“Oh, come on, Miriam,” I said, exasperatedly. “The Arabs are not dangerous here. They’re just… neighbors"

Dovid

"A letter from who?” I asked, peering at the envelope in Mama’s hand.

“I’ll show you when Elka gets inside. We’ll all look at it together,” Mama answered.

“Aww, please? Can’t I see it?” I begged, reaching forward, but stopping myself before I snatched it out of Mama’s hand. If I did that, Mama would be really angry. And besides, I was a yeshivah bochur now — I was learning with the bochurim. “Do you think Elka will be back before I have to leave?” I asked worriedly.

Mama stood up from her seat at the table. “Where did you last see her? I’ll go bring her inside.” And before I could answer, Mama was across the room and opening the door of the apartment.

I had barely taken another spoonful of soup when the door opened again and Leiba and Miriam spilled into the room.

“Where’s Mama?” Miriam asked. Her hands were filthy.

“Outside,” I said shortly, swallowing the carrots and beans that filled my mouth. “What were you doing? Digging in the mud?”

Miriam just looked at me. She’s not as much fun to tease as Elka. Elka gets so upset when I say things like that, but Miriam just lets it float over her head, almost as if I wasn’t talking.

“I want,” Leiba demanded, climbing up on the chair next to me and pointing to my soup. Grrr. Where was Mama when you needed her? “Hey,” I began, trying to distract my little sister, “Mama went to get Elka because we got a letter.”

“From who?” Miriam asked, returning from the bucket in the corner where she had just washed her hands.

I shrugged and went back to my soup. At least Leiba wasn’t asking me for it anymore.