“I — I hear,” Perri filled in the silence.

“So I’m counting on you, okay, Perri? I want you to keep an eye on her, and make sure she stays on track. My friend Judy Wasserman, you know, the big shadchan — she told me she already has an idea for when Chaya Rivky gets back this summer. The last thing we need is for her to get all these alternative ideas right before shidduchim.”

“Okay, Mommy, I’ll keep an eye on her.”

“Thank you, mammele. I knew I could count on you. And here I am at the sheitelmacher. Have a great day!”

Perri turned off the phone and studied the tablecloth absently. Was there any substance to Mommy Weiss’s worries? Last time she’d been here, Chaya Rivky had been her usual self — recounting her amaaaaazing inspiring experiences and, if she remembered correctly, thoroughly enjoying the gashmiyus offerings, too.

Wait, who was ringing the bell?

It was Chaya Rivky herself. “Hi, Tante Perri. How are you? They said supper tonight is chicken on the bone, so I figured I would come over. Whatever you’re serving, I’m sure it’s better. And if not, you have good Shabbos cereal, right?”

Perri nodded.

“Perfect. So in the meantime, let me help you! Do you need chocolate chip cookies? Or maybe some brownies?”

“Thanks so much, Chaya Rivky, I think we’re good. Do you want to help me with these tablecloths? I need them all refolded neatly before I put them back in the gemach closet.”

If Chaya Rivky was disappointed, she rebounded quickly. She grabbed the first tablecloth and got to work. “For sure, happy to help. Wow, Tante Perri, these are gorgeous. I think they’re my favorite in your entire collection.”

“I like them, too,” Perri said, keeping a watchful eye on Chaya Rivky. “Here, want me to help you with that? If you match up the corners perfectly, the rest is easy.”

“Thanks.” Chaya Rivky surrendered the tablecloth to Perri, who drew the corners together with Hungarian precision. “Are people here really into these things? Does everyone get a fancy tablecloth for every simchah? Or is it just the Americans?”

Perri shrugged. “Most of the people who borrow from my gemach are English speakers,” she said, “but that’s just because that’s who knows me, or about me.”

“I bet Israelis, or even the super-yeshivish Americans, don’t need this stuff,” Chaya Rivky said confidently. “You know my roommate Dina? She took me to her cousin’s wedding in some yishuv. I never saw a wedding like that… these people probably never heard of designer shoes or bags. They were just wearing the same flowy dresses they wear all the time, not one person in heels. The chuppah was, like, outdoors. In a field! The kallah’s bouquet — it looked like something I could pick in my backyard in Monsey. But the simchah was soooo real. So beautiful. These people were like, completely liberated from all of our materialism. You know? They were so happy, even with the most basic tablecloths — not like these gorgeous ones you have here.”

“I hear that.” Perri smiled thinly as she ran a finger along the entire length of the floral tablecloth, pulling the fabric taut.

“Oh-em-gee, I love how you did that. There is like, literally, not a single wrinkle left. How do you know how to do these things so perfectly?” Chaya Rivky half-wailed. “Is it something you learn or are you just born that way?”

Perri laughed. “Don’t worry, when you have your own house you’ll figure it out.” She located the exact midpoint of the tablecloth and folded it neatly in half, then in quarters. “If it’s important to you.”

Chaya Rivky pulled another tablecloth out of the bag. “Wait, so show me again. I start with the corners?”

“Yes, you—” Perri stopped. “I think someone’s knocking, can you answer?”

“Sure.” Chaya Rivky put the tablecloth down. She opened the door. A tall girl with deep-set eyes was standing there. “Hi. I’m the Weisses’ niece. Are you looking for my aunt?”

The girl nodded.

“Tante Perri?” Chaya Rivky called. “Someone here for you.”

“Oh, it’s Tamar!” Perri said as she approached. “Chaya Rivky, this is our neighbor, Tamar Markowitz. What’s up, Tamar?”

Tamar smoothed down her skirt nervously. “Hi, Mrs. Weiss. I was wondering — umm — like, I’m making a party for my friends on Chanukah next week, and I was wondering if maybe I could — like, would I be able to borrow some tablecloths from your gemach?”

Perri’s eyebrows jumped up in surprise, but a nanosecond later, her face was spread in a smooth smile. “That’s so nice! Of course you can borrow some tablecloths. Here, come inside, we keep them in the study. This is my niece Chaya Rivky, she’s here in seminary this year. She’s actually helping me with the tablecloths right now — Chaya Rivky, do you want to show Tamar the options and help her pick something nice?”

“Sure.” Chaya Rivka led Tamar to the study.

Perri took a deep breath and picked up one of the waiting floral tablecloths. Then she put it down. Chaya Rivky seemed to have sucked the air out of the room. She decided to take out the garbage — it was basically full, anyway — and breathe a little outside.

I

n the study, Chaya Rivky opened up the doors to the custom-built closet that housed the gemach. “Here, let’s look at the choices. Do you have a color scheme for your party?”

Tamar gazed at the neat rows of fabric and bit her lip. “Is that how you start? With the color scheme?”

Chaya Rivky thought back to the tzedakah parties Babbi Weiss liked to host. She remembered that gentle buzz of well-dressed women filling the large room with warmth, laughter, and lively chitchat. Lots of bright salads. Lucite trays covered with wraps and mini-quiches. Elegant glasses filled with layers of chocolate and coffee, lotus and cream, lemon curd and berries. Alternating types of sushi arranged in neat rows. Was there a color scheme? Was that where Babbi started? She couldn’t quite remember.

“Well,” she hedged, “if you don’t have a color scheme in mind, you can start with the tablecloth. That can give you the inspo for everything else.”

Tamar nodded. She seemed very serious about this. You would think she was getting ready for a murder math test, not a Chanukah party.

Chaya Rivky pulled out a burlap-look cloth and a navy threaded with metallic accents. She set them on the desk. Oh well, Perri’s perfect folds were no longer so perfect. Tamar, following her lead, pulled out a deep green velvet and added it to the selection.

“What do you think of these?” Chaya Rivky pointed to her choices. “If you do the burlap, you can get those wood-look paper goods and go with apple-green as an accent. You know, like for the napkins. And you can do gorgeous centerpieces, mostly leaves. The whole party will have this woodsy look. That can be nice, no?”

“Yeah. Really nice.” Tamar fingered the green velvet. “This one… it’s not really the type for a girls’ get-together, right?”

Chaya Rivky shrugged. “It’s your party, you decide. To me it looks socially off, but you can do what works for you. The navy and silver has a real Chanukah vibe, that’s why I pulled it out. It would look amazing with white square plates and maybe, for a pop of color, you can go with deep pink flowers in white vases – you know, the little vases that you spread across the whole table.”

“We don’t have vases,” Tamar said softly, eyes fixed on the green velvet. “I mean, we have one vase for the Shabbos flowers. Not tons of little vases.”

“I’m sure my aunt has vases in her gemach. Doesn’t she?”

They both looked at the upper shelves of the closet. True to Chaya Rivky’s prediction, there were all sorts of vases there: glass, bronze, ceramic, even a few terra cotta.

“Great, so there you go. Perri is the best, she’ll be totally fine if you take some vases. We’re going with the navy, right? And you’ll do white and silver for the paper goods, and bright pink flowers for the pop of color. I love it already! You’ll have to show me pics!”

Tamar stood there helplessly.

Chaya Rivky dumped three navy tablecloths on her. “Take these, I’ll get down the vases. You live next door, right? You know what? I’ll help you bring it all over now.”

“You don’t have to,” Tamar said. “I’ll do it myself.”

“I’m happy to help! I’ll just follow you.”

Tamar sighed and nodded. “Okay.”

Chaya Rivky took one of the waiting bags and carefully packed in eight small white vases. She followed Tamar out of the house and across the hall to the door with the silver-edged “Mishpachat Markowitz” sign. Oh, wait, that meant that Tamar was the daughter of that amazing baalas teshuvah who’d visited Perri on Shabbos. The one who was so authentic. So refreshing. What was her name? Melinda, something like that….

Chaya Rivky stepped into the apartment. Wow, it looked very different from Tante Perri’s house. The view from the living room window was the same Jerusalem sky-stone combo that clutched her heart every time, but this place had clearly never been renovated. The floor was still an old brown-and-beige matzah tile. The couch was a worn brown pleather. A simple fluorescent light illuminated every scratch of the old dining room set.

“Where should I put the vases?” Chaya Rivky asked.

“I’ll take them to my room,” Tamar said.

“Want me to bring them?” Chaya Rivky tried to stop her eyes from roving toward the entrance to the kitchen. From what she could see, it was more of the same: old tiles, colorless counters.

“No! I mean, no thanks. It’s fine. I’ll do it.”

“’Kay, great. Good luck with the party!” Chaya Rivky flashed one last smile, but Tamar’s stubborn refusal to get into party mode had drained the perkiness out of her voice.

She closed the apartment door gently behind her and tried to reconcile it all. The Markowitz home was probably Gan Eden on earth. It had to be spiritual bliss to live so authentically, to be so real and so focused, to live with people who’d made the conscious decision to throw away all that materialism…. so why was Tamar Markowitz so hungry for the velvet and vases across the hall?

To be continued….