Mrs. Hurwitz blinked. “What do you mean by that? You can always speak to your teachers about whatever’s on your mind.”

“Can we?” ZeeZee thought of Dafna’s question: Does G-d really care about what I wear, or just the rabbis who made it up? and tried picturing what would happen if she asked that to Mrs. Edelman. “I dunno. I mean, the teachers have lots of amazing things to teach us, but… what about having a totally open discussion group. Like, ask anything in the world.”

“But we have that!” Tehilla said. “At our last in-Shabbos we had a teachers panel, remember?”

ZeeZee rolled her eyes. Yeah, where they answered questions like, What if I go out with a boy who wants to learn for five years, but I really want to support someone for ten? Is that a reason to say no?

She sighed. “Forget it,” she muttered.

But as she turned away, she caught Mrs. Hurwitz staring at her and frowning.

Later, as ZeeZee carried a tray of leftover cookies into the kitchen, Mrs. Hurwitz pulled her aside. “What did you mean about honest discussion?”

ZeeZee looked at her hopefully. Would she understand? “I was someplace the other day where a group of girls were having an amazingly open discussion, like, ask any random question in the world, whatever’s bothering you, no judging at all. It was awesome.”

“Wow, that sounds like an exciting experience.” The eim bayit threw her a glance. “Where was this?”

ZeeZee shifted her gaze away. “Um, at a center somewhere.”

“A center somewhere.” Mrs. Hurwitz was silent for a moment, looking at her appraisingly. At last, she said slowly, “ZeeZee, where, exactly, have you been hanging out?”

By the next morning, Tammy had put two and two together. A phone call to Rikki Klein confirmed her suspicions. “A center for girls at risk!” she exploded to Yehuda, as soon as she got off the phone. “ZeeZee’s been going there for months! Can you believe it?”

Yehuda, peeling potatoes for the cholent, raised an eyebrow. “Hmm. Sounds like the next Shvilei scandal-in-the-making.”

Tammy’s face darkened. “Sounds like my next Shvilei scandal-in-the-making.” She frowned as she turned back to her challah dough.

“What in the world does this have to do with you?” Yehuda asked.

“Oh, it does.” She began to knead the dough fiercely. “Hasn’t every.” Punch. “Single.” Punch. “Thing.” Punch. “That went wrong this year been my fault?” Punch, punch, punch.

Yehuda looked at her quizzically.

“I connected her to Rikki Klein!” Tammy was close to screaming now. “I gave Rikki her number! I allowed ZeeZee to babysit for her, and I knew Rikki was involved with these girls!”

“But she was babysitting her children, not assisting her at work.”

Tammy shook her head. Yehuda was being reasonable — but didn’t he understand that this had nothing to do with logic? That her job this year had been one big mess-up after another, and she just knew that another one was in store?

“I don’t know,” she said miserably. “But trust me, when they find out I had something to do with this…” She rubbed her hands with oil and kneaded more gently. “The question is, what should I do? Right now, no one knows but me. Do I tell Rabbi Freund? Mrs. Edelman, my supervisor?” Her lips curled at the word. “Or just take care of it myself? I hate the idea of being a snitch. I really hate it.” She sighed. “But—”

“But you can’t afford to make the same mistake twice,” Yehuda finished for her.

There was silence as Tammy continued working the dough and Yehuda began chopping onions.  She supposed she should mention it to Mrs. Edelman. That wasn’t quite the same as telling the menahel, in terms of getting ZeeZee in trouble. Though she couldn’t be sure that Mrs. Edelman wouldn’t turn around and tell Rabbi Freund herself. Still, that wouldn’t be her fault, would it?

Or was everything her fault?

She was on the verge of asking Yehuda what he thought, when he said, “How do you know it’s so bad?”

“Huh?”

“How do you know those girls at the center are so bad? I mean, there’s at-risk and at-risk. Maybe they have, ich vais, learning disabilities or something. Maybe they’re perfectly tzanuah Bais Yaakov girls who need a little extra attention — like a Big Sister program.”

“Maybe,” Tammy said doubtfully. That wasn’t the impression she’d gotten from Rikki.

“My point is, before making a big fuss, maybe you should go check it out yourself.”

“You mean just walk into Rikki’s center? Won’t that be totally weird?”

Yehuda dipped the chopped onions into a pot of oil and turned on the flame. “You can tell your friend why you’re coming. It doesn’t have to be a secret.”

Tammy considered this. It was an idea, going to see the situation firsthand herself.

“Do I just like this idea because it’s pushing off the unpleasantness?” she asked.

Yehuda pulled a hurt face. “That’s what you think of your husband’s ge’onus?”

Tammy laughed. “My husband’s a genius, and I’m calling Rikki right now.”

As she dialed, her face darkened again. “What was she thinking?” she muttered.

“You’re right, it’s totally irresponsible,” Yehuda agreed. “All the more reason to hope the girls really aren’t so bad.”

Rikki picked up right away. “Hey, I was about to call you. I’ve been feeling terrible ever since we spoke. It sounded like you were really upset about the whole ZeeZee thing.”

“Yeah, well…”

Rikki went on, “I can tell you two things. One, I never meant for her to get involved with these girls. It was totally her own initiative. And two, she’s actually fabulous with them. She’s been doing good things, I’ve been watching. But…” she paused for a moment. “That probably doesn’t help matters, does it?”

“I don’t know.” Tammy tapped her finger against the phone. “Listen, Rikki, can I come out to the center myself? Get a feel for who the girls are, so I can figure out what I should do about this, if anything?”

There was silence on the other end. “You… come to the center?” Rikki cleared her throat. “Interesting. But I’m not sure…” Another silence. “Um, let me think about it, okay?”

“Okay, sure.” But as Tammy hung up, she couldn’t help but wonder why ZeeZee was allowed a free pass into Yad b’Yad, but Rikki had to think about allowing Tammy in.

to be continued…

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 755)