She’d realized this morning that her first hurdle in making this phone call was coming up with a credible reason to ask her family for Adele Samson’s number. She’d decided to bypass her mother, who was guaranteed to dig, and had chosen instead to ask Eliana, who, she’d hoped, would be too busy with all her high-level corporate responsibilities to care why her little sister needed a phone number. She probably had a secretary answering her WhatsApp.

Or not.

Dini’s mouth twisted as she saw her sister’s response. ??????? I won’t ask.

Gee, thanks. She pressed her lips together. Do you really need to make me beg? She felt like she was 14 again and asking Eliana to show her the Jewish History report she’d written for the same teacher back when she was in ninth grade. “It’s important for you to do your own work,” Eliana had said smugly, as if they didn’t both know that every other ninth grader with an older sister was doing the same thing.

Gritting her teeth, she wrote back, Thx for not asking! with a winking emoji. The phone number, please?

Later that night, after her younger kids were asleep, Dini locked herself in the office, took a long, calming breath, and, before she lost her nerve, dialed Adele’s number.

“Hello, Mrs. Samson? This is Dini Blumenfeld. It was so nice catching up at my nephew Nossi Reiner’s bar mitzvah,” she said, in a tactful reminder of who she was.

Adele responded with all the graciousness Dini’d expected. “How nice to hear from you! How’s your family?”

After spending a few minutes on small talk, Dini knew it was time to take the plunge.

“I hope you don’t mind that I’m calling you, but I thought you’d be the perfect person to help me with a project I’m working on right now.”

She’d practiced her speech on Shuki about ten times last night, and had even written out the key lines, which she was now clutching in her sweaty hand. She began to talk about Chesed Tzirel, how she’d gotten involved, her long friendship with Ayala.

“Until now, we’ve relied completely on volunteers, which basically means that Ayala and I are doing everything ourselves.” She felt a twinge of guilt putting herself on a par with Ayala, but this conversation was almost 100 percent guaranteed to be repeated to her mother.

Hi, Ma. “Me, I’m fine with that, it’s a zechus to spend my time helping others and, you know, taking on communal responsibilities is in my blood.” That one had been a brilliant Shuki line.

“Absolutely,” Adele agreed quickly.  “Your parents are role models of chesed.”

Of donating mega sums to trendy organizations, you mean.  Dini continued, “But my friend Ayala, she’s, uh, not as fortunate as me in her background. She has to work full-time to make a parnassah for her family, aside from also working full-time on our chesed activities. Plus, raising her large family. She’s literally the backbone of the organization — there are so many Anglo families here in Israel who rely on her, she gets dozens of calls each day.”

Dini winced at the squeak at the end of her sentence. Dozens of calls a day might have been stretching it, but it was certainly a lot. She heard Shuki’s voice: The key is to say it with confidence.

Her voice got stronger. “She’s amazing, a real superwoman, but even she can’t do everything. Because I’m so close to her, I’ve been watching her fall apart. It’s too much. And I realized, our organization has, baruch Hashem, grown beyond our volunteer-only model. In order to provide this crucial help to all the families going through medical crises who reach out to us, we need a full-time paid executive managing it.”

She took a breath. “So I took it upon myself to fundraise for a salary for Ayala. And the first person I thought of was you. I remember you talking about that respite center you donated and how causes helping sick children and their families are so close to your heart.”

She’d debated whether or not to directly mention Adele’s granddaughter who’d passed away after being born with a congenital illness. (After Adele’s reference to “our little Shaindy” at the bar mitzvah, Dini had, thank goodness, been yentish enough to ask her mother.) Was it the winning argument or totally tactless? She’d decided in the end not to risk sounding callously opportunistic. As Shuki had said, “She doesn’t need you to remind her that this would be a beautiful zechus l’illui nishmas.”

There was a short pause, and Dini’s hand shook so much, the script sheet fluttered to the floor. At last, Adele said, “It sounds like you’re involved in very important work. I’m flattered that you thought to ask me first. Before your own parents, even!”

Hello to the elephant in the room. She cleared her throat as she looked around desperately for where the paper had landed. Shuki had helped her craft such a well-worded response….

“Of course, my parents are always generous with tzedakah, and I plan on asking for their help in the future. But, davka for this cause… Ayala knows my parents, and it would be awkward for her, you understand.”

Yet another stroke of Shuki brilliance. Not that Ayala knew her parents so well, but she certainly had seen them at simchahs over the years. What was more, Dini suspected that this point was actually true; for all of Ayala’s jokes about asking Dini’s father to sponsor her car, Ayala was proudly self-sufficient. Too much so, if you asked her.

Adele’s voice softened. “Of course, I understand. It sounds like you’re a very sensitive friend.”

As Dini glowed at the compliment that she couldn’t help feel was well deserved, Adele continued, “How much do you need?”

ITwas great to have her life back under control, Ayala thought as she fried schnitzel while listening to the twins talk about their school’s upcoming bas mitzvah play. Her father was out of the hospital, she’d convinced her mother to accept the healthcare aide that the social worker had offered, and she’d had the satisfaction of hearing her mother gush, “What would we do without you, Ayala?” Not that she needed her mother’s gratitude but, yeah, it felt nice.

Her phone rang. Hands full of raw chicken, she nodded to Tziri to answer it.

“Hello, Chesed Tzirel,” she chirped.

Ayala grimaced. Her twins had recently taken to answering her cell phone that way, as if they automatically assumed that every call was for the organization. Did they think she had no life outside of Chesed Tzirel?

She squirted soap on her hands. Okay, maybe she didn’t, but she still kept telling herself she should get a dedicated phone line for the organization. One of these days, when she got around to it. Of course, the big deal wasn’t actually getting the phone line; it was publicizing the new number.

Ayala smiled to herself. Dini was so eager to work on publicity, let her take on that job.

“Who is it?” Ayala asked as she dried her hands and walked over to the table. She was already opening the Chesed Tzirel file on her laptop when Tziri handed her the phone and mouthed, “Mrs. Blumenfeld.”

Ah. Was this about the logo again? Feeling guilty that she hadn’t had the headspace over the past week to appreciate Dini’s efforts, she quickly located the email and opened it, so she could do a better job oohing and aahing.

“Hey, Dini, how’s it going? Listen, I’m sorry about the other day, it’s been so hectic, I didn’t have the time to deal with the logo, though I know you worked really hard on it. Now that my father’s out of the hospital, baruch Hashem, and things have settled down, I was able to look at it more carefully—” She quickly did so now, taking in the color, shape, and lettering. Looked nice. Not that she had an eye for these things at all, but she trusted that Dini and whoever she’d hired to design it did. “And, wow! It looks stunning! That squiggle — is that meant to be a hand? I love it! Really classy.”

She hoped the enthusiasm didn’t sound overdone, but Dini sounded gratified.

“I’m so glad you like it! And that your father’s out of the hospital, that’s great! Now I have another piece of amazing news for you. Get ready for it…” She paused dramatically. “You can officially quit your speech job! I found someone to sponsor your salary!”

She didn’t know what she’d been expecting Dini to say, but it was not that. “Oh. Wow. I’m… oh my goodness.”

Why should she be so stunned when Dini had been talking about this for weeks? Was it because she hadn’t really expected it to happen?

Or because she hadn’t worked out her own feelings yet?

“Wow, Dini, that’s incredible. Thank you. Who… no, don’t tell me who.” Whether it was Mr. Reiner or one of his wealthy friends, Ayala didn’t really want to know who’d agreed to sponsor poor Ayala’s salary.

“Isn’t it amazing? And I got it so quickly, on the very first phone call!”

Dini was clearly waiting for a more excited reaction — for enthusiasm at least on a par with the logo — but Ayala suddenly felt not grateful, but taken in. She hadn’t asked for this; Dini had gone full steam ahead without her. Didn’t Ayala get a say in such a life-altering decision?

“I — I’ll have to think about whether I want to accept this.”

To be continued…

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 863)