“Heyyy!” she cried out, as though interrupting herself. “This idea just popped into my head. Why don’t we, like, do this live? It’s Thursday night, prime challah-baking time, people are gonna love it.”

“Oooh, that’s such a cool idea,” Huvi gushed. “Let’s!”

“No, no, please not,” one of Huvi’s sisters cried. “That is so totally scary!”

That’s right. Scary and reckless. Why am I doing this?

The women looked hesitant, but slowly, fingers started combing through sheitels and heads started bobbing. Deena surveyed the room, figuring out how best to shoot the scene, while Leah muttered in her ear, “Read my lips, read my lips.”

Deena ignored her and took charge. “I’m going to set this up, but I need someone to stand here and make sure we get everything in.”

“My daughter can do that,” Huvi volunteered.

Oh, no, not a kid.

Huvi’s sister came forward. “No, I’ll do it.”

“Noble,” Huvi said.

Deena hesitantly agreed. “I’ll just give you guys a few pointers, because there’s obviously no editing here. I could also do a quick braiding demo and share some challah dough hacks.”

The women nodded.

Mindy stepped forward. “Hey, Deena, how about you start from scratch and put up a dough? I’d love to watch you.”

A cheer went up. “Yesss! Do that!”

Post that as a story? “Hmm, I guess we could. But ladies, punch your doughs, they’re over-rising.”

A few minutes later, they were off. Deena stood in front of Huvi’s Bosch, proofing the yeast Huvi scurried to procure and talking as she worked. She peppered the instructions with humor, like a professional show host. And it felt good. Comfortable. Almost like getting thousands of likes on Instagram, but these were real people, not a bunch of screen names.

When the dough was ready, one of Huvi’s neighbors stood up to deliver a clearly-trying-to-be-inspirational speech. Deena kept a smile on her face throughout, inwardly attempting not to cringe. After that, the women took challah and recited tehillim and a yehi ratzon together, then clustered around Deena for the braiding demo, which she did using her first dough, now fully risen.

Afterward, the women each tried Deena’s technique on their own doughs. Deena walked around, guiding and answering questions, until everyone’s trays were filled with beautifully braided loaves. Then the filming ended and she went to braid the second dough.

Deena was at the sink washing her hands when Miri’s morah approached her.

“Hi, Morah Shiffy,” Deena greeted her. “I guess you’re Huvi’s cousin?”

“Neighbor. Thanks for the challah demo, it was so nice!”

“My pleasure, I enjoyed it.” Deena wiped her hands and smiled warmly. “So how’s my Miri doing?”

The woman offered a small smile in return. “Miri’s very cute. And smart. I’d say she’s above average learning-wise.”

Deena grinned. “So nice to hear! Baruch Hashem!”

“Right, so the thing is…”

Deena’s stomach tightened. She was only being polite, making small talk. She wasn’t the type to set up PTA when she bumped into her kids’ teachers at a party.

“So the thing is,” Morah Shiffy repeated, “I was debating if I should call you about this, but now that I met you…”

Nu?

“You know that Miri is on the quieter side, right?”

Deena shrugged. “Maybe a bit. What’s the problem with being quiet?”

“Not quiet-quiet. She isn’t shy. It’s more like she’s… withdrawn. She keeps to herself a lot, prefers not to mingle with the girls.”

Deena’s brows leaned in. “Are you serious? I’m kind of shocked. I mean, she always plays so nicely with her cousins. And she’s totally not quiet at home.”

Morah Shiffy nodded. “That happens a lot. It’s common for kids to behave differently at home than in school.”

Especially poor-orphan kids. Deena sighed.

They’d been through the different-behaviors-in-different-settings topic when she’d taken her kids to grief counseling after they lost their father. But that was ages ago. Her kids were fine now. Something irked her. Would her kids be labeled for life?

Deena saw Leah gesturing to her, a question mark on her face. She straightened her shoulders. “I want to hear more. Can we talk tomorrow? Maybe you could give me some examples of what you’re seeing in the classroom.”

“Sure, okay. I just thought I should bring it to your attention, you know, if we can help her somehow…”

“Yes, definitely. Thanks, I appreciate it. We’ll be in touch, then.”

Back in the kitchen, the women crowded around Deena, waving their phones. “We’re famous!” someone shouted.

“That was awesome! So much fun!”

“Thank you, Deena!” Huvi said loudly. “I’m so happy you came. You totally made the night.”

Deena flashed a smile. “I’m so glad you enjoyed. But you guys better hurry home, your challos have to go into the oven. And one of you take my second batch, I don’t have room in my freezer for so much challah.”

When Deena and Leah were back in the car, towel-covered trays of braided challah safely stowed in the trunk, Leah said, slowly and loudly, “Read my lips.”

“There were only 39 women there,” Deena said. “I counted three times. I hope our brachos weren’t l’vatalah.”

“You had a great time, Deena Lizman. Admit it.”

“I guess you could say I survived, probably because it wasn’t 40 after all.”

“You had a great time and you’re feeling on top of the world and tell me quickly how many bajillion likes you just got on Instagram.”

“Go on, bask. You’re so evil, Leah, you know that.”

Leah grinned.

“Who didn’t show up?” Deena asked.

“Ruthie Laufer.”

“Ruthie, right, you said she was coming.”

“I thought she was. But then I heard…”

“Hmm?”

Leah shot a swift glance at Deena then turned her face back to the road.

“Ruthie got her get today.”

to be continued…

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 739)