Papa always said that. Whatever we were making was always going to be the best in Chevron

Elka

I ran down the path. The mud had dried by now, and my hair flapped against the back of my head, my schoolbag swinging at my side. Free at last.

“Mama,” I gasped, plopping my schoolbag down on the table and pulling out the thick white card from among the books. “Look!”

Mama put down the broom and reached for the card in my hand. “We got our report cards!” I exclaimed. “And see,” I opened it and pointed to a little line on the bottom that read “promoted to third grade.” “And look how well I did, even though we only got here in the middle of the year! Do you see, Mama? Do you?”

Mama laughed and smoothed my hair down against my head. “You did wonderfully, Elka,” she smiled. “I’m so proud of you.”

Just then Miriam came through the door holding her report card tightly in her hand. “Look, Mama,” she said in that calm way of hers, smiling shyly. I’ll never be able to be so calm. Especially not on the last day of school. Especially not when we just got our report cards.

Mama opened Miriam’s report card, smiling and nodding and pointing at all the right places.

“Can I go take it to show Papa?” I asked, interrupting them.

Mama looked up. “Sit down, Elka,” she said. “Eat something for lunch. When you’re done, then you can go.”

“Papa’s not in his shop yet anyway,” Miriam pointed out, “ ’cause Dovid’s not home yet so that means Papa’s still at the yeshivah.”

She was right, but really, it didn’t matter. I didn’t care if I had to wait outside the shop for Papa, I just wanted to be outside, free in the glorious sunshine that was the Chevron summer. But it didn’t look like that was going to happen. “Okay.” I plopped down on a chair next to Mama, defeated. “What’s for lunch?”

“First I’m going to finish with Miriam,” Mama said sternly, although her broad smile hadn’t faded, “then I’ll serve you lunch.”