The woman’s face flushed. “Oh, it would be amazing if you could. My sister, she lives in Arzei, and she just gave birth to a baby at 29 weeks.”

“Mazel tov,” Ayala said quietly.

“Yeah, well, it’s been hard. The doctors aren’t sure if the baby will make it.” Her eyes began to swim.  “Lani — my sister — is going crazy. She has two little kids at home, and she’s at the hospital every day, and whenever I ask her, she keeps insisting everything’s fine, but… it’s really not.”

Ayala nodded grimly as she watched Sruli dump out her entire box of Playmobil… Sometimes even big people have trouble expressing their needs.

Briskly, Ayala pulled out a small notebook from her purse.  “Why don’t you call your sister right now so we can discuss what assistance will be most helpful?”

She heard the authority in her voice — the authority that gave over that magical message that they weren’t alone, that they now had the support to help them get through their crisis. Sruli’s mother (a surreptitious glance at the speech file, and now she knew Mom’s name was Hindy) instantly took out her phone.  Ayala’s exhaustion had suddenly melted away; she felt her energy pumping, her heart pulsing, and the adrenaline rush that came from knowing she had the means to alleviate other people’s distress.

“Yes, yes, Lan, she said they can help!” Hindy was practically shouting. “Don’t be stupid, this isn’t asking favors from people. It’s an organization! This is what they do!”

Ayala laughed inwardly at Hindy’s cute conception of an organization. Did she imagine robots were running the thing?

The young mother handed Ayala the phone.  “She wants to speak with you.”

Twenty minutes later, Ayala was on the bus home, setting the wheels in motion to help Lani’s family.  First off, childcare.  Shevy?  Sanhedria Murchevet wasn’t too far from Arzei Habira, and Shevy had about a million teenage daughters, but Ayala had just roped them in for the Frankel lady who broke her leg.  She scrolled through her contacts, biting her lip.  Should she try Racheli again?  The young newlywed was willing enough, but last time, the family had complained afterward that she’d entertained their young children by showing them YouTube videos on her phone. (“But they were Oorah videos!” Racheli had protested in shock, leaving Ayala wondering how much of an American bubble you had to live in to be so culturally clueless.)

Finger wavering over the phone, Ayala decided to take care of the meals first. Should she call Dini?

Ayala frowned at herself. Why was she hesitating? Dini had been involved in Chesed Tzirel almost since its inception, and had grown to be its second-in-command. (Of course, that was out of a total staff of two. Three, if you counted Naftali, who was bookkeeper. Did a husband and a wife count as one person or two?) Ayala was grateful to have someone she could rely on and toss ideas around with — especially when that someone was one of her best friends in the world.

So why did the thought of asking Dini to get involved make her squirm?

“Turn around a bit.  No, this way, to the right.”

Dini looked critically at her daughter, who’d just stepped out of the boutique’s dressing room and was now twirling around in a pleated mauve dress.

“I like it,” Yaeli declared, smiling at herself in the mirror.

Well, she supposed it was something to satisfy the fashion sense of a five-year-old.  But the real question was, would her mother like it? Dini squinted, trying to picture what her nieces in Lakewood would be wearing to the bar mitzvah next Shabbos.  No clear vision came to mind.

How had she let herself get so out of touch with American styles?

Trying to stem her panic, she turned to Chaviva, whose eyes were narrowed in full-strength preteen disapproval.

“No way, Mommy,” she said. “You can’t let her wear that. It looks cheap.”

“Cheap? It costs”—Dini looked at the price tag—“Eight hundred ninety shekels!”

But looking at the dress again, she knew what Chaviva meant. There was something about the material that gave off a low-quality feel, and if there was one thing Dini’s family was not, it was cheap. High-class, elegant, understated — but not too understated — wealth: that was the look her family went for. And, as she’d fired back at Shuki when he’d wondered why she was spending hundreds of hours and many thousands of shekels to outfit their family for a cousin’s bar mitzvah, “Don’t pretend you don’t know that our family’s clothing at the simchah will be under microscopic scrutiny!” As the only member of the Reiner clan with the audacity to have settled outside of the family circle, and in Israel, no less, every aspect of their dress and behavior throughout the trip would be analyzed and recorded and stored as future ammunition. (“Don’t you think it’s time to finally come home? Your extended stay in Israel has been cute, but look what it’s done to your family!”)

Sighing, Dini said, “Let’s take that off, Yaeli. We’re going to look for something else.”  She massaged her temple.  Her friend Ayala liked to tease her about her luxurious stay-at-home lifestyle, but she didn’t get that when you were a Reiner, simply outfitting your family was a full-time job.

Her phone’s ringtone jingled from inside her purse. Speaking of….

“Hey, partner, what’s up?”

“New case came in.” Ayala’s voice had the businesslike tone that Dini always associated with Chesed Tzirel work. “Lani Teichman from Arzei, just gave birth to a 29-week preemie. Do you know her?”

“Sure, I do.  Sweet girl, she was a Levine from Passaic. She moved here after your time.”

“Well, I told her we’ll provide her with meals for the next two weeks, and then see where things are holding.  Since you’re in the neighborhood, do you think you can take care of that?”

Dini bristled. What did she mean, “Since you’re in the neighborhood?” As if Dini hadn’t coordinated meals for families in Givat Zeev and Beitar and even Ayala’s own Ramat Beit Shemesh?

“No problem, consider it done,” she said, writing down the details. “Tell her she can expect the first meal tonight.”

It was only after she hung up that she realized she’d been a bit too hasty to prove her dedication. Tonight? When it was already four p.m. and she still had hours of shopping ahead of her?

Dini turned back to the rack, fingering another dress. She’d planned to buy takeout for her own family’s dinner tonight; she supposed she’d just order for the Teichman family as well.

She smiled to herself as she motioned Yaeli back into the dressing room.  Her name might not be adorning buildings like some of her family members’ — but how many of them spent their time getting a good, steaming dinner to the door of a family in need?

Ayala washed the last of the dinner dishes and wiped her hands on her apron. The younger kids were asleep; the twins were sitting on the couch, each reading a book. Her eyes softened as she watched them; no surprise that daughters of hers would prefer reading to schmoozing. Ayala was tempted to join them, but she still had work to do; she wanted to follow up on the Frankel case, with the mother who broke her leg, and she still needed to arrange hospital visits for Teichman.

As she sat down at the dining room table to begin her calls, her phone rang.

“Hi, is this Chesed Tzirel?”  Ayala smiled; her clients must imagine they were calling a bustling organizational office.

“Yes, how can I help?”

“This is Lani Teichman.  I just wanted to thank you for the dinner you sent to my house tonight. It was… wow! I’ve heard about the chesed you do, but I never imagined the extent!”

Ayala’s brow furrowed. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure what you mean.”

“The dinner you sent from Entrecote.  We were blown away! OMG — a meat platter and steak and lamb kebabs! It must have cost, like, a thousand shekel!  What an incredibly fun treat to get when we’re in the middle of all these challenges. I can’t thank you enough!”

Ayala managed to squeeze out a “You’re welcome” over her mounting fury. Takeout from a fancy steakhouse? A thousand shekels on a chesed meal?

What in the world had Dini been thinking?

to be continued…

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 853)