Nechami suppresses a smile. Shifra possesses enough innocence for ten people, with a bit left over

One flame glows in the menorah. Shua sits nearby, learning. This, to Nechami, is perfection — a dance of melody and light.

She moves around the room, collecting the discarded wrappers of electric dreidels, dabbing at a spot of jam.

“What time are we going to the hall?” Shua asks, keeping his finger in place on the page.

“Seven thirty,” she says. “Ima asked the family to come early, for the pictures.”

“But I’m excused from the pictures, right? I have a chavrusa with Nussbaum. I’ll get there around eight thirty.”

“Yes,” Nechami says. She observes herself as an outsider might, trying to isolate her conflicting feelings: joy, pride, resignation.

He looks at her cautiously. “Do you need me to help get the kids ready?”

“No, it’s fine.” And it really is. Once, getting the family ready to go out was like being caught in an endless loop. If you lined up all the people in China and had them pass through a gate in single file, the task would never be finished, because by the time the last one in line reached the gate, another billion would be born, and they would join the line. That’s what it was like, getting a brood of preschoolers ready for a simchah.

She’d be dressing the middle child, and the freshly dressed baby would spit up. While she changed the baby’s clothes, the oldest would get hold of some chocolate. She’d hurry to wash his hands and face, and the middle one would start crying. And by the time they’d grown a little more self-sufficient, and they were all getting ready for Tzvi’s wedding in Antwerp, her fourth had come along — an adorable little girl, but no less demanding than the boys.

Tzvi’s wedding was a major event for the family, and everyone had offered the same well-meaning advice: “Come without the kids! Enjoy a nice, quiet trip.” But that advice didn’t come with any recommendations about where to leave four small children.

She ended up taking Beri and baby Sari with her. With two little ones in tow and two more waiting eagerly for her in Jerusalem, she stayed for only half of the sheva brachos. In Antwerp, Shua found an old chavrusa from his yeshivah days, and they learned together at every possible hour. He’d come back happy from these sessions, like a polished diamond — when a ray of light hit him, he’d reflect the sparkle in all directions.

One afternoon he offered to go out with her to the famous “Cholent Park,” and their hostess generously promised to keep an eye on the kids, who were napping. The park was big, green, and luxuriant. They walked around the lake, and he told her what he’d been learning with his chavrusa. Was it hard for her in the mornings with the children, he asked, while all her siblings were out shopping or touring? She assured him it was fine. Tomorrow, she’d be going to a big shopping center with her mother. Chaya would be with them, too, and she’d help out with the kids.

“Are you sure?” He looked at her closely. “Because… my chavrusa was really surprised at the way you…”

She braced herself. “The way I what?”

“The way you let me go and learn, without expecting me to pitch in at all. Even when we’re away on a trip.”