“Not a new person, Nomes, an old person. This is who Yocheved really is, who she was before her life got so complicated”

I bite my tongue as I peel the avocado gently, trying not to bruise it in the process.

“Peeeerfection,” I exhale.

Which makes sense, considering this is the ninth one I’m peeling.

Sima looks over at me from the duck fry she’s sautéing for salad. “What was that, the last avocado? Thanks a mil, now can you do the peppers?”

I nod and grab a red pepper from the pile on the counter. Sima’s husband, Gershy, is making a siyum and Sima has been working on it all week. I’m helping with the poke bowl appetizers and Sima is pretending to be calm.

I have to give her credit; she’s doing an admirable job. Except that her voice has been growing progressively higher pitched as the start of the siyum draws closer. Soon only dogs and children under ten will be able to hear her.

The dining room table has been set with a white tablecloth, bamboo plates, and rows of flowers in every color. Sima was going for a malchusdig, classic theme. “Torah is royalty,” she’d said.

Yocheved pokes her head in. “Sim! So sorry, wish I could help, but you know, got the small matter of Zev being bandaged to take care of.”

I look at her over my pepper slices. “Chevs, I’m not sure that’s the flex you think it is.”

She sticks her tongue out at me and her head disappears out of the kitchen. She’s like a totally new person these days, Yocheved. She’s funny and lighthearted and just a bit silly.

Sima smiles wistfully when I mention this. “Not a new person, Nomes, an old person. This is who Yocheved really is, who she was before her life got so complicated.”