Bracha laid her head back down on the couch and closed her eyes. “Fire away,” she said.

As Ayala cleared her throat to begin, Bracha’s eyes popped back open.

“But I’d just like to put it out there,” she said, finger raised. “I don’t care how many families owe their health and happiness to you or how much you’re changing lives. Using it to persuade me to change mine is a low-down trick.”

Ayala chuckled. “You’re going to give in. You know it. You want to do this so badly.”

Bracha snorted. “You mean, I want to be as stressed and conflicted as you?”

“Ha ha. You’re an idealist at heart.”

“No, I’m not. You’re confusing me with yourself.”

“Furthermore,” Ayala said, taking a step closer, “you’re an educator. You love learning new knowledge and imparting it to others. Isn’t that what you’ll be doing here? C’mon, haven’t you always wanted to learn about the Israeli medical system?”

Bracha opened her mouth to retort but then paused. A curious expression passed over her face.

“You got me,” she said lightly.

Ayala gasped. “Is that a yes?”

Bracha made a face, then winced as Avi jumped on her knees. “Didn’t you come here to practice your speech?”

Which, Ayala realized with a grin as she looked down at her paper, was also not a no.

At first, Ayala thought she’d come to the wrong place. From Dini’s description, she’d understood the event to be a gathering of about ten women where they’d learn about Chesed Tzirel volunteering and, to keep things fun, enjoy a cooking demo given by some volunteer chef. Small and simple.

Now, as Ayala stepped into a rented social hall and took in the elegantly laden buffet tables lining the walls, the room filled with the high-pitched squeals of a few dozen young women, and the — she blinked to make sure she was seeing right — video crew setting up their equipment in the corner, she gave a silent, exasperated groan.

She should’ve known Dini didn’t do small and simple.

Ayala scanned the crowd until she spotted Dini. Of course, she was right in the middle of a crowd of young marrieds who, from where Ayala stood, all seemed to be dressed the same, and were all gazing at Dini adoringly or giggling at her jokes.

Feeling like an awkward guest at a simchah where she didn’t know anyone — rather than at an event for her very own organization — Ayala made her way through the crowd, throwing embarrassed smiles at the women she passed. One decided to be friendly and asked her if she was new in the neighborhood.

“Uh, no, I don’t live here,” she replied awkwardly. “I’m from Ramat Beit Shemesh.”

The young lady eyed her. “Cute! I didn’t know young couples lived there.”

Ayala was so thrown by so many aspects of that statement — did this girl think she was a newlywed? Or that all the young couples in the entire country lived in Ramat Eshkol? — that she simply smiled uncomfortably. She was spared from responding by the sound of Dini’s voice.

“Ayala! Amazing, you’re here! Now we can start.”

She noticed the young newlywed’s eyes widen as she stared at her with curiosity, mingled with respect. Discomfort suddenly melting away, Ayala flashed her an enigmatic smile before turning to Dini, who was practically bouncing on her high heels as her gaze swept the room, clearly brimming with pride.

“Amazing turnout, huh?” she asked.

“Yup. It’s certainly not what I expected,” Ayala replied. “Didn’t you say a small gathering of ten women? Or am I remembering wrong?”

Dini giggled, clearly taking the comment as a compliment. “I intentionally didn’t advertise this. It was by invitation only, because I wanted to keep the exclusive feel, you know? But so many women reached out asking if they could come, too, and I just felt bad saying no.” She winked. “I guess word spread that the famous Ayala Wexler was speaking.”

Ayala made a face. “Right. That’s why you hired the video crew? To film my speech?”

Dini laughed. “Well, that and Zeesie Stark’s cooking demo.”

“Zeesie Stark?” Ayala asked blankly.

Dini rolled her eyes. “Tell me you’ve heard of her. Do you, like, follow any trend at all?  Zeesie’s one of the newest chef influencers. She has about 30,000 followers and growing by the day. Of course she’s a big draw!”

Ayala glanced at her. “So these women are here for Zeesie Stark or for Chesed Tzirel?”

“Both.” Dini flashed a wide smile. “Zeesie’s the way to get them in the door.”

Ayala looked around the room once again, trying to make sense of what was happening. She had to admit the event looked quite impressive — considering Dini must have put it together in all of one week. “Is this, like, a fundraiser event?” she asked slowly.

“No, I told you, it’s for the volunteer club. There’s no fee for this event. The point is to bring them on board, and make them want to be a part of Chesed Tzirel.”

No entrance fee? Ayala frowned. The hall rental, the catering, the video, the celebrity chef — this must cost in the tens of thousands of shekels! “Who, exactly, is paying for this, then?”

Dini shrugged. “Well, for now, I am. But I’ll pay myself back once I raise enough money.”

Ayala’s mouth dropped open. “You’re going to use tzedakah funds for this? I’m sorry, Dini, there’s a limit.” She didn’t care how much money Dini’s family donated, she refused to use a penny of it to treat spoiled American newlyweds to celebrity cooking shows.

Dini’s eyes sparked. She opened her mouth to respond, then immediately closed it. “We can discuss this later,” she muttered. “This is not the time or place.” She nodded at two young women walking by. They promptly stopped and came over.

“Hi,” one of them said breathlessly, stepping forward. “You’re Dini Blumenfeld, right? You’re the one in charge of this organization?”

Dini was nothing if not tactful. Before Ayala had time to do more than feel the first twinge of resentment, Dini replied with a tinkling laugh, “No, my friend Ayala here is the awesome founder and chief of Chesed Tzirel. I’m just the volunteer coordinator. And event planner,” she added as an afterthought, assigning herself a new title on the spot.

Did other chesed organizations have event planners? Ayala wondered.

The young lady gave Ayala a respectful glance. “Wow, that is so cool. You run this whole operation? I know lots of people who’ve been helped by Chesed Tzirel! OMG, how do you do it all?”

Ayala squirmed in discomfort, though a small part of her couldn’t help feeling pleased by this girl’s admiration. She was beginning to understand the attraction for Dini — these young, practically-just-out-of-seminary women were still at the age of hero worship, and Dini, she had to admit, was the perfect person to fill that role.

The girl turned back to Dini.

“So, um, as volunteer coordinator, can you, like, tell me what’s involved? My friend Penina Stern told me all about your luncheon the other day, and this CT volunteer club you’re putting together sounds incredible. It’s exactly what I’ve been looking for!”

“So glad to hear,” Dini said with a gracious smile. “Part of our motivation in forming this was to help out young marrieds like yourself. We know how lonely it can get, and what a need there is for meaningful socialization.”

The girl beamed. Ayala tried very hard to restrain herself from shooting Dini an incredulous look. Since when had Chesed Tzirel become an organization to help young marrieds have meaningful socialization?

“Anyway,” Dini continued, “if you want to hear more, you came to the right place. We’ll be starting our program in about ten minutes, and then you’ll hear everything you need to know.”

As the girl walked away, Dini turned to Ayala. “Ready for the big speech?” she asked with a grin.

Ayala took a breath. She still wasn’t sure how she felt about this whole event. But, ready or not, it was about to happen.

After introducing Ayala, Dini settled back down in her chair to the sound of polite applause. She couldn’t help beaming with pride. Twenty-five women! And there were more who’d wanted to come as well, but she’d turned them down, apologizing that there wasn’t any more room. Both Shuki and her mother had agreed with her instinct to keep things exclusive and make this into a chesed people would be begging for the privilege to be a part of. She didn’t know whose reaction had made her feel prouder — Shuki’s whistle and an impressed, “Sounds like you got this,” or her mother’s tinged-with-surprise approval: “Good for you, Dini. It seems like you have a real knack for this.”

Looking around the room, she had to agree. The young women were eager and interested; she’d come up with the right formula of volunteerism plus filling a social need, and so far, the response had proven her right. Now it was up to her — and Ayala  — to channel their interest and transform them into loyal and motivated Chesed Tzirel ambassadors.

Caught up in her thoughts, Dini realized belatedly that Ayala had already started speaking, and quickly tuned back in.

“So now that I’ve explained what impelled me to start Chesed Tzirel, let me talk about why you’d want to volunteer with us.”

Ayala took a breath. “Let me tell you about Malka. It’s not her real name, of course. Malka was married just five months when her husband was in a terrible car accident. She was young, she had no family here, she didn’t speak Hebrew, or know anything about the system.”

Dini nodded in appreciation. Brilliant of Ayala, to choose an example these women could relate to.

“One of Malka’s neighbors called us, and we reached out to her to offer our help.”

Ayala paused, and Dini shot a glance around the room. She had the audience; they were all staring at Ayala raptly.

“We sat with her through doctors’ meetings; we translated and explained and guided her in the frightening medical decisions she was being asked to make. We held her hand during surgeries.  When her husband finally opened his eyes, after a week in a coma… I was there to give her a hug and cry with her.”

Dini heard the young woman next to her give a small sniff.

“Months later, we received a note from Malka, inviting us to her son’s bris.” Ayala swallowed, and her voice sounded shaky. “She wrote that, without our help, she didn’t know if her husband would have survived, or if their marriage would have survived. And now, they were the parents of a beautiful baby.”

There was silence in the room. Dini straightened herself in pride. Ayala had nailed it; yes, this was Chesed Tzirel. This was what they were working so hard for.

Then, Ayala continued, in a more normal voice, “Of course, we don’t volunteer for the thank-you letters. Nor for personal fulfillment, or the feeling that you’re saving the world.

“You might, and hopefully will, get all of those things — but that’s not why we do what we do. Chesed Tzirel is here for one reason and one reason only — to provide critical help to Jews in need.”

Ayala’s voice grew louder as her gaze swept around the room. “And anyone who volunteers with us does so because they have a burning desire to give that help. That’s it. That’s why I’m in this. That’s why… that’s why Dini’s in this.”

Ayala’s face relaxed into a smile. “And that’s why I hope you’ll all join us as well. Now, let’s talk about what it means to volunteer….”

Dini frowned. Why had Ayala hesitated before saying her name? Did she not think Dini was involved in Chesed Tzirel for the same altruistic motives as Ayala? Seriously, why else would she spend hours arranging meals, or putting together this volunteer event?

Realizing she was scowling, she quickly adjusted her expression to courteous interest… but inside, she was boiling.

To be continued…

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 879)