“You’re biting yourself, Shoshi,” Chanoch said quietly. Only then did she notice the drop of blood that had dripped onto her sweater. Bloodstains were a hassle to get out in the laundry, and it was more difficult when the garment was 100 percent wool, like this sweater.

Laundry. What was laundry? Which world did it belong to? To a world where a child wakes up in the morning and chirps that he wants bread with cheese for kindergarten, and then later in the day, his mother gets upset because the bread comes home whole, and she berates him that he shouldn’t ask for something that he knows he doesn’t like to eat. Laundry was a word that belonged to a world where the child is very tired at lunchtime, but his mother doesn’t want him to fall asleep, because then he’ll dance around all evening. But sometimes, the child falls asleep anyway, on the floor, because he really is so very small and tired, and then, at twelve o’clock at night, the mother is running after him, trying to get him back into bed. She runs after him. She doesn’t go down to wait for taxis in the heavy rain to get to the hospital, only to hear that they had gotten there too late…

Hashem! Another drop of blood dripped onto her light-colored sweater as Shoshi bit her bottom lip again. Hashem, make Zevi well again. I’ll never get angry at him again. About anything. Let the antibiotics help; let him be fine; make his leg better; don’t let anything happen to him because his mother didn’t take him to the hospital in time.

Tearstains joined the bloodstains on her sweater. She didn’t even have a Tehillim with her, and had no idea where she could find one now, at 6:30 in the morning. The doctors had waited four hours, giving the massive doses of antibiotics a final chance, but when nothing changed, they announced that they were taking Zevi into the operating room. Not one of them asked, “Where were you until now?” or “How come you didn’t notice that the color of his leg is terrible?” They just asked for a signature consenting to the operation, let Chanoch have fifteen minutes to try and reach Rav Shulman by phone, and left them there alone, in the waiting room.

It was so empty. They were the only two people there. Were there no other operations at 6:30 in the morning? Keep Reading…

They stood in the backyard, near the darkened store. Zevi was sleeping in Shoshi’s parents’ house. He still wasn’t himself, but Ima had promised to watch him closely and to alert Shoshi if he would wake up and cry.

“A bit of fresh air, Shoshi’le—you need it! Days upon days, closed up in the house— it isn’t good for you or for Zevi!”

So Chasida had promised to take Shoshi out for a short walk around the house. In the back garden, near the window of the room where Shoshi, Chanoch, and Zevi slept, Chasida stopped.

“Nu?” Shoshi stood and faced her sister in an almost combative pose. “So what’s happening with the Blum shidduch?”

“I think he’ll have to wait patiently until after Zevi’s foot heals completely and this will be behind us.”

“Why, because then we won’t be here anymore, and you’ll have a calm, quiet evening?”

“That, too,” Chasida said, “but also so that we’ll be calm and the shidduch won’t raise associations in our minds of the terrible things that happened.”

“What type of terrible things?”

“You’re very tired, sister dear,” Chasida said and stuck her hand into her jacket pocket. Something metallic was clinking inside. “Don’t you understand what I’m trying to tell you? The Blum shidduch came up at a problematic time, although it wasn’t our fault. The evening we sat down—me, Abba, and Ima—to analyze the shidduch from all sides, you suddenly showed up, as did the sweet, young Katz couple. We managed to fight with Eliyahu and injure Zevi—so you can understand why Ima isn’t really in the mood anymore.”

Shoshi looked at her sister penetratingly. “Because you were talking about the shidduch just before all this happened, you’re rejecting the idea?”

“I’m not rejecting it,” Chasida said, her lips pursed.

“So what’s the other reason?” Keep Reading…

Two days later they were discharged by the department director in Tel Hashomer Hospital.

“Keep an eye on it,” he said, and picked up his pen to sign the form. “We took out all the glass that we found, but please keep an eye on it and be aware if any changes occur in the color or shape. Come back at the beginning of next week for a check-up in any case, even if you see an improvement in the burn.”

They went from there to the car that waited for them outside. Zevi’s head rested on Chanoch’s broad shoulder, and Shoshi gazed at the small, pale face. The last round of tears still twinkled on the edges of the little boy’s eyes. Shoshi couldn’t find a tissue, so she gently wiped the tears away with her hand. Abba waited for them in the car next to the entrance of the hospital, and they climbed in quietly. Chasida was sitting in the back, and she moved over a bit to allow Shoshi to climb in. Chanoch carefully passed Zevi inside.

“Zevi, darling, I brought you a candy!” the doting aunt crooned before greeting her sister and brother-in-law.

Zevi shrugged and turned his head to the other side, letting it droop onto his mother.

“He has no interest in anything,” Shoshi whispered and stroked the short, orange hair. “No candy, no nosh. All he ate today was a few spoonfuls of yogurt, and even that was difficult to get him to swallow.”

In the front, Abba and Chanoch were discussing the doctor’s orders and the rest of the treatment. Behind them, the two sisters sat and gazed silently at Zevi, who suddenly looked much smaller than he had two days ago. The two days that were the longest ones of Shoshi’s life.

“You’re coming home to us now, right?” Chasida asked.

“I think so. The truth is, we haven’t even thought about it at all.”

“Of course you’re coming to us. How will you take care of his foot yourselves?”

Shoshi didn’t reply. She continued stroking Zevi’s head as he looked quietly out the window, squinting every few seconds.

“Does your foot hurt, sweetheart?” she asked, touching his chin.

“Not now,” the three-year-old whispered, his eyes still on the window. “There’s Uncle Eliyahu,” he suddenly said, louder. “He has flowers for me. Yellow ones.” He closed his eyes and turned his head in the other direction. Keep Reading…

Devorah Blum followed Ilana Auerbach into the room that served as her salon and sat down on the edge of the chair.

“Before we begin, Ilana,” she said heavily, “you remember that I have something very important to talk to you about. Nothing that relates to you, but you can help me with it.”

“With pleasure,” Ilana said and sat down on her swivel chair.

“You have a very sweet daughter-in-law,” Devorah said. “Is she…responsible like you?”

“Responsible? Certainly. Shevi’s very mature.”

Devorah didn’t look at her. “If so, I need you to speak to her, if it’s not too difficult for you. It’s still about her neighbor.” Ilana nodded with alacrity as she listened to her client’s singsong accent. “There’s a…certain point that I’m not sure the Dresnicks are aware of. Will your daughter-in-law be able to talk to her neighbor about this point?”

“I believe so.” Ilana felt a twinge of unease. The whole scenario seemed a bit odd—she on the round swivel stool and Devorah, her client, sitting ramrod-straight on the wide treatment chair, with new, deep creases on her forehead.

“I don’t know what they know and what they don’t, but people have spread some rumors about my son, and I thought it would be best if the Dresnicks knew the real story.”

Ilana nodded again, still silent.

“He donated a kidney to my Dini.” Keep Reading…

It was very late by the time Chasida finally went to bed, sometime between two and three in the morning. She got into her bed, but not before she made sure all the shutters were closed and the door was locked. No, she wasn’t afraid to sleep alone on the ground floor; nevertheless, she was happy that this was her final night home alone. Tomorrow her parents would come back, and the house would return to normal.

A heavy silence hung in the air as she lay her head down on the pillow. She had a full day ahead of her tomorrow. She had to clean the house before her parents returned, help them unpack, and then prepare for the annual visit of the Blochs, who came every summer. Whenever her brother-in-law Chanoch returned to Eretz Yisrael, he liked to come to Bnei Brak, to breathe in the atmosphere he loved and to feel a bit of what he called “authentic Eretz Yisrael” in his bones. So they would be arriving tomorrow for Shabbos and would stay for a few days afterward, until Shoshi would decide that their mother looked exhausted, and the kids would announce that they were bored. At that point, the Blochs would pack up and return to Yerucham.

Chasida closed her eyes. She had so much to do the next day—she had to get up in less than five hours! So why wasn’t she asleep now?

But although her eyes were closed, she still saw things very clearly. Figures flitted through her mind, laughing and talking, arguing and fuming about those endless arguments that had been spawned by Eliyahu’s illogical proposal.

He had stood in the dining room, pale with fury. “Aren’t you ashamed?” he had asked Yitzchak and her. “What are you trying to say, that Kobi will pay me for this?” Keep Reading…

Although it was Thursday, the yellow drops of ices that dribbled onto the floor did not bother Shoshi. She would just run a mop over the floor before they left for Bnei Brak tomorrow. Zevi stood in one corner of the dining room, observing his family. Something in his expression made it clear that his thoughts were very far away, but she had no idea where they were. Since coming home a few days ago, he seemed a bit preoccupied.

“Zevi?”

He lowered his eyes toward his mother, who was seated on the sofa. His father sat at the head of the table as Shloimy proudly showed him his alef-beis cards. Shloimy sucked the end of the soggy popsicle stick and turned to look at Zevi.

“You didn’t get an ices!” he said, understanding dawning on him. “Do you want one, too?”

Zevi smiled at him, and his mother tried again. “What are you dreaming about, Zevi’le?”

“Nothing special.” Only about strange people who have taken an interest in me lately, and Abba might know who they are but doesn’t want to tell me. “I think I’ll go to shul to learn a bit.”

As he headed for the door, the telephone in the hallway rang. Zevi answered it. An unfamiliar man’s voice asked if this was the Bloch residence, and then asked to speak to his mother. Then the man changed his mind and asked for his father.

Zevi raised an eyebrow and turned toward the dining room. “Abba?”

Chanoch stood up.

“Someone wants you on the phone.”

Chanoch waved as Zevi left the house, and picked up the receiver that Zevi had put on the wooden shelf.

“Hello?” he said into the phone, smiling at Shloimy, who had followed him into the hall, unwilling to give up a single minute of precious Abba-time.

“Hello,” the anonymous voice said. “Chanoch?”

“Yes.”

“It’s Eliyahu. Eliyahu Katz.” Keep Reading…

“My sister’s husband left town right after Pesach and just returned this week. So you can understand why she didn’t want to leave the house for no special reason. If she would be able to visit my parents, that would have been a good reason. But if they’re not here, and it’s only me…”

Shevi and Elinor didn’t respond. One candle went out with a little pop, leaving behind a scented, yellow waxy residue. Chasida asked if either of them wanted some chocolate milk, and tried to get them to eat the last two calzones, but both Shevi and Elinor declined.

“If you think I can eat another thing after all this,” Elinor declared, “then you are majorly mistaken. Shevi, no dinner tonight, okay?”

Shevi smiled thinly in response. Chasida puttered around them like a big, generous bird who couldn’t sit still for a single moment—but only Shevi seemed to pick up on the loneliness in the aging nest. Miri gurgled on the rug that their good neighbor had spread on the floor for her; there was no expecting her to understand anything. And Elinor was also too young to understand. Not quite like Miri, but young nevertheless.

Chasida had prepared a fancy meal for her sister. Alone at home, she had cooked, fried, and baked industriously. She’d decorated the room with a youthful flair and had anxiously awaited the moment when her twin would arrive and they’d be able to spend some time together. But then her sister had informed her that she wasn’t coming. Their parents weren’t home; it was only Chasida there, and for only Chasida, it didn’t pay for Shoshi to leave her house and her husband who had just come home. And Chasida was left to eat everything she had prepared, along with her two guests, the oldest of which was about half her age. Keep Reading…

“Eliad, how nice to see you!” Shevi’s mother hugged her son. “How are you doing?”

“Great,” he said as he lowered his huge rucksack to the floor. “Where’s Abba?”

“In Yokne’am. Do you want to take a drive over there to see his work?” she asked as she walked toward the kitchen while motioning for him to follow.

“Oh, no, Ima. I came just to rest. No trips, no jaunts, no shopping, nothing. Just to see you and the family for a bit.”

“We’re thrilled,” his mother said from the depths of the refrigerator. “Some orange juice, Eliad?” She suddenly stood up straight. “Oh!” she said, squeezing her eyes shut and slapping her hand against her forehead. “Did I tell you about my exhibit?”

“You did,” he replied.

“Well, I’m flying this evening to Belgium for it.”

“This evening?” He made no effort to hide his disappointment. “The night I come home?”

His mother only nodded in response.

“Well, whatever,” he said, watching as she bent back over into the fridge. “I hope that Abba doesn’t have any plans to disappear abroad in honor of my little vacation.” Keep Reading…

Half an hour after Zevi left the house, Zalman and Minda got ready to leave as well.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us, Chasi?” her father asked again. “The store is not all that busy. We can close it for three days.”

“Thanks, Abba,” Chasida replied as she thumbed through the daily paper. “But I prefer to stay home. I know that Yitzchak and Faigy would be happy to have me, but I really want to stay here.”

“Something secret going on here that I don’t know about?” Her mother laughed as she ran a brush through her short gray wig. She examined her reflection in the mirror. “You’ll rest well, Chasida’le, won’t you? And eat what I left you in the refrigerator. You won’t do anything silly, will you?”

“I won’t.” Chasida put the paper down on the couch, but it slipped to the floor; she didn’t bother to bend over to pick it up. Only after a few seconds of silence, broken just by the sound of her mother’s rubber soles pattering around the house, did Chasida pick up the paper.

“What should I tell Mrs. Kurzman, Ima? Do you have an idea for me?”

“Kurzman?” Minda paused in mid-reach for the purple overnight bag. “What, she got back to you?”

“Yes, a while ago.”

“And she has something good for you?” Minda sat down on the edge of the sofa tiredly.

“Blum.” Chasida was terse. “She’s trying again.”

“When?”

“I don’t remember anymore…” Chasida opened the paper across her lap once more, but her eyes were on her mother. “Meanwhile she hasn’t called again. So what do I tell her?”

“She called you about him three weeks ago, right?”

“Around then, yes. We met on the bus. How do you know?”

“Because you’ve been out of sorts and distracted since then,” her mother said softly. “Right, Zalman? Right I told you that something happened to Chasida?”

Zalman held his hat and gazed at it for a few long moments. Then he said, “Yes, you did tell me. So, what do you think, Minda?” Keep Reading…

Only after the bus finally pulled out of the bus stop did Zevi allow himself to relax on the brown and blue patterned seat. He was on the way home, and he had made the bus, even though Savta had been sure he was going to miss it.

His blue tote bag on the seat beside him almost fell as the bus lurched into the next stop—which Zevi remembered as being the last. He pushed the tote back a bit and rested his hand on it, expecting someone to ask him to sit in the seat any second. But no one did. Just two families boarded and found seats other than the one next to him. Zevi leaned back, one hand on his bag and the other on the window pane, which rumbled with the rhythm of the bus’s turning wheels. Small rays of sun bounced off his freckled forearm, but they didn’t warm him at all.

Savta had said he was better off taking his bag onto the bus, and not putting it into the luggage compartment. “Someone could steal it, you know,” she had warned him as he was about to walk out of the house, two minutes after he had hung up with his mother. “And people taking their things off the bus could knock it out by mistake, and it will be left on the road.”

He really didn’t want to take the risk of getting home without his belongings. In all honesty, Zevi could not recall the last time he had lost something, if at all.

In fourth grade, the rebbi had announced to the class at the end of the year that the only one who hadn’t forgotten a notebook or lost a pencil, eraser, book, or his food the whole year, was Zevi Bloch. Some of Zevi’s childhood nightmares were about him forgetting notebooks at home, not finding things, and not having a pen to use, because everything had disappeared from his drawers. But these dreams were odd, because Zevi’s drawers were the neatest in the whole house, and he would carefully prepare what he needed for the next day on the evening before.

“Too careful,” his father would say when he was home, while lovingly pinching the freckled cheek. Once he had asked his son, “What will happen if you forget a pencil once in a while?” Keep Reading…