighed. “Because I wouldn’t want to show a stranger all the laundry that I haven’t gotten around to washing yet. The lady will be so embarrassed.” She turned away from the overflowing hamper and added, “This hamper really doesn’t make much of a different to me, either way.”

Gavriel didn’t argue. “I think that someone who has their house on the market is emotionally ready to show all types of things,” he said as he walked back in toward the room. “But if you don’t want me to ask her, I won’t. I don’t think it would be a major deal to change the inside piece anyway. You just replace the panels, and that’s it.”

Shevi didn’t respond as she followed him silently into the hall, and from the hall to the large dining room, and from there into the kitchen. The owner sat placidly eating her breakfast, ignoring Shevi, who wrinkled her nose at the green painted wood cabinets, and Gavriel, who bent over to take a closer look at the scratched-up sinks.

“You can put some more chairs here,” the lady suddenly spoke up and said, spearing a tomato with her fork. “I left only one. I have no energy to lift four chairs every time I wash the floor. I haven’t had strength for lots of things for a long time already, and that’s why I want to move to be near my daughter.”

Shevi looked at the low, wide refrigerator angrily. It wasn’t to blame, the fridge, that she was about to move to Bnei Brak permanently. No one was really to blame. The idea had even seemed attractive at first, when Rebbetzin Feldman had told her that Gavriel would want to live in Bnei Brak. It was a city that made a pleasant impression, and that was the type of atmosphere they wanted to generate in their home. But as the time for implementation drew nearer, it began to seem harder and harder. There were lots of frum people in Haifa, too; why did they have to come all the way here?

“Who are the downstairs neighbors?” Gavriel asked, checking the wall behind the refrigerator.

“Dresnick,” the woman replied, pushing her empty plate to the other end of the table. “Younger than me. The store behind, which faces Wolfson, is theirs. A real health food store, you know…”

“They manage it?” Shevi asked.

“Minda, the wife, doesn’t. But Mr. Dresnick does, together with his daughter, Chasida, who lives with them. A darling girl, really. It’s a shame she hasn’t married yet. Where are you from?”

“Haifa.”

“So what do you say about my house?”

“It’s very nice,” Gavriel said. “How soon do you need an answer?”

“Take as much time as you want,” the woman said, taking a bentcher from a caddy hanging on a nail on the wall. “But I’m not promising not to sell it to someone else in the meantime.” And without another word, she donned her glasses that had been resting next to the plastic saltshaker, and began to bentch.

“I guess that means we’re supposed to leave now,” Shevi said, trying not to sound cynical. “Or do you have something else to ask her?”

“I need to ask her about the final price,” Gavriel said, walking toward the doorway. Shevi examined the peeling doorposts. “Such a large apartment in such a great location won’t be cheap. The question is how much we can haggle on the price.”

“I still don’t understand the point of buying an apartment that looks like a hovel.” Shevi tried valiantly to keep her voice low and her tears in check. “And then to invest money in renovations? For this price, we could have bought a nice, new, three-room apartment, or a huge penthouse in Elad or in Kiryat Sefer, or…”

“I thought that Kiryat Sefer is very far fromHaifa,” her husband remarked casually.

“Yes, but if I have to live so far from my parents, then at least…” She stopped. She knew there was no point in pushing the issue, because it had all been agreed upon beforehand. Gavriel was an only child, period. And his parents lived in Bnei Brak and wanted to have their darling son living near them. And they were willing to pay a lot of money to have that happen. And that was the upshot of it all, which Shevi didn’t like to dwell on. But dwell on it or not, she knew she had no choice. She would have to get used to living in this city, which she had nothing against, but in which she knew not a soul.

Except for Gavriel’s parents, of course.

It was actually Shevi’s father who was enthusiastic at the prospect and who had urged his daughter and son-in-law to buy the house. “It’s worth a lot more than they’re asking!” he asserted. “Half a lot for such a price?”

“Not half. Almost two thirds belongs to the neighbor on the first floor,” Gavriel clarified.

“But I don’t need the lot, Abba,” Shevi said, rocking Miri’s carriage. “I’m looking for an apartment. Why do we have to buy such a pathetic place and pay so much money?”

“You might know more about Judaism than I do, but you know nothing about real estate!” her father chided with a smile, but his eyes remained serious. “Pathetic? You don’t know what you’re talking about. I would buy this even just as an investment. At one point, someone will want to build a building there, like in all of Bnei Brak. I don’t know the city that well, but I know that they’re always building over there. Do you know how much money you’ll get then? You’ll be able to buy two new five-room apartments, Shevi. Gavriel, I’m telling you, grab the opportunity!”

“I’m all for it,” Gavriel said carefully. “But Shevi doesn’t want to.”

“Shevi? Nonsense, what does she know?” her father scoffed and banged on the table. “Wants, doesn’t want. She just wants to stay here inHaifa, near us. You know nothing about such properties, right, Elisheva?”

His daughter nodded, trying to imagine what her reaction would have been had her father-in-law spoken to her in such a fashion. No, she couldn’t picture it, because Gavriel’s father wasn’t as energetic and intense as her father. It was easier for her to imagine her mother-in-law speaking this way, and Shevi preferred not to think about what her reaction would be to that. Well, her father had the right to speak to his daughter like that. Her shvigger did not.

“There you go,” Abba said to Gavriel. “She also admits it. Buy it, we’ll help you renovate it for a good price, and Shevi will have a beautiful apartment. When the time comes, you’ll make a huge profit on it!”

“But I don’t know anyone there,” Shevi murmured, feeling like a little kid repeating the same arguments over and over without waiting to hear the answers. To her relief, no one heard her. But she knew herself well enough to know that until she’d find at least one good friend in Bnei Brak, she wouldn’t be able to like the place. Was she being babyish? Perhaps. But that was the way she felt. What could she do?

***

Chasida, Shoshi’s twin, pressed the button, and the washing machine began to hum. She picked up the basket and walked out of the laundry room.

“How does it smell, Chasida’le?” her mother asked as she stood in the kitchen stirring a large pot.

“Delicious. Is Zevi supposed to come today?”

“Maybe, but this isn’t for him. I don’t think he likes vegetable soup.” Her mother replaced the lid, and rinsed the long spoon under a stream of water. “I want to send it to Miriam before she leaves. Something warm to send her off with, you know. We’ve been neighbors for so many years.”

“Do you want me to take it up to her?”

“Soon, before you go out to the store. First, sit down and let me give you a bowl.”

“Oh, it’s for me, too?” Chasida laughed.

“Well, of course; what did you think? Miriam doesn’t need the whole pot. It’s just so she should have something hot before her trip. Her daughter’s probably preparing delicious food for her at home.”

Chasida ate her bowl of soup quickly, cringing slightly at the sharp parsley flavor. She couldn’t stand parsley since she was a child, but in their house, there was no being finicky about such things. “It’s good, healthy food,” Ima would say at the slightest wrinkle of a nose at a plate. “You don’t make faces at food. Just eat whatever Ima gives you nicely and say thank you to Hashem for sending us so much.”

What was interesting about it all was that Shoshi was the least picky of them all; she was the quintessential good girl who ate whatever her mother served. Chasida tried to remember if there was any food that Shoshi absolutely didn’t like, but couldn’t come up with anything. Eggplant, maybe. But Ima, who had brought her culinary prowess over from Hungary, hardly used eggplant anyway.

So it was interesting that Zevi, who had inherited many of his mother’s traits and qualities, was such a finicky eater. And Shoshi danced around his preferences, nurturing this trait of his. Her other children weren’t as fussy. But then again, this was Zevi. They couldn’t forget that.

Ima poured some of the soup into a small saucepan and Chasida went up to their neighbor. Miriam’s daughter opened the door and led her into the dining room. “Ima,” she said, “Chasida’s come to say goodbye.”

“That’s very nice of her,” Miriam said, her back to the door. She sat beside a table; a young couple whom Chasida had never seen before sat on one side. On the other side was a man who was more familiar—and Chasida was hardly pleased to see him. “Come, Chasida, meet your new neighbors. I just hope that very soon, they won’t be your neighbors anymore, only your parents’.”

Chasida glanced at the young woman, whose face was expressionless. “Nice to meet you,” she said with a smile. She couldn’t shake hands because of the pot in her hand. The young woman smiled in response, but didn’t say a word.

“Can you imagine?” Miriam asked. “They couldn’t find a better day to come and sign the contract than the day I’m moving! They were probably afraid that someone else would snap this wonderful apartment up before them. Nu, Frankel, are we finishing?”

Attorney Frankel took off his glasses and let them dangle from the chain around his neck. “Just two more signatures on this page, and you’re done. I have to sit with the Auerbachs for a few more minutes, but I’m sure that won’t disturb your preparations.” He laughed, and Chasida turned around. She had never been able to stand his laugh, even when he was a little boy, and that was one of the least bothersome things about him.

“Just a minute. Dresnick, isn’t it?” He turned to her, and Chasida felt so foolish standing there with the pot, and wondered how long Miriam’s daughter thought she was supposed to stand there holding it. She nodded at the lawyer.

“Is Mr. Dresnick at home now?” he asked.

“No,” Chasida responded tersely, happy that her father really wasn’t at home. What would she have done if he was?

“Tell him that I would have liked to speak to him.”

“I hope that it’s not about that same old matter,” she said politely, yet firmly. “The subject has been closed, Mr. Frankel, and there’s no point in trying to re-open it.” She wondered how she sounded to the new neighbors, and imagined that the impression she made was not a very friendly one. Well, this young lady, who looked like she was barely out of seminary, hadn’t been all that warm and pleasant herself. It appeared as though they were both very distracted with their own issues, which was a shame. Being close to neighbors was important. She’d have to rectify this in the near future.

The attorney went back to the contract and his clients, and Miriam finished her part of the paperwork.

“What a woman your mother is,” she marveled to Chasida. “Did you smell that soup Minda sent us, Yehudis?”

But Yehudis, her daughter, hadn’t followed them into the kitchen. She had remained in the dining room to make sure everything was in order with the contract.

Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 1 of a new online serial novel, Without a Trace, by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every Thursday or Friday. 

Zevi flipped the pillow over to the other side, hoping that perhaps this simple act would achieve something, although he knew the chances were slim. One would think that this side of the pillow had something that would help him finally fall asleep. He was nearing despair. Was it possible to not fall asleep the whole night?

The silence that enveloped the room irritated him. His three roommates were the type who got into bed, said Krias Shema, turned over, and after a moment or two were sound asleep. He usually dropped off easily as well, but lately, he had been having trouble. Strange. He had long gotten over the adjustment of his new yeshivah.

Or perhaps not. He sat up with a sigh, and swung his legs over the side of the bed so his feet touched the floor. Yehuda Levy turned over in his bed on the other side of the room, while the seventeen-year-old youth quickly stuck his feet into the shoes waiting beside the bed and laced them quietly. Yehuda continued tossing and turning, and then suddenly he raised his head and queried, “Oww oh ah?”

Zevi raised a surprised pair of eyes. “Aah!” he cried. He had been sure, for some reason, that he was the only one in the room awake. Apparently there were others who sometimes had trouble falling asleep, too, but they did it in a quieter fashion than he did. “Ah uh huh!” he replied.

Regardless of whether he understood or not, Yehuda burst into typical “Yehuda” laughter. Zevi couldn’t help but join him. There was something contagious about Yehuda’s laughter, and there was undoubtedly something very humorous about this situation. Two yeshivah bachurim sitting on their beds at half past two or three in the morning, conversing in such an odd way—a stranger entering the room would no doubt be convinced that he had happened upon an institution for deaf-mutes. Of course, that would only be if he didn’t realize that both boys had already recited Hamapil.

Yehuda fell suddenly silent and pointed to the half-open door. “Mmmm?” he asked, and Zevi provided a nod in response, watching as Yehuda shoved his feet into his slippers. The two boys rose, stretched, and together made their way toward the door.

Zevi turned to follow the other bachur, who was at least three years his senior, and they silently walked down the stairs. Only Yehuda’s slippers slapped the steps slightly. Zevi’s black shoes were completely silent on the floor. Yehuda stopped beside the large windows between the first floor and the ground floor, and sat down on the stairs; Zevi followed suit.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, breathing the chilled night air that blew through the windows above them. Zevi mulled over the strange situation he found himself in. He didn’t have too much to talk to Yehuda about on a daily basis, which was really a shame. But he had liked him from the moment he had met him. There weren’t many bachurim—perhaps none at all—who didn’t like the tall, slim, cheerful boy, whose black eyes always expressed a sincere interest in all those around him.

Yehuda leaned his head back on the wall beside him, silently looking at his younger friend. He smiled suddenly, rose from his place, and left Zevi to gaze after him in surprise as he ascended the stairs until his slippers totally disappeared from view and he reached the second floor. What was that all about? Where had Yehuda suddenly disappeared to?

Zevi stood up and peeked out the tall, narrow window. The sky was dark; even the moon was not visible, leaving the yeshivah courtyard in utter darkness. Everything around him was dark and quiet, enveloped in a wispy, dreamlike haze.

But the figure approaching the gate at that moment did not seem dreamlike at all. He stopped at the entrance, and after standing for a moment, took a step further inside, then stopped again, scanning—or so it seemed—the building that rose up before him.

With sudden instinct born of the many mystery stories he had read in his childhood, Zevi backed away from the window. True, the man outside did not look like a terrorist, and he was even wearing a white shirt and black pants. Yet Zevi had no interest in meeting the eyes of any person who chose to visit the yeshivah in the middle of the night to scan the building. With a sharp movement, he sat down on the step again and listened to the footsteps tapping above him. Who was that now? Was Yehuda coming back, or was it someone else?

But it was just Yehuda. He bent down on the step near his friend, smoothed an empty chocolate-bar wrapper on the floor, and started drawing lines on it. Zevi silently followed his every move. What was Yehuda getting at?

“You seem to be a smart boy,” Yehuda wrote on the edge of the slightly greasy paper. “But my rusty brain cannot deal with more than tic-tac-toe right now. Interested?”

Zevi smiled and deliberated whether to tell Yehuda about the man outside. He straightened up, and glanced—trying to appear natural—out the window. He caught sight of the black pants growing smaller in the distance as the man walked down the street. Only then did Zevi sit down again. He took the pen and drew an “x” in the left corner of the board Yehuda had drawn.

The sound of a motor starting up broke through the nocturnal stillness that enveloped them, and Yehuda raised his eyebrows. “Uh?” he asked.

“Oh,” Zevi replied, without meaning anything. There were all types in the world, and the person in the yard was apparently one of them. No need to give him another thought.

Yehuda picked up the pen that had rolled down to the next step and drew a slanted circle in the center square. Zevi took back the pen silently and drew another slack “x” on the right corner. It was actually pleasant to sit here now, even if the only form of entertainment was rather silly. At his turn, Yehuda drew a circle between Zevi’s two x’s. Zevi gripped the pen between his fingers, perusing the chocolate wrapper to decide whether there was any possibility of a winner in this game. They were both familiar with all the possible tricks since their childhoods.

And then a sharp thought sliced its way through Zevi’s tired mind, and he knew exactly why he was unable to fall asleep. How forgetful of him! How could he have forgotten what he had made up with his mother? She was probably going out of her mind with worry! He took a deep breath. “I made up to meet my mother tonight at my grandparents’ house,” he wrote, instead of making another x. “And I forgot about it!”

Yehuda was practical. “Where is she now?” he scrawled a reply on the other edge of the wrapper. “Still in Bnei Brak?”

“I think so. She came in from Yerucham for a wedding,” Zevi wrote. His letters grew smaller as the little writing space they had became filled up. “But she’s probably sleeping already.”

***

The twins climbed the few stairs that separated the brown door from the back yard. “Sh…” Shoshi said as Chasi took out the key. “Abba and Ima are sleeping already, aren’t they?”

“Probably,” Chasi whispered back and opened the door slowly. The familiar scent assailed Shoshi’s nose, and waves of memories flooded her mind. “There’s a different smell here at night, isn’t there?” she asked her sister as she kicked off her dressy shoes, letting her feet relax after the long walk.

“Could be,” Chasi said, switching on a small light in the kitchen. “I don’t always feel such things. Do you want to drink something?”

“After all I ate at that wedding?” Shoshi groaned. “No thanks. Actually, you know what? A black coffee wouldn’t hurt right now.”

“You might not be able to fall asleep.”

“I’m not planning to sleep for the next few hours,” Shoshi said, chuckling quietly. “Should I waste a night I get to spend with you, sleeping?”

“I’m not such a fascinating character,” her sister replied, and motioned theatrically toward the kitchen door. “Go make yourself comfortable while I boil the water. A robe, snood, the works. Feel at home.”

“I do.” Shoshi stood near the door, her palm on the cool round knob.

“So why aren’t you going?”

“I’m gone.”

She went into the narrow hallway, glancing at the mirror hanging on the wall. She saw an exhausted face in the reflection. Someone who had risen early in the morning, done some urgent shopping, run home to heat lunch for the children, and instead of taking her regular afternoon nap, had hastily gotten ready to leave for Bnei Brak. She couldn’t miss the bus, especially since she knew that Suri wouldn’t forgive her if she missed her daughter’s chuppah.

Shoshi walked into the bedroom which, years ago, had seemed so large to her. Now it looked like a very reasonable size, if not a bit small. She sat down on the bed, gazing at the black and white pictures hanging on the wall. In one, she and Chasi were three years old, sitting on a small kindergarten bench. Another photo was taken on the first day of school. Two freckled girls with red leather briefcases on their backs smiled back from the dark wooden frame. She could only remember the red of the briefcase, because the ones in the yellowing photo looked more like black. The girls were holding hands and smiling directly at her with such broad, unnatural smiles that Shoshi tried to recall if the photographer had cracked a good joke. She could not imagine how else he had gotten them to smile so broadly.

The wooden desk in the corner of the room had remained unchanged, except for the fact that it used to be covered with papers, crayons, notebooks, and ballpoint pens. Today, it was largely empty, save for a small lace doily and a flowerpot; Ima would devotedly replace the fresh flower every week.

“Shoshi, where are you?” Chasida stood in the doorway, illuminated by the hallway light, looking at her sister with an expression of admonishment. “It’s been five minutes already, and you haven’t even started changing?”

Shoshi forced a laugh. “And what about you?” she asked, rising from the bed and looking at her sister. “You’re not planning to change?”

Chasi smiled at her; it was a clear, candid smile with no hidden intentions. “I have nothing to change into. I could never stand robes, in case you recall, and I’ve passed the age of spilling coffee on my clothes. And now, no more dreaming please. I’m waiting for you in the kitchen; you have two minutes.”

“Yes, maam.” Shoshi laughed again and walked into the hallway with her overnight bag. When she opened the zipper and saw the small package she had stuffed in there during the afternoon, she realized that it had been a waste of time to schlep it along. She couldn’t bring herself to give it to Chasi tonight. No way.

The snood was far more comfortable than the itchy sheitel, and Shoshi went back out to the kitchen, tiptoeing gently past her parents’ darkened room.

***

So, what did you get out of this little jaunt? he jeered at himself. Why did you just go into the street of the yeshivah? What did you expect to find there? Zevi Bloch is surely deep in his sleep. What were you thinking?

But he quelled those thoughts firmly. He had never tolerated criticism. So he hadn’t thought. So what?

He noted that there wasn’t a public phone in the courtyard, at least as far as he could see. He would have wanted to try to call, to see if he could get some information by phone. He had to find out how and where he could call to if he wanted to speak to one of the bachurim.

The roads were empty, and the trip home to Tel Aviv was far quicker than the way there had been. Interesting, he hadn’t thought about Zevi for almost fourteen years. Suddenly, Koby had shown up and wanted to try and move things again. It could be pretty good if it would succeed, but first Koby had asked him to find out what was going on there, with the uncles. He hadn’t answered that he had no idea; he had just promised to nose around a bit. And the way he knew the people involved, he first had to make sure that everything was fine with Zevi.

Because if not—and he would make this clear to Koby—there was no point in trying.

But it seemed that everything was fine. Why think otherwise? So many years had passed since that evening.

***

“What is this, Chasi???”

“Cake,” Chasida explained calmly.

“What?”

“Cake. C-a-k-e. Have you never seen such a thing in your life, Madame Shoshana?”

“I think I might have,” Shoshi said, settling into the wooden chair and looking at her sister’s hands as they sliced the round, cream-covered cake. “Who baked it?”

“Not me; don’t even suspect me of it,” Chasi said, spreading out blue napkins on the table. “I asked Ima to bake. I just beat up the whip when I got back from the store.”

“But…why?” Shoshi’s eyes followed the two mugs of coffee that her sister brought to the table. White, faded, and steaming.

“Did you want dairy cream? I’m sorry. Did you forget we’d be fleishigs?”

“No, I didn’t.”

Chasi sat down on the other side of the table. “Unless you’re asking what the occasion for the cake is.”

“I’m not asking. I also know the date tonight.”

“So that’s it. Even if you’ve decided to ignore the fact that tonight is our 39^th birthday, and the amazing timing that you just happen to be here tonight for Suri’s daughter’s wedding, that doesn’t mean that I have to ignore it, too.”

“Absolutely not.” Shoshi leaned back in her chair and looked at the set table. “No, I really don’t think that we should let this date pass without paying it the attention it deserves.”

“So if we agree, that’s wonderful! Let’s enjoy ourselves.” Chasi smiled cheerfully again and drew her chair closer to the table. “But on one condition: we can talk about everything, except for the things that I don’t like to talk about. Deal?”

“Got it,” Shoshi said, preferring to focus her gaze on the table instead of meeting her sister’s eyes. She still didn’t know if she’d be able to bring herself to give the gift she had brought. A birthday present for Chasi.

“I just hope Zevi didn’t come here this evening for nothing,” Shoshi said, spearing an errant olive with her fork. When had Chasi had the time to prepare this fancy salad? It was such a shame; Chasi was so talented. “I didn’t make up with him anything concrete, but I also didn’t think that we’d come home so late from the wedding.”

“We’ll ask Ima in the morning.” Chasi picked up a napkin that had fallen to the floor. “In any case, he probably needs laundry by now. So even if he did come, it won’t have been totally for nothing.”

“Yes, but I really wanted to see him.” Shoshi smiled, small wrinkles creasing her forehead. “I like to see firsthand that everything is fine and that he’s happy.”

“He’s happy.”

“I believe you, especially because you see him more than I do these days,” Shoshi’s smile rolled into a laugh. But there was a sigh concealed beneath it all. “Still, I miss him.”

“That’s the heart of a mother,” Chasi said in a knowing tone, waving her napkin at an impudent fly that kept trying to land on the edge of the salad bowl. “That’s what the mavens say. Personally, I have no experience. But I believe them.”

“Chasi!”

“What?”

“Don’t you think…it’s enough?”

Chasi glanced at her sister. “Enough of what?” she asked, although they both know the question was superfluous.

“I don’t like your bravado,” Shoshi said, swallowing. “You can stop putting on the show once in a while.”

Chasi leaned her forehead on her palm. When she spoke, her voice was the same as before, but Shoshi suspected that the few seconds she had taken to pause were exactly for that purpose. To stabilize her voice.

“First of all, stop being so confident that you’re always right. It’s not true. Second, who said that you always have to do what you like? And third, you forgot what I asked you a few minutes ago, I guess. Change the subject, please. Thanks.”

Shoshi wanted to say that it had been Chasi who had raised the subject, but decided to ignore that fact.

“Maybe I’ll pop in to see Zevi tomorrow morning,” she said, staying focused, as though there hadn’t been a few sentences uttered in the interim between the two references to her son. “I won’t have much time, but I really want to try.”

Silence hung in the kitchen.

“What’s doing in the store?” Shoshi asked after a few seconds. The silence didn’t really bother her, but she didn’t like it.

“Baruch Hashem, as usual.”

“And Abba’s foot?”

“Baruch Hashem. The new cream is helping—at least that’s what he says. I don’t know whether to believe him, or if he’s just saying it to make me feel good.”

“I think you can believe him. He told me the same thing yesterday on the phone.”

“Sure he did—I was standing right next to him.”

Silence. It was broken only by the clatter of their forks.

Chasi began the next topic. “How are the kids at home?”

“Baruch Hashem, excellent. Everything’s wonderful.”

“I bought them something.”

“You did? What?”

“A present. I thought a lot over the last two weeks about what I should buy you for your birthday, and in the end, I passed a toy store and decided to buy something for them instead. You won’t be jealous, will you?”

Without a Trace

Zevi Bloch is hiding something. Something that no one outside of his family may ever find out…

Unbeknownst to Zevi, he has a secret stalker, as well. Eliyahu Katz is determined to find out information about the seventeen-year-old yeshivah bachur, even if he must resort to pretty atypical means of doing so…

And then there’s Zevi’s aunt Chasida, his mother’s twin sister—still single after all these years, still working in her parents’ store, still attempting to quash her feelings of loneliness and pain…

From Haifa to Bnei Brak, from the yeshivah dormitory to a health food store to an alternative medicine practitioner’s office…Without a Trace will lead you into many different scenes and sites as it enthralls you with its spellbinding plot… Be swept up with the emotions of eerily realistic characters on a journey that will leave behind…not a trace…

Check back at the end of this week for Chapter 1 of this exciting new Israel Bookshop online serial.

Not my Kind? I Don’t Mind! is a children’s book about ahavas Yisrael. But lest you think that this is “just another one of those kids’ books,” let us assure you that this is as different and unique as it is, like we said before, absolutely adorable. It tells the story of the Fine twins, who have just moved and are looking for some new friends—but only friends who look and dress just like them. Then the twins find themselves needing some help, and the ones lending a hand are kids who are “not their kind”…

Instead of having regular illustrations, Not My Kind? I Don’t Mind! is illustrated with adorable clay figures. These cute little “mentchies” add so much to the story, taking the book to a whole new level. Your child will be captivated by the little figurines of Nesanel, Nechama, and all the other characters in the story.

For that matter, so will you be captivated by them! Go ahead—open a copy, flip through some pages…ahh, now do you see what we mean??

So buy your kids the book…and watch the smiles break out…

Click here to purchase online.

Intriguing, not-your-run-of-the-mill kind of plot? Check.

Realistic characters? Check.

Fast-paced, entertaining reading? Check.

Satisfying ending? Check.

Yup, folks. Some books do have it all, and, as you can see for yourself, our newest novel, Divided Attention, certainly does. This is one book that we guarantee will appeal to any and all readers.

You’ll read the gripping story of a young boy’s struggle to carve for himself a new life, while being thwarted time and again by a past that refuses to leave him… Yes, you may need some tissues for this book—it is quite emotionally charged—but we know you will absolutely love the depth of the plot, as well as of each character in the book.

If you’re looking to treat yourself, or someone else deserving of a nice gift, this Pesach, then Divided Attention is the book you are looking for.

Click here to purchase online.

Of course you need the right kind of books in order to make the most of this special mommy-and-me time. A book that’s too long and wordy, or one with ho-hum pictures, is just not going to cut it. Which is why Mommy, Tell Me More—books 1 and 2—have become such popular books among so many mommies and children.

Each book contains text especially geared to a specific age; Mommy, Tell Me More volume 1 is directed to really young children (ages 1-2), while Mommy, Tell Me More volume 2 is for “older” children (2 and up). Everything about the books is both mommy- and kid-friendly:  the educational text and stories, the enhanced language, the creative thinking the books engender, not to mention the stunning artwork by renowned illustrator Tirtza Peleg!

Enjoy these special moments with your children. They grow up so fast as it is! Buy yourself a copy of both Mommy, Tell Me Morebooks, and let the good times begin… 

Click here to purchase online.

You’ve been driving for hours down the 80, and you feel your eyelids start to droop. You need some heavy-duty caffeine, so you stop at a rest stop to buy some coffee…but there are no disposable cups there. Okaaaay, you tell yourself. Now what?

You’re driving merrily down the street, singing along to your favorite CD, when…you see them: those dreaded flashing lights in your rearview mirror. Uh-oh, you think. What did I do this time? And, even more important, what do I do now?

If you live in modern-day times and have a driver’s license, chances are that you are familiar with these types of “driving dilemmas.” And now, we are presenting you with a practical way to find solutions for all of these scenarios.

Code for the Road, by noted author Rabbi Avrohom Bookman, is a handy and helpful manual that will provide you with the knowledge and know-how of halachically correct driving practice. Small enough to fit in your glove compartment yet comprehensive enough to include a whole lot of practical information, Code for the Road is an indispensable guide when it comes to the Torah’s perspective on basic driving and parking rules, the halachosof yichud in a car, brachos, and tefillas haderech, solutions to many driving dilemmas, and much more.

So whether you’re en route on a quick drive to the grocery store, or a long road trip, be sure to pick up a copy of Code of the Road before starting out.

And have a safe trip, too! 

Click here to purchase online!

Click here to purchase online.

Click here to purchase online.

Growing up, life was about Chinese jump-rope, Bazooka gum…and When Zaidy was Young. As kids, we found nothing more captivating than listening to Heshy, Manny, Uncle Isadore, Mrs. Pitkin, and all the rest of Shmuel Kunda’s colorful cast of characters come to life on our family tape recorder (for the un-initiated, yes, we’re talking about the Pre-CD-Player Age). When I think about it now, though, I realize that as much as we loved the hilarity of those When Zaidy was Young tapes, a lot of their pull came from their endearing depictions of the Lower East Side of years ago. There was something so compelling, so…curious about the way life was back then, with haggling pushcart peddlers and crowded, dreary tenement buildings, in the city of New York that was so similar—yet so different—from what it is nowadays.
I felt the same pull when reading This is America. Set against the backdrop of the early nineteen hundreds, this magnificently written, well-researched historical novel literally makes you feel as if you were transported back to that time period, where you could peek into the lives of Tcharna Gordon and her family as they valiantly try to “make it” in the New World they’ve been thrust into. You can just picture the overwhelmingly noisy and busy streets of New York, over-run with carriages and even some automobiles…the overcrowded sweatshops where so many girl work, and where Papa is insisting that Tcharna find a job…the dizzying atmosphere in the Coney Island amusement park…
Of course life for the Gordons is not exactly one, big, nostalgic bed of roses—far from it. This is America pulses with the very real—and very painful—feelings of a family ripped apart by differences that run too deeply to be pushed under the rug. Reading the book, we become aware of our own array of emotions that rise to the fore as the plot twists and develops—empathy for Mamme’s hurt, frustration for Tcharna’s angst, amusement for Bina-Gittel’s antics…
This is America is not your typical book. It is a book that enlightens as it entertains; broadens your horizons as it provides enjoyment. Read it and see for yourself—you will not be disappointed!

Click here to purchase online.