Mrs. Edelman gave her a look that ZeeZee recognized from class, when she asked questions that might not have been so on topic. But they were to her. Why couldn’t her teachers ever recognize that? Her questions always related exactly to wherever her mind had wandered from something the teacher had said.

Mrs. Edelman pasted on a smile, and stopped her devar Torah to answer.

“We have nine children, bli ayin hara.”

“Oh. Wow.” ZeeZee glanced around the apartment again. “It’s amazing how Israelis manage to fit so many people into such tiny spaces. But you’re American! Does it feel like you’re all totally cramped, or do you, like, get used to it?”

She thought she’d been pretty diplomatic, but a sharp kick under the table told her that her niece felt otherwise.

The married daughter’s mouth was twitching, as if she was trying not to laugh, but Mrs. Edelman’s face was earnest as she answered, “Oh, it’s actually wonderful to be so cozy. It makes for real family bonding. And, let me tell you a secret — it’s amazing for your diet. If you ever wonder why all the Israeli girls are skinny, it’s because they have no extra room in their apartments for excess weight.”

ZeeZee’s eyes bugged out. “Seriously? They’re really all…?” She heard the titters around the table and realized it was a joke. She burst out laughing herself, as she stared at Mrs. Edelman with renewed interest. So she had a sense of humor… who knew?

But then Mrs. Edelman’s expression grew serious as she said, “Joking aside, yes, moving from a big American house to a small Israeli apartment takes getting used to at first. But like so much in life, you make a decision about what’s important to you. And this”—she waved her arms around, as if encompassing everything in her life: her tiny apartment, her family, her seforim, and teaching—“this is worth everything.”

Chana Malka was staring wide-eyed at Mrs. Edelman, but ZeeZee looked down at her plate and frowned. She’d heard her sisters coming back from their year in seminary expressing similar sentiments. But even though each of them married a learning boy, not one of them was sacrificing much for it, as far as ZeeZee could see. They were all living off her father’s generous support.

It was easy to say all these noble words, but it was another thing to live it. Mrs. Edelman was the real deal, and she admired her for it. But personally, if genuine mesirus nefesh for Torah meant eating roast chicken and potatoes for Shabbos on ancient, chipped china, and having to wash all those dishes afterward because she couldn’t afford a dishwasher, then no thanks. Mesirus nefesh wasn’t for her.

“Sweet girls.” Devoiry had come back to her mother’s house after Shabbos to pick up the sweater they’d forgotten.

“Yes,” Chava agreed as she wiped down the Shabbos tablecloth. “It was special to meet the daughter of my old talmidah. What a lovely, eidel girl.”

Devoiry laughed. “Yeah, she’s exactly your type, Ma. That ZeeZee girl, not as much, huh?”

Chava’s shoulders stiffened, but she murmured, “I like all my students.”

Devoiry rolled her eyes. “Come on, I’m a teacher myself.” She grabbed a napkin and began wiping the crumbs off the other side of the table. “Thanks for having us two weeks in a row. I know it was last minute, but I’d had such an exhausting week, I just couldn’t face Shabbos.”

“It’s always my pleasure.” Chava threw her daughter a glance. “Anything in particular?”

Devoiry continued wiping. “Well, yeah, actually. I — I’ve been meaning to tell you…” She paused.

Chava turned to her daughter, beaming. “When?”

Devoiry blinked. “When what?” Then her eyes widened. “Oh! No, Ma, I’m not expecting!” She blushed and laughed. “No, what I wanted to tell you was — really, it’s not a big deal at all — but I’ve started a little business from my home. Selling beaded jewelry and purses and other accessories.”

“Oh! How nice!” Chava didn’t know why the news startled her so much. There was nothing wrong with Devoiry starting a business. “I’m sure you’ll be very successful. You’ve always had a flair for that sort of thing.”

Was it because Devoiry had kept it quiet until now? Was that what was bothering her?

“How long has this been running?” she asked casually.

“I had the idea at the end of last school year, and I spent the summer working on it. You know, gathering supplies, making a few items, doing a little advertising here and there. Really small scale. But now, with Yom Tov approaching, I decided to advertise more, and I actually got a bunch of orders. So I’ve been working crazy hours, trying to get it all done in time.”

Devoiry was beaming, and Chava could tell how proud she was of her success. “That’s wonderful. But…” She knew she was about to sound like an interfering mother here, but she couldn’t help it. “Aren’t you worried about how you’ll juggle it all? You’re teaching full time, plus this? I don’t want you to overdo it.”

Devoiry kept her face lowered as she swiped the crumbs into the garbage can. “You’re right, I can’t do it all. That’s why I’ve cut back on my teaching hours this year.”

Chava gasped, then quickly coughed to cover her reaction. Trying to keep her voice neutral, she said, “You… you’re giving up teaching to sell beaded jewelry?”

Now Devoiry looked up, and her expression was hard. “I’m cutting back on my teaching to do something I enjoy, that also has potential to make a lot more money. Avi’s all for my decision,” she added sullenly. “He’s even helping me manage the accounts.”

Chava wanted to scream in protest — Don’t give up your ideals for money! — but she kept silent. Still, Devoiry was her daughter, and she heard Chava’s unspoken disapproval.

“Ma,” she said, her voice shifting from resentful to pleading. “Don’t you see, I have to do this! A teacher’s salary alone isn’t enough to support a family. Yes, I know, you did it. But I’m sorry, I need more.”

Frustrated at Chava’s continued silence, she threw her napkin down and cried, “Ideals are nice, but they’re a luxury! Don’t you understand? If I’m going to support Avi in learning, something needs to give!”

Chava opened her mouth to answer. But then she closed it again.

Because, truthfully, she had no answer.

to be continued…

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 724)