“Dafna!” They all turned at the sound of Rikki Klein’s voice. “Come in, I want to speak with you a second.” Rikki shot a swift, piercing glance in ZeeZee’s direction before sticking her head back inside the building.

Sighing, Dafna turned to go in. “Looks like I’m about to have a DMC about my — um — ‘self-destructive’ habits in school.”

She rolled her eyes as Ilana said, “I think the word you’re looking for is ‘idiotic.’ ”

Once Dafna left, ZeeZee asked anxiously, “Did the school kick her out for good?”

Ilana shrugged. “Nah, they’ll take her back. Probably after they make her sign some stupid contract promising to be a good girl from now on.” She looked at ZeeZee. “Which is really dumb of them considering Dafna can’t read a word of it.”

ZeeZee widened her eyes. “What do you mean? She doesn’t know how to read Hebrew?”

“She barely reads English. It’s been crazy hard for her to go to high school here. Like, what were her parents thinking? No wonder she does ridiculous things in class.” Ilana paused, her eyes resting on the Klein children giggling as they jumped on the trampoline. “I guess we all have our own stupid ways of acting out.”

“So what do you do?” ZeeZee asked.

Ilana’s lips curled up slightly. “I drive my parents crazy about food.”

ZeeZee laughed. “What, you don’t keep their hechsherim?”

Ilana chuckled. “I only eat teeny tiny bits of food each day.”

ZeeZee stared at her. For the first time, she noticed just how thin the girl was. “Do you have… like, an eating disorder or something?”

Ilana lifted her chin. “Does that shock you? Never met anyone with a problem worse than a bad hair day?”

ZeeZee frowned. “Actually, I have. My roommate is also kind of starving herself, but she refuses to admit it. I’ve been trying to tell her to go for therapy, because I’m legit scared she’s gonna kill herself, but she gets all mad at me when I bring it up.” She looked at Ilana. “It’s amazing, actually, that you’re so open about it.”  Suddenly her eyes lit up. “Hey, how about you come and talk to her?”

Ilana raised an eyebrow. “You mean, like, come to your seminary and say, hello, I’m anorexic, how ‘bout you?”

ZeeZee nodded excitedly. “Yeah! I mean, something like that.” She grasped Ilana’s arm. “Seriously, come this Thursday, together with Dafna. You’ll mamesh be saving her life.”

Ilana pulled her arm away. “You’re crazy, you know that?”

“Yup.” ZeeZee looked at her, waiting. At last, Ilana gave a short laugh and slowly nodded. “No earring-making classes, though. Got that?”

Chava hesitated outside the front door, staring at the “Mishpachat Hurwitz” sign. It was bordered by an adorable painted bunny peeking out from behind vivid flowers — exactly the kind of cutesy, sunshiny sign she’d expect of Tammy Hurwitz. Wondering if she was making a fool of herself, she knocked.

The door swung open, and Tammy’s eyes widened in shock. “Mrs. Edelman! What are you — I mean, um, did you come for Devoiry’s sale? That’s not for another hour.”

Tammy’s snood was askew, and she had a smudge of flour on her skirt. Seeing her, Chava wondered what in the world she’d been thinking by coming here. Just apologize for the mistake and leave gracefully.

Instead, she heard herself saying, “Yes, I know. I came to deliver this.” She held out a pan of brownies. “Refreshments for tonight.”

Tammy took the pan. “Oh! Thanks!”

“And,” Chava quickly continued, “to offer to help. It’s not easy to get the house ready with little children underfoot. I appreciate what you’re doing for my daughter.”

Tammy flushed. “Not children,” she murmured. “I just have one baby.” A flicker of pain passed over her face, and Chava, to cover up for what was clearly a gaffe, said brightly, “I’m great at holding babies. Or cutting up vegetables. Or sweeping the floor. Please, tell me what I can do.”

After swaying uncertainly in the doorway, Tammy stepped aside and waved Chava in. “This is so sweet of you, thanks.”

A swift glance around showed Chava how much still needed to be done. Blushing, Tammy said apologetically, “I was just finishing up with my biscotti. Would you mind — um, the living room floor…”

Chava grabbed the broom leaning against the dining room table.

“Thanks so much,” Tammy said. “I’d thought of asking Shani Mandel to come by and help me get ready, but —” She lowered her voice and glanced toward the bedroom — “my husband hates when I have seminary girls over all the time.”

Chava nodded. “So does mine. I made that mistake, back when I was a new teacher. You get so caught up in wanting to be there for these girls all the time that you forget there’s someone else in the picture.”

Tammy looked at her earnestly. “But what do you do when the girl really needs you? And you’re the only one who can help her?”

Chava bent her head to sweep under the table. “It’s rarely the case that you’re the only one who can help her,” she said, without looking up. “Unless it’s literally pikuach nefesh, your family should always come first.”

She knew what Tammy was about to say even before she heard the words. “But this is — I mean, it’s almost pikuach nefesh.”

Chava carefully swept the pile of dirt into the dustpan before answering. At last, she said, “If it’s really pikuach nefesh, you should be handing it over to someone professional.”

She saw Tammy’s hurt face as she carried the dustpan to the kitchen garbage.

“I didn’t mean that,” Tammy said, her voice stiff. “I just meant — Shani feels comfortable talking to me. And she hasn’t seemed to find that in any other adult figure in her life.”

Chava’s hand tightened around the dustpan. Was that meant to be a dig at her, Shani’s mechaneches?

Picking up the broom, she attacked the corner next to the couch. Shani. Devoiry. All these people who were supposed to be Chava’s responsibility, all running to Tammy for help and advice.

She gritted her teeth. It sounded like Shani’s problem was worse than she’d imagined. And it was being left in the hands of an inexperienced twenty-something? Someone had to do something about this.

Bu all she said was, “It’s wonderful that you make her feel so comfortable.”

to be continued…

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 744)