Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 12 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.

Zevi almost fell to the ground in fear when a voice that seemed to come out of nowhere commanded him to raise his hands. “I…I can’t,” he stammered, terrified to turn around. As such, he didn’t see the two bearded men emerging from the shadows of the trees and approaching him.

“This is the police. I said to raise your hands!” Eliyahu repeated in a slightly less confident tone. The contrast between the youth’s white shirt and black pants was very clear from such a close vantage point.

Zevi took a deep breath. “I’m not a thief,” he said tremulously. “I…I got stuck here. Can someone help me get down, please?”

Eliyahu and Gavriel exchanged glances. “Who are you?” Gavriel finally asked, standing near the plastic gate that surrounded the laundry lines. Now he could see the boy’s tzitzis as well.

“I’m Mr. Dresnick’s grandson…” Zevi dared to turn around cautiously, grasping the metal bar tightly with his sweaty hand. “I didn’t have a key and I thought I could get in from here.”

“How long have you been stuck like this?” Gavriel asked, stepping over the plastic barrier. First and foremost, they had to help the kid.

“I don’t know,” Zevi said, and looked at the friendly man who was coming to his aid. The man wanted to help him get down, and that was good. But his shoe and sock were in the house! His left foot was bare! Zevi had to find a way to get down without them noticing. Keep Reading…

Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 11 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 hall in Yerushalayim was buzzing with excited chatter of conversations trying valiantly to make themselves heard over the thudding of the drums, the glass plates clinking onto the table, and the clatter of cutlery attempting to cut the schnitzels that had cooled down during the round of dancing which had just come to an end. Chasida sat at one of the tables, one hand sticking the last bits of the challah roll into her two-year-old niece’s mouth, and the other patting the baby’s back.

She was playing full-time babysitter this evening. Yitzchak’s younger sister-in-law was getting married tonight, and had she not promised her sister-in-law Faigy that she’d come to help her with the little ones, she would have been glad to stay at home. But Faigy didn’t have any big daughters who could help her—only big boys—and she had really pleaded with Chasida. And Mrs. Dresnick had added that there was no way Chasida could not come to Tzivia’le’s wedding. After all, she was the mechutanim’s youngest child. So Chasida had closed the store half an hour early to be able to travel to Yerushalayim.

The mechuteiniste, Faigy and Tzivia’s mother, thanked her effusively for coming and gave her an emotional brachah, but it wasn’t hard to discern the young kallah’s unease. At Yitzchak and Faigy’s wedding, more than twenty years earlier, she had been ten months old. Chasida clearly remembered the blue-eyed baby who refused to part with her mother for even a minute; when the mothers walked around the chassan with Faigy under the chuppah, Tzivia had howled so much that her mother had had no choice, and the little girl had joined the last two revolutions. And then there was the missing pacifier that half the guests spent several long moments on the floor looking for, until one of Faigy’s brothers had run to find an open store so they could buy another one.

But Chasida didn’t even dream of repeating these incidents to the young, excited kallah. They likely didn’t interest her at this moment, and besides, it’s not pleasant to see people discomfited and know that it’s because of you. This twenty-three-year-old kallah, who had indubitably endured her fair share of worrying that she would become an old spinster, did not need to see Chasida up close right now.

“Eat, eat, it’s good,” her mother told Malka’le, who kept stubbornly closing her mouth as the fork approached. Keep Reading…

Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 10 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.

It was almost two days after Gavriel had found a small bag on the door when Shevi went down to the Dresnicks. The bag had held a tiny bottle and a note, which said, “Shevi, it was very nice to meet your mother in the garden, but it’s a shame she had to come under such circumstances. She told be about your ear. These are drops that I’ve heard are very effective. I don’t remember how many drops you need and how often, but just read the instructions. Refuah sheleimah, Chasida.”

Shevi didn’t know if it was the natural drops or the doctor’s antibiotics, but she was finally feeling well enough to go downstairs to say thank you. No one answered her knocks, and although it wasn’t during regular store hours, Shevi decided to try the Dresnicks’ store. She passed the large tree, touching it gently, and wondering if perhaps she should try to draw it, as her mother had suggested. Miri gave her enough free time, and the tree branches looked complex enough to keep her busy sketching for a long time. Maybe she could even open an art group… No, she had no professional training, and to just teach girls to draw a house and a path—their mothers could do that just fine without paying her their hard-earned money.

Just behind the tree, with her back to the trunk, stood Chasida. She was wearing an outfit that Shevi did not recognize, and something about her hair was strange. “I never understood why,” Chasida’s voice said, “and I’m always the worrywart among us!” She moved a bit and then Shevi saw the second person. It was also Chasida, but with her regular auburn hair and her ubiquitous navy ensemble. Keep Reading…