Finally, ZeeZee looked up. And her eyes were flashing. “All my life, my teachers were always like, ‘No, you can’t, ZeeZee.’ ‘Stop with your ridiculous ideas, ZeeZee.’ ‘Why can’t you just be a good girl like your sisters, ZeeZee?’ No one ever bothered to listen to me, or to try to think about who I am and what I need.”

She stood up, her chair scraping loudly against the floor tiles. “I thought you were different. Finally, I thought I’d met someone who understood me. But I see I was just being stupid.” Her voice caught and blinking rapidly, she ran out of the room.

Chava sat still in her chair for several minutes after the door closed. Where had the conversation gone wrong? She’d been so sure ZeeZee had been on the cusp of winning the inner struggle. Of following in the footsteps of countless seminary girls who’d sat here in front of Chava and declared that they were throwing out their borderline skirts, or swearing off movies, or committing themselves to support a boy in learning.

And really, it didn’t matter what the specific thing was; it was the fiery passion of a young woman choosing for herself the path of Hashem and Torah that never failed to bring tears to Chava’s eyes.

Wake up, Chava. Self-sacrifice is no longer in style.

She stared at the empty desks facing her in the silent classroom, and even they seemed to mock her. Just a half-hour ago, they’d been filled with girls whose blank, vacuous stares as she taught them the stirring words of Navi were as expressionless as the plastic furniture. Then, when class was over and they’d roused themselves from their stupor, she’d overheard one girl telling another, “I’m telling you, speak to Mrs. Stengel about your problem. I had this major issue, and she was so, like, wise with her advice.”

Chava had hated herself for feeling a pang of jealousy — all the more so because it was so absurd. Laylee Stengel was a new young hire, and Chava could just imagine how much wise life advice this 23-year-old had to dispense. But she wore Gucci shoes and a $5,000 sheitel, and Chava supposed that, in the girls’ eyes, this made her the ultimate inspirational role model.

Stop being so cynical, she admonished herself, even as another voice was saying snidely, don’t you know in today’s generation it’s not about the content but the packaging?

If Laylee Stengel — or Shira Litwin, or Tammy Hurwitz, even — had spoken to ZeeZee about Yad b’Yad instead of Chava, would the conversation have ended so miserably? Suddenly feeling very old, Chava slowly stood up and shuffled out of the room.

ZeeZee tore up to her dorm room, grabbed her purse and water bottle, and raced back out of the building. As she waited for the bus that would take her to Rikki Klein’s house, she wondered what would happen if Mrs. Edelman or Rabbi Freund were to walk outside right now and see her. Would they suspect her of defying them?

I’m still allowed to babysit, aren’t I? It’s a proper Bais Yaakov girl chesed.

She gritted her teeth as, a moment later, she sat down on the bus and pressed her cheek against the rattling window. Something in her wanted them to think she was defying them; wanted them to understand that she was sick and tired of the adults in her life thinking they knew what was best for her.

“I hate you, Gitty,” she muttered, as fury rose once again at her oldest sister, the cause of this all.

She was still in such a sour mood when she reached the Kleins that Rikki asked her what was wrong. ZeeZee debated pouring her heart out to her — Rikki was cool like that — but she decided not to. No reason to inform her about this new ban on going to Yad b’Yad.

She hitched a smile on her face and assured Rikki she was fine. But the moment she left, ZeeZee flung herself onto the couch. She was not fine. She was angry and depressed and feeling a frantic desire to escape. To where, she didn’t know, but someplace where she wouldn’t have a million eyes constantly upon her, making sure she was toeing the line. Staying within the box.

“Can we go outside?” Leebie Klein asked tentatively.

“No,” ZeeZee said shortly. Watching the girl slink away, she immediately regretted her angry answer; it wasn’t these kids’ fault that the adults in her life were being so unreasonable.

Sighing, she pulled herself up.

“Just joking. C’mon, let’s go to the park.”

She hadn’t intentionally planned to walk by Yad b’Yad. But, somehow, she found herself pushing the stroller up the street toward the center, kids in tow.

“Oooh, are we going to the trampoline?” Rochele asked.

“You know your Mommy doesn’t let,” ZeeZee replied automatically. But still she kept walking in that direction, and as she got closer, she reasoned that it made sense to come in one last time to say goodbye. Surely her teachers didn’t expect her to just drop these girls, cold turkey, to suddenly disappear without a word.

It was going to be a totally awkward conversation, ZeeZee realized as she pushed open the door. And people were going to feel hurt.

She could already picture Ilana’s snarky reaction. What a surprise. Your teacher doesn’t want you to hang out with bad girls like me. Because of course we need to pretend that every girl in your school is totally pure and innocent, huh?

A staff member passed her in the hall, as ZeeZee shepherded the Klein children inside. She was so preoccupied that it took her a moment to process what she had just seen. Then, eyes widened in surprise, she called out to the woman’s retreating back, “Mrs. Hurwitz?”

Mrs. Hurwitz stopped and turned around. “ZeeZee!”

ZeeZee walked toward her eim bayit. “What’re you doing here?”

Mrs. Hurwitz looked self-conscious. “I just started working here, actually.”

Mrs. Hurwitz was working here. Suddenly, the powder keg that had been simmering inside all afternoon exploded.

“I see,” she said loudly. “I’m not allowed to touch the place anymore with a ten-foot pole, but you can get a job here. That’s fair, huh? That’s not hypocritical or anything, right?”

And abruptly, she swiveled around, tugged on the arms of the Klein children, and left the building.

to be continued…

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 762)