Forcing all Yehudis calculations aside, she pulled up the schedule spreadsheet and double-clicked on the first name. Diligently, she leaned forward to tackle her work.

Twenty minutes later, someone from the nursery paged her extension. She pressed on the flashing light. “Yes?”

“Hi, it’s Slavi, from Nursery B,” the voice shrilled. “I’m trying to reach Rivky Weitzler, Room 115, but she’s not answering, not her cell phone and not her room extension. The mohel is here and wants to talk to her.”

“She should be in the dining room for lunch. Hmm…” Leebie squinted at her screen, frowning. “Uh, if you can’t reach her, I guess I’ll go look for her.”

Well, next week’s schedule would have to wait. She saved her work and left the office.

In the dining room, Leebie spotted a huddle of women at one of the tables and instinctively started her search there. Sure enough, Mrs. Weitzler was right in the thick of the crowd, next to Fraidy Blau, the earring lady, and a whole bunch of other women. They were studiously debating the merits of square studs versus round ones versus red stones in gold settings.

That’s right. Thursday. Earring day.

After relaying Slavi’s message (“Oh, I left my phone at my table when I came to choose earrings…”), Leebie stole a quick look at the plates on the table. Gnocchi in a creamy white sauce with fried mushrooms. Yum, but… no. If she wasn’t careful, all the weight she’d worked so hard to lose before the wedding would pile right back on.

One of the women in the earring club was eyeing her curiously. The face looked familiar, and at the same instant, both of them placed it: Dassi’s English teacher, the famous Mrs. Englander who — that’s right — just had a baby. Tziporah must have settled her in, because Leebie hadn’t met her yet. “Mazel tov!” Leebie told her warmly. “Dassi was soooo excited about your new princess.”

Mrs. Englander grinned. “And you also get a mazel tov, don’t you? Dassi told us all about her sister’s wedding last month. It was on our First Grade News Wall.”

Before Leebie had a chance to answer, an arm landed on her shoulder, and she sniffed the distinct Red Door Revealed fragrance that heralded Ita Kratz.

“We get a mazel tov,” Ita trumpeted. “This was my shidduch, you know. So Leebie and I get to share the nachas.”

Leebie took a controlled breath and lowered her eyes to the half-eaten gnocchi plates. Please. Could Ita, like, go back to the nursery where she belonged? Why was she in the dining room?

Mrs. Englander just smiled. “So nice to meet you. Best regards to Dassi.”

“I thought you’re supposed to be in the office now?” Ita said sharply.

Leebie glared at her. I thought you’re supposed to be in the nursery now, she wished to retort, but for some reason, when it came to Ita, she kept all retorts to herself. “I came to look for Mrs. Weitzler,” she explained stiffly instead.

“I came to look for Mrs. Weitzler,” Ita asserted.

“Well, I relayed the message…” Leebie said. “She went.”

Ita wagged her sunflower-ringed finger. “We need to tell those mothers when they arrive that they must have their phones with them at all times. It’s enough of a hassle to have to go hunting for them on Shabbos, there should be no excuse for this during the week.”

Uh, was that her thank-you?

Ita shook her head in a huff, then headed off… to the kitchen, Leebie took into account. Ha. So she hadn’t come to the dining room to search for Mrs. Weitzler. She’d come to search for lunch.

Leebie was about to leave the dining room to return to her work, when her eyes settled on the women crowding around Fraidy Blau again.

Wait.

Shabbos, yes, sure, that was an idea. A start.

But… earrings.

Around a year ago, when Fraidy Blau had given birth to her fifth child, she’d dropped her Monday schedule and started coming around to Akeres only once a week, on Thursday. Many mothers of baby girls who didn’t stay a full week were disappointed to miss her.

Leebie still had her piercing gun stored in the garage. She also had a number of contacts for earring suppliers. What would it take to revive her old little business, just once a week, on Mondays, when Fraidy didn’t come…?

A small smile spread over her face as the idea cemented in her mind. She forgot all about the delicious-looking gnocchi. She didn’t even wait for the elevator. She dashed up the stairs and sprinted down the hallway to her office.

Perl Breuer was at her desk when Leebie entered. “Uh, Perl…” Leebie started, a little breathlessly. “I just thought of an idea. Can I talk to you for a minute?”

M

1. Heimfeld was in a meeting with a man Raizy didn’t recognize when she walked into the office. Raizy mumbled, “Good morning,” as she passed the cubicle and headed to her desk.

She sank into her chair and flicked on her screen. Okay, first thing, breathe. Another morning, another miracle. Both kids were feeling fine, she’d dropped off Yitzchok at morah and Yechiel had taken Chavi to the babysitter, and she’d even managed to throw food in the slow cooker so supper would be waiting for all of them when they got home. That little detail made her feel particularly smug.

But it wasn’t just another morning. Her sister Tziri was having another date with the Absfeld boy that night, and if everything went smoothly, “It looks like we can start planning a l’chayim…” her mother had told her with a nervous laugh that morning.

It was so weird and exciting and unbelievable. Her little sister, getting married! How did that make sense?

Mixed with the excitement, there was a tiny squeeze in Raizy’s chest. If this shidduch happened, Tziri would go live in Eretz Yisrael. That was… disappointing. She’d been picturing a new era, with a young married sister in her life. So many of her friends told her how they became really close with their younger sisters when they got married. She had Leah, of course, but Leah was, well… she would never say this to anyone, but Leah had married rich, which for some reason created a distance between them.

Whatever, it was selfish to think of herself in this simchah. She was genuinely happy for Tziri and hoped her little sister came out of this date flying high.

And now, work. There was something so fresh about a new day. Her friends never got her. They found this moment of the day totally depressing, with all those hours of boring work ahead. But it wasn’t like that for Raizy. She actually enjoyed her job. It was challenging and rewarding, and, well, it was nice to use her brain for a few hours, a welcome change from the physical and emotional strains of mothering. She got to sit, and she got paid to do so.

She’d barely started addressing her emails when Mrs. Heimfeld dialed her desk. “Can you come join us for a few minutes?” she asked.

Raizy saved her message to Zelner’s attorney as a draft and, by habit, turned off her screen. She had a moment to wonder who this person her boss was meeting with may be — a client? A broker? — before she tapped on the open door of her boss’s office, pulled up a chair, and politely took a seat.

Mrs. Heimfeld made the formal introductions. “This is Mrs. Jacob, one of our most talented loan officers,” she told the man. Then she turned to Raizy, who was furiously flushing at her boss’s treacly description. “This is Mr. Herzog. His daughter is applying to work for us, and he has some questions.”

What, seriously? If his daughter was applying for a job, why wasn’t she the one sitting at this interview? Where did her father come into the picture?

Raizy squinted at the man curiously. He was young-middle-aged, a neat, short, brown beard with a smattering of white. His eyes — small and green — seemed intelligent. And suspicious.

He launched into his first question. “So you’ve been working here for a while?”

“Yes. Seven years.”

There was a pile of napkins on her boss’s desk. Mr. Herzog took the top one and started folding it with swift, precise movements. “How long did it take for you to learn the ropes? When were you able to start handling your own loans? Do you bring in your own clients? Where do you pick them up?”

Whoa. This guy was something else.

Raizy tried answering all his questions, while Mr. Herzog cut her off with questions on her answers. It was like an interview in reverse — this guy vetting Union Funding rather than Union Funding vetting his daughter. There was something alarmingly strange going on here. Sometimes fathers went down to offices to check out hashkafic concerns. Internet filtering, gender divisions…. But this was completely different.

Mrs. Heimfeld was desperate to hire a new girl, she knew. She’d interviewed at least ten girls over the past two weeks, but none of them had, what Mrs. Heimfeld called, “any Raizy Jacob in them.”

Maybe this girl had “Raizy Jacob” in her, who knew. But no matter, didn’t Mrs. Heimfeld realize that this was… crazy?

Mr. Herzog’s questioning continued. Here and there, Mrs. Heimfeld piped in with explanations, rescuing Raizy from her distress, but with every passing minute, the air in the office felt hotter, and Raizy couldn’t help feeling like she’d been summoned to an interrogation room.

By the time she was dismissed from the meeting — the guy’s napkin had turned into a cute little bird — her head was spinning.

She’d never met Mr. Herzog’s daughter. But if she was anything like her father, Raizy surely hoped Mrs. Heimfeld wouldn’t hire her.

To be continued…

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 924)