Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 5 of a new online serial novel, Dance of the Puppet, by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every week. Click here for previous chapters. 

Copyright © Israel Bookshop Publications. 

“One minute, girls, quiet!” Malka sighed, trying to forge a path between the hordes of girls that were crowding near the office.

“Next week it will be quiet here,” one curly-haired girl remarked. Such a comment could only be made to Morah Mann in the pre-Overnight atmosphere that prevailed. Malka smiled forgivingly and walked into the principal’s office.

“Didn’t we have that end-of-the-year teacher’s meeting last week?” she asked, dropping into a chair. “So why doesn’t it seem like the year is over?”

“You’re tired, Malky,” her mother said as she raised her eyes from the sheaf of papers she was working on. “Go take a drink. And check if the teachers’ room is available. That woman from the accountant’s office is supposed to be meeting you in about half an hour, right?”

“I hope so,” Malka began to say, when the door opened slightly behind her back.

“Good morning, Mrs. Kotzker,” Yael greeted the principal, sounding energetic and friendly as though she had slept many more hours the night before than the mere four she’d actually gotten.

“Good morning, Yael.” Adina Kotzker’s voice suddenly became crisp and alert. “Your program sounds excellent, but there are a few points I’d like to go over with you. Sit down; why are you still standing?” Keep Reading…

Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 4 of a new online serial novel, Dance of the Puppet, by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every week. Click here for previous chapters. 

Copyright © Israel Bookshop Publications. 

Today there was actually no traffic on the way, and the bus came on time. Elchanan walked down the street, skirting two stones that lay on the edge of the sidewalk, and wondered apprehensively what was waiting for him at home. Yaffa had been miserable when he’d left in the morning, and all the way to the store he wondered what more he could do that he hadn’t already done. But when he arrived at the store and the pressures at work began, all matters relating to home flew out of his mind. Only when he left, after parting from Dvir with a, “Take care, see you later” did Yaffa’s face rise in his mind’s eye again.

He sighed. He really felt for her, a young, slightly naïve girl, who had woven a nice dream for herself that was suddenly beginning to crack before her eyes. But what could he do? He was ready to try and fulfill her other dreams, to do a lot to make her happy, but without the gasoline called money—nothing was possible, even if Yaffa thought it was. He was not built for the belt-tightening and frugality they had been forced to live with these past few months, to reckon every container of cheese or each chocolate bar that he wanted to buy. It was just not for him. When he’d told his mother on the phone how much he was sweating, she simply did not understand.

“Sweating? Don’t you have air conditioning in the apartment?”

Go explain to her that the last electric bill had been so huge that if he’d receive another one of similar proportions, he’d have to take a loan from a friend to cover it.

Perhaps it had been a mistake to learn half a day in a kollel that paid so little, but that kollel was where he had enjoyed the learning. Should he have looked for a kollel based on how much they paid? Something about that idea sounded uglier than going to work for Dvir; he didn’t know why, but that was the way it was. Perhaps Yaffa would have preferred that he do that, but that wasn’t what he was interested in doing. Torah is Torah, work is work—and he didn’t want to mix up the two.

As he walked up to his apartment, his compassion and apprehension were suddenly replaced with resentment. He had no strength to come home and find a tearful wife, a messy house, and a screaming baby. He didn’t deserve it. He had worked hard today, and a lot of it was for them, not only for himself. Yaffa couldn’t expect him to do things that he was not capable of doing, just like he did not expect her to do things that she was unable to do.

The door was locked, as always. He knocked, and she opened it, with her regular smile and “hello.” He entered, murmuring his own greeting, and turned to the small dining room to put down his jacket and hat.

She followed him. “How was it?” she inquired. Keep Reading…

Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 3 of a new online serial novel, Dance of the Puppet, by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every week. Click here for previous chapters. 

Copyright © Israel Bookshop Publications. 

The moon had already sunk behind the buildings, and faint rays of light began to glow on the horizon. Bentzy had been screaming for more than an hour, and Yaffa really had nothing left to do but cry with him. She sat on a kitchen chair so that Elchanan wouldn’t wake up, and hugged Bentzy. The windows were closed; the neighbors weren’t to blame for the fact that her baby had decided to give a concert tonight. He’d drank his bottle, had been changed from head to toe because she thought perhaps he was hot, and then had been changed again ten minutes later because she worried that maybe he was cold. They’d paced up and down the kitchen floor, the porch—where there was almost no room to move, the short hallway, and even the bathroom. She’d almost decided to give him a bath, but trembled in fear at the thought of doing it without Chaya or Elchanan. In the end, both she and the baby fell asleep on the chair in the kitchen.

“Yaffa?” Elchanan was standing in the doorway, squinting his eyes. “He’s going to fall in a second. You should put him into bed.”

“What?” She opened her eyes in alarm when she saw the pale light coming through the window, and immediately realized that Bentzy was sleeping on her lap. “Oy!” she cried, grabbing him tightly. “Oh my goodness!”

“Did he cry a lot last night?” Elchanan asked, entering the kitchen. “Why didn’t you wake me up?” Keep Reading…

Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 2 of a new online serial novel, Dance of the Puppet, by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every week. Click here for previous chapters. 

Copyright © Israel Bookshop Publications. 

Elchanan arrived home at one-thirty punctually, as usual. Sophie had only just recently left. He was greeted by a delicious aroma, one screaming baby, and one tired, confused wife.

“I don’t know what she wants from me,” Yaffa said. She put the bread down on the table and brushed invisible crumbs off her housecoat. “Do you think it’s so terrible to leave school when you’re doing so poorly there anyway?”

Terrible?

“It’s a very good, smart move,” her teacher had told her at the time, when she had come to school the day after the vort, walking straight into a classroom full of excited, albeit slightly uncomfortable, girls. “I wouldn’t be telling this to a lot of girls, but you, Yaffa, really are very mature.”

It was nice to get the compliment, which had helped drown out the wave of whispers that had exploded the minute her engagement had become public knowledge. She was so young, only at the end of eleventh grade, and not a soul had known it was going to happen.

“I don’t ask friends for information,” Elchanan’s mother had said with her strong French accent. “What do girls know at this age? Nothing, absolutely nothing.”

Her friends, almost all of them, really wouldn’t have been able to give information about Yaffa. They simply knew nothing about her. During lessons and oral tests, Yaffa’s voice went silent. During recess, the girls also hardly heard her. Was it because she was refined?

She seemed to take written tests, but no one had ever seen her grades, not even the one or two girls who were considered her real friends. Was it because she was a poor student?

The girls knew that she had lots of nieces and nephews in Elad and Yerushalayim, that she was the youngest at home, and that she helped out her married sisters a lot. Did that mean that she had a good heart?

One minute—there was also the time she had volunteered—or her services had been volunteered—for that annoying job of collecting money for a teacher’s gift, but she’d delegated the reminders and the nudging and the actual purchase of the gift to someone else. So did that mean that she was or wasn’t responsible?

What was she? Read More…

Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 1 of a new online serial novel, Dance of the Puppet, by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every week.  

Copyright © Israel Bookshop Publications. 

Shuli didn’t like the new tiles. The old ones were much easier to wash; a rinse and she’d be done. But since the renovations, there’d been so many new rules in the house that Shuli didn’t even remember all of them. “First, wax…” she said, looking gloomily at the dirty floor. “No, first we pour the water! Ugh!”

“Stop it,” her mother said as she got ready to leave the house. “A girl your age has to help out at home in whatever way she can. When I was thirteen, I was already carrying cases in the market with my father. Be happy that you’re a Bais Yaakov girl who doesn’t have to work at a market stand after school, and all you’re being asked to do is clean a bit. What’s the big deal?”

To Shuli, selling in the market seemed to be much more exciting than cleaning the new marble floors. But no one was asking her. She bid her mother goodbye, and the door closed.

“And the kitchen cabinets!” Shuli said to Baruch, who turned away from her and made a face. “How did you get them so dirty? The old brown cabinet doors never showed such stains!” She entered the kitchen with her rag and attacked the gleaming doors angrily. Read More…