“Awesome. If only there weren’t two sides on my side. Anyway, I told her she could come over soon. That okay with you?”

“Mommy Elbogen? Yeah, I guess. National Hosting Mother-in-Law Day.”

I got two more visitors before my second mother-in-law showed up: my friend Zehava, with a lunch that made the entire pregnancy and birth worth it, and my mother, for the second time that day. Avrumi left when Zehava arrived. I realized that we hadn’t discussed what we would actually do about our baby’s name, but I didn’t have much time to dwell on it. Soft tapping on the door made me snap out of my thoughts.

“Come in,” I called.

Yocheved Elbogen inched into the room slowly, bearing a bunch of balloons. “Libby!” she cried. “Mazel tov!”

“Thank you, Mommy!”

It was funny, how I had no problem calling her Mommy while Avrumi still grappled over how to address her.

“A boy! After five girls!” She released the balloons. They gravitated toward the bunch that was already decorating my room, and I chuckled inwardly as her bunch of balloons merged with the bunch my other mother-in-law had brought.

“Tell me what I should get you,” Yocheved said eagerly.

Copy, paste. Not a crib, please.

“Anything, Mommy. Really. It’s so sweet of you.”

“Please! For my little tzaddik? The world!”

I smiled politely. Her hinting was considerably subtler than Mommy Fried’s had been. Then again, it wasn’t her father whose memory she was advocating, only her husband’s father.

Later, when Avrumi came by with supper, we finally got a chance to talk.

“Can I tell you something?” I asked, clearing a spot for my plate on my tiny bedside table.

Avrumi leaned back in his chair, sipping from the container of cranberry juice that came along with every hospital meal. “Hmm?”

I rolled the table away and looked up at him.

“Nu?” he prodded.

“Okay, here’s the thing,” I started. “I hate the name Shaul.”

***

I got a frantic phone call from Mommy Fried two days after I came home from the hospital. “I hear the baby’s yellow!” she cried.

“Yes,” I confirmed. “The bris won’t be on time.”

My mother-in-law gasped, like this was a tragic piece of news. Her grandson, jaundiced! Imagine that!

“So when will it be?”

“I’m not sure yet. I guess whenever the mohel will tell us.”

“I remember Shaul Finkel’s bris. It was a Shabbos bris. Such a nice simchah, a Shabbos bris.”

I looked down at the baby on my lap, at his adorable chin dimple, and chewed my lip. This baby didn’t look like a Shaul, no matter how far I stretched my imagination. Who cared if Shaul Finkel’s bris had been on a Shabbos? Postponed brissim were never held on Shabbos.

An akshen gribel, a stubborn groove, Mommy Fried had called the baby’s chin dimple in the hospital, and the way she had said it, it hadn’t sounded very adorable. The nerve! To insult my baby and then expect us to name him Shaul!

Okay, this was kimpeturin line of thinking, and I had to get a coffee before —

Saved by the beep. I glanced at the ID. It was my sister-in-law, Chavi.

“Chavi’s calling,” I told my mother-in-law.

“Yeah, she wants to send you supper tomorrow night.”

“Nice!” I said warmly. “You trained your daughters well!”

See? I could compliment my mother-in-law. I wasn’t such a bad daughter-in-law after all.

Chavi hardly got past the first round of “I couldn’t belieeeeve it’s a boy!” when the next call came. I needed a secretary to field my mazel tov calls.

I checked the ID again. Elbogen, Yechiel.

I’ve been arguing for years that Mommy Elbogen was psychic. That, or she bugged my phone line. She always called moments after I hung up with Mommy Fried.

“Chav, my, uh… I have an important call here.”

Phew, close call. I was impressed that my kimpeturin brain remembered that Chavi wasn’t on speaking terms with the Elbogens. I had never gotten the story straight, but I knew enough not to mention Mommy Elbogen’s name around Chavi.

Mommy Elbogen cut right to the chase.

“I don’t mean to impose or anything, chas veshalom, but it would mean so much to Tatti if you’ll name the baby Eliezer. We don’t have any einiklech with that name yet, so we just thought, you know, we’re not forcing you, chas veshalom…”

I coughed. “The baby’s yellow,” I said. “The bris won’t be on time, so we don’t have to worry about the name yet.”

Whoops. I realized my mistake before I finished making it. Worry meant that the answer wasn’t entirely obvious. Total giveaway.

“Oh,” Mommy Elbogen said.

I felt so bad for her suddenly. She was such a nice person, completely harmless. It wasn’t fair that she had to put up with the friction between her husband and his ex-wife. And I felt terrible for my father-in-law. Finally free from Mommy Fried’s hold over his every breath, her domineering personality continued to stalk him in his new life. It wasn’t fair!

“The baby looks so much like Tatti,” I blurted. “He has the same high forehead and… and dimples.”

Mommy Elbogen chuckled. “Yeah, I’m looking at the picture here on my phone. I see what you mean.”

See? I was a good daughter-in-law.

The baby was still sleeping when we hung up, and I knew I should take a nap before he woke up for his next feeding. He had been fussy all night and I was tired. But I just had to call Zehava before I went to sleep.

“Hi, kimpeturin!” Zehava chirped.

“I’m falling asleep in sixty seconds flat, so let’s do this quickly. New Laffy Taffy wrapper riddle.”

“Go.”

“What’s the only thing worse than a shvigger?”

“Answer?”

“Two of them.”

*

I was changing the baby when the doorbell rang. With my girls farmed out, I was the only one around to get the door. I threw a blanket over him and ran.

“Wow!” I gushed, moving aside to let Chavi in with all her bags. “We’re only two people! How much food did you bring?”

Chavi beamed. She looked like a clone of her mother when she did that, and I pursed my lips as I ushered her in.

“Ooooh! He’s so cuuute!” she cooed, tickling my baby’s dimpled chin. “I’m trying to decide who he looks like.”

The devilish streak in me kicked in. I stared Chavi in the face as I answered, smoothly, “Your father.”

Chavi inhaled sharply. “Maybe,” she muttered.

I regretted saying it. Chavi had toiled over supper for me and had come over to deliver it. Where was my hakaros hatov?

Thankfully, my years of serving as daughter-in-law of two mothers-in-law had taught me how to effectively change conversations.

“The food smells heaven! What did you make? Gosh, I’m forever hungry these days!”

Chavi rattled off the menu, and my appetite rose dramatically with mention of every course. I told her as much, silently praying that she forgave my little jab. But I stopped praying when I heard what she had to say next.

“I’m so happy for you that you had a boy. I’m sure you know my mother gives $10,000 to every grandson named after her father.”

“What?!”

“Yeah, isn’t it nice? I think it’s—”

“Horrible!”

“Huh?”

“That’s – that’s so cheap! What is she doing, buying the name?”

Chavi blinked. Her tongue went slack, and that stupefied look made the resemblance between her and Mommy Fried all the more striking.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I-I overreacted. It’s just — I really don’t get it. It’s such a nice thing to name a child after a special grandfather, but… the idea of financial reward just doesn’t sit well with me. Please, Chavi. Don’t repeat this to your mother. Cut me some slack, I’m a kimpeturin.”

Chavi still hadn’t found her voice. I felt so terrible and stupid. Maybe I was a good daughter-in-law, sometimes, but I was definitely one shrew of a sister-in-law.

*

­

Avrumi and I didn’t discuss the baby’s name for the next two weeks. As though stalling would revive one of our dear departed grandfathers and rule out one option.

But then, when I took the day’s mail down to the tiny workstation where Avrumi sat checking mezuzos he suddenly asked, “Is it the name Shaul you don’t like? Or is it my mother?”

“I love your mother,” I lied promptly.

Avrumi was quiet. I tore off a sheet of paper towel from a roll that sat on his desk and swept a coat of dust off the windowpane.

“Hey, why are you cleaning?” Avrumi asked. “You’re supposed to relax.”

“Oh, please. I’m not sick. The baby’s two-and-a-half weeks old, for goodness sake. This place looks like it wasn’t cleaned since last year erev Pesach.”

“We need to talk about the name.”

“I know.”

“Well?”

“I don’t know!”

“Didn’t you just say you know?”

I laughed. “Dina’s turning six next week. We need to do something for her. She could use a boost. Don’t you find that she’s forever walking in Nechami’s shadow?”

“Right, so we’ll make her a party, but let’s not change the subject. The mohel might tell us the baby’s ready for his bris any day, and we need to decide what we’re doing.”

“Okay, so one thing I can tell you. Whether it’s Eliezer or Shaul, I am not accepting $10,000 from anyone. It’s… low.”

“That’s not the point.”

“I know. I hate the name Shaul.”

Avrumi sighed.

“Wait!” I cried suddenly. “Why is all this about me? You’re the father. Which name do you want to give?”

There. I dropped all my baby weight with that one outburst.

Avrumi turned away from the sink and bravely made eye contact. “Truth is? I don’t know. I don’t love or hate either name, and they’re both grandfathers.”

“So you’re hoping I’ll make the decision and then you can say it was your wife’s choice?”

“Guilty as charged.”

“Nice. Niiiice. Just wonderful.” I shook my head. “Next question: are we choosing a name? Or are we choosing between your parents? I can handle choosing a name, but choosing between my divorced in-laws is just… too much. I can’t do it.”

“I know.”

“Whoever said knowledge is power was a total idiot,” I said.

“Amen,” Avrumi said, nodding solemnly. He smoothed out the parchment on his desk, once, twice, again. “We could consult with Rav Sternhill. Should I?”

“Hey, of course! Oh my goodness, why didn’t we think of this right away? Phew, that’s it!”

“And if he says we should name him Shaul?”

“Um,” I said. “You got me there.”

“Besides, the fact that it’s a shaila is going to hurt my parents just as much as if we don’t give ‘their’ name. Like, why is it a question in the first place?”

“I think I’m ready for bed. I’m a kimpeturin, remember?”

“How did it go again? ‘Oh, please. I’m not sick. The baby’s two-and-a-half weeks old, for goodness sake’.”

A rusty brown folding chair rested against the wall. It creaked when I opened it, and my feet felt old and worn as I sat down. Twenty years from now, our son would either be Shaul Elbogen or Eliezer Elbogen, or Leizer or whatever, and it would be natural and normal, and we’d laugh at the idea that he could have had any other name. If I could only know which one it would be. I stared at Avrumi as if he was the Urim V’Tumim, but it didn’t work, the answer didn’t come. And it didn’t help that my girls, now back home and demanding my full attention, were betting their most prized possessions over what the baby’s name would be.

“Eliezer Shaul? Shaul Eliezer?” Avrumi pondered. “You know something, even if we had twin boys we couldn’t have named them Shaul and Eliezer. Think about it. They wouldn’t be able to stay under one roof.” He gave a mock shudder. “Besides for the fact that their bubbies would openly play favorites.”

“We should name him Shalom, to teach them all a lesson,” I said sulkily.

The doorbell pealed through the gloomy cloud in the room. I heard a stampede of feet as my girls charged for the door.

“Expecting someone?” Avrumi asked.

I shook my head. A minute later the girls were banging on the study door, squawking like a bunch of trapped chickens.

“Action,” I whistled.

They toppled over me as I pulled the door open. “Maaaa! Look!”

I looked. A box that was taller than me – and I’m 5’ 7” – filled up ninety percent of the foyer. The first words that jumped up at me were Made in Italy. After that my vision blurred.

Furniture. Italian baby furniture.

“It’s from Bubby Fried!” Nechami squealed, waving a card wildly in the air, like a winner flag.

I stumbled back into Avrumi’s workshop and collapsed into the folding chair.

*

I started suspecting PPD when I heard about Mommy Fried’s dream. After a long night of being up with Baby, I was pretty sure I was hearing things.

“Wait, start again, from the beginning. She was lying in bed, sleeping. Face up, I suppose? So she was able to see her mother float through the ceiling, coming down directly from Shamayim? Did she descend by ladder? Was it the ladder from Yaakov’s dream, when his mother sent him to Lavan and he lay down to rest on the way? His mother was Rivka, never forget. Aha, I see. It’s all falling into place.”

“Are you this corny after every birth?” Avrumi griped.

“My grandmother never visited my mother-in-law in her dream before. Did she serve her coffee? Mandelbrot?”

“Libby, stop!” Avrumi exclaimed, laughing. “You’re making fun.”

“Fun? This is the saddest joke I ever heard.”

“It wasn’t funny when she repeated it to me.”

“Repeated?”

“Libby!”

“Okay, okay, sorry. So Bubby What’s-Her-Name-Again came sailing down from yene velt and told your mother that she’s so happy that Avrumi is naming his son after her husband. Did I get it right?”

Avrumi groaned.

“Well, he isn’t.”

“Isn’t what?”

“Isn’t naming his son Shaul,” I said, pointedly. “Or is he?”

“Not sure,” Avrumi sighed, “but whatever she’s dreaming, this parshah has definitely become one awful nightmare.”

Avrumi went down to his workshop, and I called my mother to say good morning.

“Ma, tell me. Did you and Tatti ever advise any of your kids what to name their babies?”

My mother hummed softly. “Your mother-in-law’s pressuring you?”

I always marveled at my mother’s intuition. “Make that mothers-in-law,” I said grimly.

My mother told me how bad she felt for me and how parents get a special ruach hakodesh when it comes to naming a child. But when we hung up the phone and I alternately closed my eyes tightly and sat hugging my knees and staring at the ceiling, there was no epiphany, no bas kol, no ruach hakodesh.

I yawned. Maybe if I took a nap my grandmother would visit me in my sleep and tell me what to do.

*

Nobody could hold it against us for going a little overboard with Baby’s vach nacht. Our friends were making bar mitzvahs while we were getting ready for our very first bris.

I don’t think I was much help setting up. My mother has a knack for throwing parties, and she came over and transformed our house into a ballroom. I hung around, tasting petit fours to make sure everything was good. Look, I was a kimpeturin.

“Nu?” Avrumi sang when he spotted me on his way up the stairs with the cradle canopy we had rented for the occasion.

“Beautiful,” I said, dreamily. “It’s going to be a beautiful vach nacht.”

“Come on, Libby, it’s crunch time. What are we going to do?”

“You’re letting me decide?”

“Yes,” Avrumi said, plunking the canopy down on the floor. Creamy organza trailed over the floor like the train of a kallah’s gown.

I glanced around to make sure none of my girls were listening. “Eliezer,” I declared, fixing my eyes on my husband.

Avrumi’s brows zigzagged up. “Uh, then… okay!”

I shot him a dazzling smile. Woo-hoo! That was easy!

Avrumi got to work assembling the canopy. I skipped over to the baby’s bassinet and gently stroked his downy cheek. Between him, me and the fancy canopy, he looked like an Eliezer. For the first time since his birth, I felt light and calm and totally and completely happy.

A group of boys came over later in the day to say Shema around Baby. Like a true mother, my eyes got teary from emotion, and I turned my face away, embarrassed that the little boys should see me crying. My little tzaddik, my Eliezer… I felt an enormous bond with my child now that I associated him with his name.

At night, Mommy Fried was the first guest to arrive. After piling her a plate and letting her gush over the beautiful sweet table my mother had set up, I sat her down in the farthest corner of the room. I needed her well out of the way when Mommy Elbogen made her appearance. Although really, this was a cinch. I had become a pro at diverting their attention from each other. I did it at every siddur party and family simchah, serving as a human barrier between my two dear mothers-in-law.

My girls were stuffing their mouths with all kinds of chocolaty and confection-sugary stuff, getting their nice outfits all dirty. But I didn’t mind. I was having a blast with my sisters, cousins, and friends.

“Bubby Elbogen is here!” Dina announced.

I glanced at Mommy Fried. She was sipping seltzer and in deep conversation with one of my aunts. Coast clear, I stood up to greet my other mother-in-law.

What – whoa. This other mother-in-law was lugging an enormous bag that contained an enormous box, which I suspected contained an enormous gift that I refused to acknowledge just then. I waited for her to park the box in a corner before making my way over to her and embracing her warmly. “Mazel tov!” she exclaimed. I saw her sweep the room with her eyes, and I knew it wasn’t the nice décor she was after, only the seat she needed to avoid.

Knowing how she stayed away from cakes and cookies, I settled her down with a martini fruit cup, a plate of deli salad, and a neutral family member on each side.

Nechami rushed over to me. “Tatty’s calling you,” she reported. “He’s in the den.”

I excused myself and skirted my way out of the room.

Avrumi was sitting at his desk in the den. As I opened the door, I shot him a dramatic thumbs-up. “So far so good. Mommy F. is facing mizrach, talking to Tante Goldie, and Mommy E. is facing maariv, talking to Gitty Steuer. Oh, and don’t ask. Mommy E. came in with a huge box that I pretended not to notice. I hate bribes.”

Now here’s the thing with our den. For reasons I can’t detail without tarnishing our contractor’s reputation, it’s L-shaped. So when I was standing there in the doorframe, briefing Avrumi on the story of my life, I couldn’t see the leg of the L. It was only when I finished describing how big Mommy E.’s gift was that I noticed the wild dance his eyes were performing, and the subtle tilt of his head in the direction of the part of the room I couldn’t see.

I zipped my big mouth shut and tiptoed uneasily into the room.

Boy did I have it in for our contractor — for putting down a floor that wouldn’t open up, no matter how many incantations I muttered. There, on the side of the desk’s return, sat my father-in-law Elbogen.

“Mazel tov,” my father-in-law said politely.

I ordered my head to nod. Up, down, up, down. See? That’s the spirit.

“Libby,” my father-in-law began.

This was weird. My father-in-law never called me Libby. I raked Avrumi’s face for a clue but he appeared to be just as clueless as I was.

My father-in-law stood up and rubbed his hands together. “I want you to know, I understand you. Deciding on the name… it’s a hard dilemma. I feel bad. You’re in a tough spot.”

My eyes locked with Avrumi’s for a second, and then we quickly looked away.

“I don’t have a grandson named after my father yet. It’s been nearly five years since his petirah, and the chance still hasn’t come up. You know, Bassi and Kalmen had only girls since then, Fraidy has a grandfather Eliezer, and the rest…”

The rest were Chavi, Shaya, and Rachel, and all of them had had only one boy since Eliezer was niftar, and all of them had named their boys Shaul. Just like when Avrumi’s parents had been married, his mother always got what she wanted. It peeved me to no end that she could still control her ex-husband, years after they’d divorced.

I wanted to jump in right then and tell my father-in-law he could relax, we were naming our son Eliezer, but my tongue was still clinging to the roof of my mouth since my, er, elegant entrance.

“I would give anything for this name,” my father-in-law continued, pain clouding his face. “It would mean the world to me.” He swallowed, running the pad of his thumb over the surface of the desk. “But, no, I don’t want you to give this name. My father, zichrono livracha, was an oheiv shalom. He would never, no matter what, instigate machlokes. Naming a child after him and upsetting someone in the process would hurt him to no end. I don’t doubt he would be mevater, and he would be mevater gracefully. And therefore, I’m mevater. Name your son Shaul, in the best of health, and may he grow up to be a tzaddik and inherit the beautiful middos of his Zeide Eliezer.”

Good thing my mouth was still numb, if I hadn’t been working so hard not to blush, I would have burst out crying right then.

*

The worst part of naming the baby Shaul was that my sisters-in-law would think I had fallen for my mother-in-law’s disgraceful bribe. Or worse, her dream.

With the bris being held three weeks late, I was thrilled that I was able to wear my mauve blazer and black-and-white scarf. It made me look pert and snappy. At least I would look the part, even if I didn’t feel it.

I’d heard so much about Mommy Fried’s poya, I was kind of curious to see it live. Avrumi hurried over with the car right after Shacharis to pick up Baby and me. I settled into the car, and then, unbidden, after pressing on my ducts for weeks, the tears came.

“We can’t do it!” I sobbed. “Forget personal preferences, my heart goes out to your father! He’s such a selfless man, and he’s always so easygoing and nice. It isn’t fair to him! Why can’t he ever get anything he wants? And deserves! Does he have to suffer the rest of his life because his ex-wife is more assertive than he is?”

“Whoa, Libby. Where is that coming from?”

I slunk into my seat. “My heart,” I said, weakly. “I can’t handle it.”

Wisely, Avrumi said nothing.

“I want to name this child Eliezer,” I whispered. “It’s just — it’s what my heart tells me.”

Avrumi pulled into a parking spot and killed the engine. He stared out the window quietly for a long moment. “Okay,” he said, and I got the feeling he was afraid to mess with my delicate kimpeturin nerves. “Okay, so we’ll do Eliezer.”

We left the car, a heavy silence escorting us into the shul. The mohel took the baby to prep him for the bris, and I hung around in the ezras nashim, watching my mother set bagels and lox onto the table.

Mommy Fried looked radiant, her eyes sparkling like 1,000-watt bulbs. I couldn’t look at her. My throat felt scratchy and I drew breath with great effort. The baby let out a howl and I wanted to cry along, scream at the world for all of its complications. For mothers-in-law whose wishes would forever be opposed and for poor men who were denied their due privileges. For couples that couldn’t make decent decisions without hurting people in the process, and for children whose fates were so fragile.

I dragged myself to the room where the mohel was working and peeked inside. My child was getting ready to join Klal Yisrael, his tiny body squirming in the stiffly pressed white poya. Of course it was okay to cry.

A light tap on my shoulder made me tear my eyes away from Baby. Mommy Fried stood in the hallway, a sugary smile on her face. “I’m so excited,” she breathed dreamily.

My stomach nosedived to my toes. I nodded like a robot, wrested my lips up to form a wisp of a smile, and sailed past her.

Mommy Elbogen was sitting on a bench on the side, whispering Tehillim. An aura of serenity surrounded her. I scuffled over to her and sat down at her side.

“Libby,” she said, taking my hand into hers.

I felt the warmth of her hands diffuse into my own. I looked up. Her eyes were clear, content. Happy.

And then I knew.

She wouldn’t be hurt. Her husband wouldn’t be hurt. The only one hurting was me. And the only one who could take my hurt away was yours truly.

I stood up abruptly.

“Shaul!” I called as Shaul Finkel ran past me.

He swirled around. “Yeah?” he asked, tossing two balls in the air.

“Come here, Shaul,” I said. “Please go call Avrumi. Tell him to come to the mechitzah quickly, it’s very important.”

Shaul ran off, and moments later Avrumi came, darting anxious looks. “What’s going on?”

“I have an answer.”

“An answer? But I thought? I mean, didn’t you just tell me —”

“No, not a name,” I said. “An answer.”

Avrumi scanned the area for interlopers. “Nu, lemme hear.”

I took a deep breath. “We can’t make everyone happy, right? So you know what I realized? This isn’t about making happy! It’s not even about a name. It’s about being pulled in opposite directions and trying not to lose our balance.”

I studied Avrumi’s face as he digested my sage, philosophical words. If he was swallowing a chuckle, I pretended not to notice. Too bad. Wives could be this way sometimes.

After double-checking to make sure nobody was around, I pressed on. “We need to name this baby Shaul or your mother might never talk to us again. So basically, there’s no choice. But I refuse to feel like someone stole such a major choice from me, so instead, I’m choosing it. Get it? I choose to name him Shaul. ‘Kay, and don’t laugh now, but like, along with his name, we’re giving him this legacy, this — what do you call it? — this gevurah, to stand up and choose.”

That said, I mock-curtsied. Avrumi scrutinized my face as though to verify that I was the wife he’d married. Then he graciously ratified my decision. I held my head up high. Practicing, you know.

My parents were kvatter. My father-in-law Elbogen was sandek. Eliyahu Fried got krias shem, and I nearly burst out laughing when that irony hit me. The mohel performed the bris, and the name was announced. I was surprisingly calm. My son’s name was Shaul, but he was named after Eliezer. There was no regret, no qualms.

And then Mommy Elbogen gave me the most beautiful gift a mother-in-law could possibly give. She walked over to Mommy Fried, extended her hand, and wished her a warm mazel tov.

There. My Shaul had done it already.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha Magazine)