What will it look like here, at the principal’s house? What will all these new parents think of the school if the menahel’s brother drives the bus?

“Oh, Chana,” Rivky sighs, leaning back against a bookcase in her living room. “You still haven’t talked to him?”

“It hasn’t been a good time yet.” Just before Chana had left for Rivky’s house, Naftali had gotten home. His face had been tight and tension had stiffened every step, and Chana hadn’t dared bring up Rivky’s idea. “I’ll talk to him after the dinner. Unless you’d prefer that I left now—”

“No way!” Rivky says, seizing her wrist. “Come. Meet some new people.” There are about two dozen women here, milling around Rivky’s living room and foyer. They come in little groups, chatting and enthusiastic and young enough to nearly be Chana’s daughters.

Next year, some of these women will be mothers in Ari’s class. Chana pats her dress down, making sure it doesn’t bunch up near her waist, and follows Rivky to a gaggle of women. They look at Chana and Rivky uncertainly. “I’m Rivky Hartman,” Rivky says cheerfully. “I’m so glad you could join us.”

“Rebbetzin Hartman!” one woman says, and the hesitation turns to a smile. “Thank you for having us here. It feels a little like an orientation for us, you know? My son is going into nursery next year and I’m still having some trouble imagining him fitting in in that huge school.”

“Oh, we’re on top of that,” Rivky promises. “We keep the nursery on the ground floor, and the preschool has a playground to itself. The boys never really notice how big the school is — their perception of it is just their little area of it.”

“It’s harder to start in first grade,” one of the other women says, and Chana perks up and turns to her. She’s tall and vivacious, and she stands with the kind of confidence Chana has always envied. “Meir’s been in the little preschool on Coach Avenue for the past few years and he was shaking at his interview.”

Chana clears her throat. “Ari was excited to see all the projects on the walls in the hallway when we went for the interview,” she says. “He told me that he thought that they wouldn’t get markers in first grade.”

The woman brightens. “Another first-grade mother. I thought I might be the only one here.”