It was the weirdest feeling. For the first time, I really understood the phrase “to be someone’s puppet.”
I profess to being, what I call, “technically challenged.” Credit card terms, bank offers, points and mileage—to me, they’re all one big cholent pot of confusing lingo and terminology. Baruch Hashem we’ve worked out a set-up in which my husband more or less takes care of all of these kinds of things for the family, so I can happily be left out of it all.
But sometimes I have no choice but to get involved. Like when a credit card is under my name, and the credit card company only agrees to talk to me—not hubby—about whatever the issue may be. That’s how I found myself one day having the strangest conversation ever, with American Express.
There I was, on the phone with them, my husband seated strategically to my right.
“Okay, ma’am,” Cindy, the AmEx representative, chirped. “Let’s get started. What’s your member ID?”
Member ID? I looked blankly at my husband.
“She means this number,” he whispered, pointing to the paper in my hand.
“Oh, of course! My member ID!” I chirped back. “Sure! Here it is.”
And so our conversation went. Every time Cindy asked me a question, I’d mouth it to my husband, who’d quickly mouth back the answer, which I’d then repeat, with as much confidence as I could muster, to the ever-so-patient rep.
Like I said, it was a really weird—and really uncomfortable—feeling. When I finally hung up, I mentally resolved to sit down and familiarize myself with the credit card lingo once and for all, no matter what it would take, so I wouldn’t have to be anyone’s puppet again, even for such a small and inconsequential thing.
Yaffa Levinsky, in Dance of the Puppet, knows all too well how it feels to be a puppet—and not just for a couple of insignificant occasions. Yaffa’s whole day job revolves around her being other people’s puppet…unless she decides to do something about that.
But can she? Can the soft young woman manage to acquire her own backbone and do things her own way, for a change? Can the girl who’s happy to become a cleaning lady, simply because she’s sure she can’t do anything else, actually make waves in one of the most prestigious high schools in the city?
That, dear readers, awaits to be seen in this phenomenal, suspenseful novel, by bestselling author Esther Rappaport!
Click here to purchase online.
Posted by anamericanjew
When it comes to “Torah heroes” we want our children—and ourselves—to emulate, it’s safe to assume that Rav Chaim Kanievsky shlit”a will be on everyone’s list. This is a gadol who has all of Torah right at his fingertips, a gadol who is literally a “living sefer Torah.”
It’s the story we grew up on. At Bnos or Pirchei events, around camp bonfires, or at some lucky families’ Shabbos tables, this was the tale the dramatic storytellers would say over, each one outdoing the other with their descriptions of the evil galach and his black magic capabilities. (“’Aaabra Kadaaabra!’ he would say, and then—POOF! The person disappeared!”) If you haven’t figured it out by now, I’m referring to the amazing, legendary story of the Baal Akdamos.
Did you ever wonder what it was like to bring bikkurim during the times of the Beis Hamikdash? We hear so much about it—the tremendous joy that permeated the entire event, the different steps to the process, the excitement and anticipation that ran high as the bikkurim-bearers joined the procession to Yerushalayim… Wouldn’t it be amazing if you, as a parent, could give over this emotion-laden account to your children so that they, too, could appreciate what the bikkurim-bringing procession was all about?
Megillas Rus. We read it in shul every Shavuos, the yahrtzeit of Dovid Hamelech, Rus’s descendant. But who was this righteous convert named Rus? How did a former Moavite princess merit to become the wife of the Shofet Yisrael and the matriarch of the Davidic dynasty, culminating in Melech Hamashiach? Clearly, there are layers and layers of meaning behind this well-known story.
The snowy weather may be clearing up (and not a moment too soon, right?), but when
One of my sons has a boy named Tzion (short for Bentzion) in his class. Once I asked him, “What is Tzion’s last name?”
“Please talk quietly in the hall—we want to make a kiddush Hashem!”