Does this scenario sound familiar? In today’s fast-paced world, with everyone trying to juggle a million different things while running on the treadmill of everyday life, it’s very understandable to find yourself short on time just when you need to come up with an appropriate vort for your Shabbos table.

That’s why Power Points, in the few short months since it’s been released, has become such a wonderful asset to so many people. Finally, here is a sefer in which you can find a host of vertlach on each parshah and for each Yom Tov…within minutes! To the point and with a point, the short stories and insights in Power Points will most certainly enhance your Shabbos and Yom Tov table, with only minimal time and effort on your part. And to make it even more convenient for you, the vertlach are divided according to the three Shabbos meals, so no matter at which point of Shabbos you open the book, you are sure to find something that fits the bill for exactly what you need.

Why not see for yourself? You will be amazed at the beauty Power Points can lend to your Shabbos and Yom Tov table.

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Enjoy these excerpts l’kavod Parshas Yisro: 

שם האחד גרשם כי אמר גר הייתי בארץ נכריה…

“One’s name was Gershom, for he said, ‘I was a sojourner [ger] in a strange land …’” (Shemos 18:3)

A student of Rav Eliyahu Dessler took leave of his teacher before departing from the yeshivah, and he asked the Rav for a blessing.

“I wish you a safe and comfortable journey,” Rav Dessler said.

The student was disappointed and asked, “Is the Rav only concerned about my trip and not my life?”

Rav Dessler replied, “All life is but a journey to the Next World. My blessing is that you should enjoy conditions throughout your journey that will allow you to arrive safely at your destination.”

One who realizes that life is but a journey is not bothered by minor inconveniences or difficulties, for he understands it is but a passing stage.

אנכי ה’ אלהיך…

“I am the L-rd your Hashem …” (Shemos 20:2)

The rabbis understand this mitzvah to mean that we must believe that Hashem takes care of all of our needs. Hashem decrees how much money a person is supposed to earn, and all the effort in the world will not bring a person a penny more than he is supposed to make.

The Chofetz Chaim was told about a man who worked on Shabbos, because he felt that he could not earn enough otherwise. The sage compared the situation to a villager who had a barrel of wine with a spigot. The villager wasn’t satisfied with the amount of wine pouring from the barrel so he decided to install another spigot to get twice as much wine. He didn’t understand that all he was doing was letting the wine out of the barrel twice as fast, but he could not get a drop more than what was there.

Working on Shabbos may bring a person income more quickly, but it will not bring in a penny more than was originally intended.

כבד את־אביך ואת־אמך…

“Honor your father and mother …” (Shemos 20:12)

A woman, who was an only daughter, took it upon herself to care for her elderly, ailing father. When her father saw how taxing it was for her, he insisted that she return home to care for her own family. The woman complied, and shortly thereafter her father passed away.

The woman cried to Rav Aryeh Levin that she had abandoned her father. She blamed herself for his death.

Rav Aryeh tried to console her. “We believe that every person’s years are granted from heaven. Even if you had stayed with your father, he would have died. As a matter of fact, had you stayed, you might have felt doubly guilty – first of all, for not obeying your father’s wishes that you return home. Secondly, you would have believed that the anguish your father felt from your not doing as he asked, might have hastened his death!”

“Wow! Mazel tov! To who?”

“To my neighbor’s son’s classmate. And you’ll never guess how the shidduch happened…”

“Shidduch stories” have an intrigue all to themselves. While some are lucky enough to find their bashert in a relatively easy way (“The shadchan just happens to know my mother and his father, and one day he just happened to think of the two of us!”), others have long sagas of how their miracle happened. Whatever the case, the common factor among any and all shidduchim is the Hand of Hashem so clearly apparent throughout. And that is why the “shidduch stories” in Riding the Waves are such an inspiration for those still “in the parshah.” They convey the unshakeable truth that being “in the parshah,” looking for one’s bashert, is no different than any other nisayon, and that emunah and bitachon in our loving Father are the keys with which doors can open for everyone—including the door to the wedding hall…

But besides for providing chizuk (and no small amount of entertainment!), Riding the Waves is also an incredibly practical guide for singles and their families. It explores important topics such as initiating better communication while dating, medical issues in shidduchim, how to cope as a newlywed with single friends left behind, and much more. It also includes selected essays of inspiration from renowned speakers/authors such as Rav Mendel Weinbach, Rabbi Yissocher Frand, Rabbi Paysach Krohn, Rabbi Dovid Kaplan, Rebbetzin Sarah Meisels, Lori Palatnik, Chana Levitan, and others.

So if you are an eligible young lady or man, in addition to looking your best and using only your best manners (no ordering spaghetti while on a date!), pick up a copy of Riding the Waves and let the inspiration wash over you… And may we hear good news from you soon, too!

Click here to purchase online.

Enjoy one of the many inspiring stories in this book:

The Sister Project

Shoshi*, our main protagonist in this story, did not actually need this yeshuah herself. She comes from a family of twelve siblings, and is number eleven down the line and all of her older siblings are happily married, thank G-d. Shoshi is just an exceptional young lady and understood her friends’ pain…plus the power of doing a project as a group.

And how do I come to know this story? That too is an act of hashgachah; Shoshi’s mother “just happens” to be a good friend of mine, and she called me excitedly to tell me the story of “her Shoshi,” and asked that I please find a way to publicize this in my book…

As Shoshi entered her senior year of high school – called “seminar” for Israeli Bais Yaakov students – she and her friends were increasingly worried. Their grade alone, which consisted of ten classes with at least forty girls in every class, was enormous, and the problem was the same in every class. Most girls came from large families, where parents hoped to marry off their children in order of birth. However, for many this was not working out so smoothly. If a daughter finished seminar at the age of eighteen and was not married off by the time she was barely twenty, it automatically caused backup in the line of girls to marry off after her. For families that had several daughters in close succession, the tension was especially fierce. A lot of the girls in Shoshi’s class were anxious; they knew that if their older sister – in many cases, more than one sister or even older brothers – would not get married by the end of their last year in high school, they were doomed to “wait” until the older sibling got married. And in many cases, this was far more than just a year or two. Justifiably concerned, Shoshi and her friends put their heads together and decided they were not going to just sit around and do nothing. The situation called for immediate action.

The girls drew up a list of all the “olders” in their class alone, and to everyone’s great dismay, it totaled to forty singles in need of shidduchim. Then they got to work. They organized every known segulah to help their older siblings. They did hafrashas challah, they said Tehillim, they said Perek Shirah and Shir HaShirim, they gave tzedakah to all sorts of known places – there was no stone they left unturned. But still, even after all their prayers and segulos, nobody on their long list got engaged. It was disheartening. The girls did not know what else to do.

As the initiator of the whole “sister project,” as it had been nicknamed by the girls, Shoshi felt responsible for their failure. What could they be doing wrong? What had they not tried? All their efforts should have brought about at least a few engagements! Why wasn’t it working?

Shoshi wracked her brain for an idea, a clue, as to what they could do. Obviously, although they had all done their bit, it was not finding enough favor in the eyes of Hashem, the Ultimate Shadchan. Something was lacking – but what it was escaped them all.

Then inspiration hit. It occurred to Shoshi that perhaps they needed to do something that was less “easy.” Something that would take genuine effort to accomplish.

Something that would be done only through mesirus nefesh…

Shoshi thought and thought. And then the idea came to her.

At school, they had one class that no one liked.  The teacher was an older woman, and her teaching techniques were, in the girls’ honorary opinion, a bit outdated. The truth was, the girls were bored and found it nearly impossible to sit through the class.  They knew it was wrong to whisper, pass notes, nosh, talk out loud, study something else, and be disrespectful … but it was really hard to motivate themselves to pay attention.  Naturally introverted, the teacher was at a loss for how to discipline this lively class, which meant that even those who tried to listen had a hard time doing so. Many girls took full advantage of the situation, knowing that they could get away with doing whatever they wanted. In their eyes, they never learned anything in this boring class anyway, so why not at least have some fun? By midyear, the disrespectful behavior and the complete disregard for this teacher’s class made for a picture that was not very pretty.

Shoshi honestly didn’t like the subject any more than the next girl, but deep in her heart she knew it was not right to act disrespectfully towards the teacher. But then it hit her – this could be their “mesirus nefesh project!” Shoshi’s idea was for the entire class to agree to sit for TEN HOURS during this teacher’s lesson and be model students. Really perfect girls. They would behave, sit quietly, pay attention, even ask a question or two to show they were listening, and have their homework ready on time. For the girls of this class, this would certainly be a very high level of mesirus nefesh!

However, it was one thing for Shoshi think of the idea, but quite another to carry it out. Her fellow classmates were aghast, and let her know it, too. “This is what you want to do for our singles?” “Are you out of your mind???” “Why should this help at all? We already did everything there is to do!” “What a crazy idea!”

But Shoshi persisted, and in the end, her persistence won out. The girls decided that for ten hours of good behavior they didn’t have that much to lose; it would be very, very hard, but they would try it out. If it didn’t work, they could always go back to their “regular” behavior in that class…

Their project began the very next day. Many girls had their doubts if they would be able to survive the hour of this teacher’s lesson without providing distractions for themselves, but, as they told themselves, at least it was only for one hour at a time.

Imagine their consternation, then, when just that very day, they discovered that they were to have this teacher for two lessons in a row! They all groaned inwardly, but—a project is a project. Hard as it was for them to control themselves, somehow they managed. You could hear a pin drop in that classroom, it was so quiet.

The teacher was, to put it mildly, very surprised. She did not know what to make of this model classroom, in which she suddenly had all eyes and ears upon her. Knowing this class’s usual behavior, she became suspicious. Maybe this is just a prelude to some new kind of mischief, she thought to herself. With this class, one never knew what they would be up to next.

Those first two hours went by in a daze of beautiful conduct and a decorum the level of which that teacher had never experienced before with this class. By the end of the two hours, the teacher could not hold herself back. “Girls,” she began, “I want you to know how much your good behavior these past two hours means to me … I can’t believe how much material we covered!  I am so proud of you.” And before she could go any further, she began to cry!

Ashamed, the girls fidgeted quietly in their seats. Okay, they knew they had been horrid to her, but they didn’t think it mattered quite that much. Little did they understand in their teenaged minds how much pain their mischief and disrespect had really caused her. Little did they know that this teacher realized that if she did not succeed here, the parnassah of her family would be threatened.

It was quite a struggle, but the girls managed to hold out for their promised ten hours. And at the same time, ten singles from their list finally, finally became engaged!

The timing and the sheer numbers could not possibly be written off as a coincidence by even the most hardened cynics among them. So the girls decided to go for an additional round of “just ten hours.” And at the end of those ten hours, they rejoiced to see their list decrease by another ten names…

Now Shoshi wanted to do a third round of ten hours. It was close to Pesach time already, and if they could keep this up, perhaps they could finish the year with this teacher in a pleasant manner. Besides, they wanted to see their entire list engaged, not only half of it! But by then, many girls were tired of the project already. They wanted to be free of the burden of being so well-behaved in this teacher’s class. They wanted to be finished with the project already. And anyway, baruch Hashem, many of their older siblings were already engaged. Why should they bother continuing with their commitments? But Shoshi gently and firmly insisted. The project would only have its full power if it was done as a group, with each and every student participating.

“Don’t back out now,” she pleaded with her classmates. “We have so many more singles that still need a yeshuah!” So grudgingly, the class went ahead with the next round …

Another ten hours – their teacher was in seventh heaven! And now, the total amount of hours of decorum came to a total of thirty hours – and there were thirty singles from their list that were now either engaged or married! The simchah was catchy, especially as quite a number of these singles were already over thirty years old!

At the time of this writing, the girls are on their fourth set of ten hours, which is not too surprising. After all, they want to finish off their “sister project” before the end of the year …

(*name has been changed)

His very name conjures puzzling images and questions in the mind.

Who was this righteous man, this nazir and Shofet, who led the Jews for so many years? What was the source of his supernatural strength, the incredible might that enabled him to tear apart a lion and crush together the pillars of a building? How do we understand his marriage to Delilah, his Philistine wife? What lessons can we glean from his life and demise?

Shimshon’s Struggle, written by Harav Gershon Weiss shlit”a, was written with the goal of trying to clarify these difficult questions, as well as provide us with many important lessons along the way. Drawing upon numerous mefarshim, the book provides readers with the means to emerge from this enigmatic story in Sefer Shoftim with a most lucid understanding of the events…and the remarkable messages, applicable to each and every one of us, that can be gleaned from this great tzaddik’s life.

Whether you are a rebbi or morah attempting to teach Sefer Shoftim to your students, or you are a student learning this sefer, you will appreciate the clear and comprehensive approach Shimshon’s Struggle offers.

Click here to purchase online.

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.

Like Split Loyalties. When the manuscript landed on my desk, it got whisked up by eager hands so fast, it barely had a chance to rest its tired back! “Historical fiction? I’m taking that one!” “A novel that takes place in the Egypt and Europe of the Middle Ages? Ooh, that should be good!”

Whatever its redeeming qualities were, the manuscript got devoured almost instantly by a whole bunch of us, and no one was disappointed. We all agreed that Split Loyalties is a gem of a good book: satisfying, entertaining, and informative.

Set against the backdrop of the Middle Ages and the menacing Crusade boot, some 800 years ago, an era of darkness unfolds… As the noxious Karaite movement gains momentum, the tectonic plates of history shift, creating irreversible schisms between neighbors, friends, and families… Plunged into the epicenter of conflict and tragedy, four young adults are forced to confront heart-wrenching decisions like never before…

Sounds tempting? We won’t ruin it for you! Join the crowds of satisfied fans of Split Loyalties and read this amazing historical novel yourself. You’ll be happy you did!

Click here to purchase online.

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.

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“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.

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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.