Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 23 of a new online serial novel, Beneath the Surface, by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every Thursday or Friday. Click here for previous chapters.

Copyright © 2011 by Israel Bookshop Publication

Menuchi’s perspective, continued:

“I also have good news,” Shragi said after we finished sharing our excitement about Chasya Ehrentreau’s announcement. “Remember I told you about Dan, my uncle fromBelgium?”

I did.

“In the end, plans have changed. He’s not going to marry the gentile girl!”

“Baruch Hashem! Did you meet your mother at home?”

“No, she was at work. Simi told me everything. Did I tell you at the time that the girl’s grandmother helped raise my Savta Weingarten after the war?”

“You mentioned something like that.”

“So now my grandmother sent a fax of something she got a few months ago. They are the memoirs of that girl’s grandmother from after the war. Simi told me that the description of my grandmother as a little girl is very touching.” He took a spoonful of soup (without zucchini).

“Oh, Simi read it already?”

“No, it’s in English. But my mother sat until one in the morning and read it from beginning to end, and I guess she told Simi the gist of it.”

“What a shame it’s in English. If it was in Flemish you would also be able to read it.”

“I can barely speak Flemish. I don’t remember much of the language from when I was little, and I certainly can’t read it. I speak to my grandmother mostly in Yiddish,” Shragi said. “Besides, it couldn’t be in Flemish. The woman was British.”

“And her granddaughter?” My soup was finally cool enough for me to begin eating it.

“Belgian.”

“Well, when everyone finishes reading these memoirs, I want to be next on line. It sounds fascinating.”

“I think you’ll be able to get it very soon, because it won’t take my father—if he’s even interested in it—more than ten minutes to read it, and Simi never liked reading in English. She hates the language.”

A small bird suddenly landed on our windowsill. Her feathers were stuck together wetly and she looked cold. Shragi spooned out a small piece of carrot from his plate and cautiously approached the window. The bird fled. Keep Reading…

Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 22 of a new online serial novel, Beneath the Surface, by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every Thursday or Friday. Click here for previous chapters.

Copyright © 2011 by Israel Bookshop Publication

Simi stepped into the stairwell. She lowered the umbrella and her eyes fell on Morah Yavniel, standing next to a flowerpot, where someone apparently had planned to plant something one day.

“Hello, Sima,” Morah Yavniel said, flashing a friendly smile. “One minute; you girls are sisters-in-law, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Simi replied. “Hello, Morah, hello, Menuchi.”

One last drop dripped from Menuchi’s gray jacket, splashing into the small puddle that had formed at her feet. How humiliating.

“Hello, Simi.” Menuchi decided to use the blessed method of ignoring reality—there was no rain, no puddle at her shoes, everything was dry and gleaming, and the birds were chirping outside. “You bought an umbrella?”

“I did. And I passed here and saw you, so I’ll walk you home with the umbrella. Um…I can walk Morah as well,” she said, suddenly remembering her manners.

Their teacher smiled again. “Thank you, Sima, but it’s fine. I’ll continue to wait here. I’m sure the rain will stop soon.”

They smiled at her and Menuchi bent over to her bag. “Good luck with the kugel,” her teacher remembered. “And you know Sima, you have a special sister-in-law.”

“I know,” Simi said. She smiled and waved the umbrella again. Right. I know. Keep Reading…

Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 21 of a new online serial novel, Beneath the Surface, by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every Thursday or Friday. Click here for previous chapters.

Copyright © 2011 by Israel Bookshop Publication

Menuchi’s perspective, continued:

“Hey!” the girl said. “Hello!”

I turned around. “Hello,” I answered cautiously and looked at her expectantly. What would she think of my negligence? Had she noticed that the key was in the door—outside?

She had noticed. She took it out of the keyhole and placed it—

In her bag.

“I think…I think that that’s my neighborhood’s key, um, Chasya’s,” I said, stammering badly. All of my English flew out of my mind and I had to scramble for each word to form a coherent sentence. “She…gave it to me…and I think…that I forgot it outside.” I knew that I was blushing furiously. I could feel it.

The girl took the key out, looked at it for a minute and then at me, and then stuck her hand into her bag and pulled out another key.

“Oh, you’re right!” she exclaimed. “I’m always the last to leave and almost always leave the key in the keyhole. I thought it was mine!”

I smiled at her, my forehead and cheeks burning, and studied her with interest. She wasn’t tall, although she was still taller than me, and she had dark hair gathered into a curly bun.

“So Chasya gave you the key?” she asked, and I wondered if I should continue sweeping.

“Yes. She doesn’t feel well. She pulled something in her back.”

I went into the kitchen to put the broom away. She followed me. “Wow! You set the table yourself? So nice of you!” She had a pleasant laugh. “But you really didn’t have to bother. We usually just put a stack of each thing in the middle and the girls take for themselves. What’s your name?”

“Menuchi Ostfeld,” I said as I picked up the broom that had decided to fall. “And yours?”

“Adina Baumel, fromMiami.” We exchanged a few more sentences when I suddenly remembered about the lasagna. I dashed towards the oven. It was completely cold. Of course, Madame Ostfeld. If you don’t turn on the oven, it doesn’t usually turn itself on.

Once again the door to the apartment opened, and more voices filled the kitchen. I heard rapid-fire talking as I concentrated on the oven knobs. “This is Menuchi,” I heard Adina say. “Chasya hurt her back. She’s her neighbor.”

A few people suddenly stood behind me. I had no choice anymore. I pasted my broadest smile on my face and turned around. There were five or six girls there. They all said it was so nice to meet me and shared their names before disappearing into their rooms, still chattering loudly.  Keep Reading…

Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 20 of a new online serial novel, Beneath the Surface, by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every Thursday or Friday. Click here for previous chapters.

Copyright © 2011 by Israel Bookshop Publication

The drawer was open, revealing the array of colors scattered inside. The eight-year-old child stood in front of the drawer, deliberating.

“Nu, Nati, have you chosen something?” His mother glanced at her watch impatiently. Her son had been standing there for more than two minutes already.

“It’s fine; let him take his time,” Dr. Chani Ostfeld soothed as she picked up the phone. “I think he deserves it, right, Nati?” The child smiled bashfully, and his new amalgam filling gleamed in the fluorescent light.

He hesitantly fingered a small plastic helicopter, but pulled back. No, he didn’t want that.

“Menuchi?” Chani had hesitated and deliberated before dialing. “Menuchi, do you have any special plans for this morning?”

“No, why?” Menuchi’s voice sounded warm and smooth. Chani liked the tones she heard.

“I’m calling from work. My secretary didn’t come in today and didn’t send a substitute either. Do you think you could come in instead of her? It isn’t hard work and today is not a very busy day.” When she was met with silence, Chani added, “It’s only until one.”

In the small apartment, the onions crackled as they sautéed in the skillet. Menuchi stared in dismay at the small pieces of onion that began to stick to the side of the pan, browning quickly. She tried to scrape them down with a long wooden spoon, but they stuck stubbornly to the pan and she didn’t understand why. She would manage with lunch. She didn’t have all that much left to do. That wasn’t the problem.

“Hold on a second,” she said a bit breathlessly. “My onions are burning.” Keep Reading…

Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 19 of a new online serial novel, Beneath the Surface, by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every Thursday or Friday. Click here for previous chapters.

Copyright © 2011 by Israel Bookshop Publication

Menuchi’s Perspective:

As the clock indicated six minutes to four, the door closed. I looked around a bit helplessly, knowing that I had a few hours ahead of me with absolutely nothing to do in them.

Two plates, two forks, two knives, a bowl, and a spoon rested comfortably in the fleishig sink. Should I wash them now? I could, in theory, but if I would finish the dishes, what would I do in another hour?

What a funny question. Anyone who has what to do right now and asks what she will do later has no faith. I went over to the sink and slowly and deliberately washed each dish. I didn’t bother scrubbing the counter. I had done it yesterday and the day before; it wasn’t dirty.

Four-oh-seven. Technically I could go rest, but I don’t like resting in the afternoon. If I’m tired, then a rest is great, but when I feel as fresh as a crisp lettuce leaf and no less bored than that leaf, then afternoon rests just make things worse. So what could I do?

There wasn’t a book to be had in the house, except for a sefer I’d received for my wedding. But my parents already had that sefer, and I’d read it more than once during my engagement.

What else? A CD.

I didn’t have any.

But I could borrow!

From whom?

Neighbors.

But I didn’t have a CD player!

Actually, getting to know a new neighbor right now sounded like a nice idea. The problem was that I’m really not the initiating type who introduces herself and invites people to come over so everyone could get to know each other over coffee and cake. Maybe the neighbor would be busy but wouldn’t feel polite refusing me? And maybe she wouldn’t know if she could trust my kashrus? I could show her that I have a closed package of cookies. But what about coffee? I didn’t have it in the original container—all I had was a small amount of it in a clear sandwich bag which Ima gave me yesterday, to last until we’d get a chance to buy a jar of our own. Keep Reading…

Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 18 of a new online serial novel, Beneath the Surface, by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every Thursday or Friday. Click here for previous chapters.

Copyright © 2011 by Israel Bookshop Publication

Shimon Feder strained to read the English words and then raised his eyes.

“I’m happy I asked you to show me every letter she sends you,” he said slowly. “She lives in a world whose concepts are, baruch Hashem, very foreign to you. I really do prefer that this correspondence be supervised.”

He pondered for a moment, and then added jovially, “But I’m only heading the kashrus agency temporarily. From the first of Cheshvan, b’ezras Hashem, the responsibility will be transferred to your husband. And personally, I suggest that you slowly cut off ties with her. Stress again that she should go learn in a serious place and not suffice with our responses. In any case, if Shragi won’t want you to correspond with her—and I’ll understand if he doesn’t—then you can give her some addresses where she can send her questions. There are plenty of places that can help her.”

“Or we can leave our address and you will answer her, without her even knowing that it’s not me.” Menuchi folded the paper into four.

“But someone will have to translate the letters into English.” Rabbi Feder’s forehead creased. “So why not direct her to the people who can answer her, and who speak English? That can also prevent mistakes that might happen in the translation.”

“And what about her question in this letter?”

“The question is what she means by ‘sin.’ Does a gentile girl who marries a Jew fall into the category of one who serves avodah zarah or violates any of the other seven mitzvos of Bnei Noach? I have to find out. But one thing is clear: nothing good can come out of causing a Jew to sin.”

“Do you think we can sit on this tonight?”

“Tonight? I’m afraid not.” He picked up his hat. “I have to run out, and I doubt I’ll be home before eleven. We have to find an evening when I’m free and not too tired.”

“Will there be such a night before my wedding?” Keep Reading…