Are you worried that donors will find out and think this was tzedakah money being used?

Ayala stretched her hand over the back of the wooden bench and smiled as the afternoon sun hit her face. Somehow, things always seemed more humorous when retelling them to a good friend on the park bench.

“A meat platter and steak and lamb kebabs.” Bracha whistled. “Hey, can I get Chesed Tzirel meals, too?”

Ayala snorted. “Ridiculous, right? It’s so—” She waved her hand in the air. “What’s the word I’m looking for?”

“Dini.” Bracha smirked.

Ayala let out a loud breath. “Yes! Like, does she have to shout, ‘Hello, I’m rich,’ wherever she goes?”

As she said it, Ayala felt a pang; this was one of her closest friends she was talking about. And really, what right did Bracha have to make fun of her? She barely knew Dini.

She quickly amended, “It’s not that she shows off. It’s more, y’know, cluelessness. Like, not really appreciating how the other half lives.”

“More like how the other 99.9 percent in Israel live. Can she be that clueless?” Bracha peered out at the playground, where her three-year-old Avi was struggling to climb up a slide. “I still don’t get how the two of you are friends. You’re so different.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what being thrown together as seminary roommates will do.”

Ayala still remembered that first day in Bnos Rochel; she’d already carefully unpacked and placed her neatly folded clothing on the shelves when a blond-haired girl had stalked in. The first thing that had struck Ayala was how strikingly pretty she was; the second was the expression on her face as she gave the dorm room an incredulous once-over.

“Are they serious?” she’d wailed. “There isn’t even enough room for a quarter of my clothing!”

Then and there, Ayala had decided that she and Dini Reiner would never be friends.