Then Dini pulled out of her bag a bottle of sparkling Moscato grape juice and a large, multi-tiered gift platter of chocolate miniatures, and placed them on the table, right next to the brownies.

“In honor of our very first official meeting,” she said with a wink.

Okay, she was normal and also Dini. So why should Ayala’s stomach twist, and the thought, shown up by Dini once again instantly flit through her head? Was she actually trying to compete with the daughter of a gazillionaire?

Swallowing, she said, “Yum, those look delicious. And this occasion definitely calls for a toast.” Ayala looked doubtfully at the stack of disposable cups on the table. Somehow, that didn’t seem right for making a toast. Or, rather, that didn’t seem right for a Reiner making a toast.

She glanced toward her kitchen cabinet. The only alternative she could offer was the fancier disposable cups she used for Shabbos. Blushing slightly, she said, “Unfortunately, my champagne glasses are, ahem, not-yet-purchased.”

Dini grinned. “Like I didn’t know that.” She reached into her bag once more and took out a velvet-cushioned box with two long-stemmed crystal glasses. Then she opened the bottle, poured two glasses, and handed one to Ayala.

“L’chayim!” Dini said, waving her glass in the air. “We should be matzliach in helping lots and lots of people!”

“Amen.” Ayala raised her glass in return and took a small sip. Feeling vaguely that she needed to take back control of this meeting, she said, “Shall we get down to business?” (I hereby call to order the inaugural meeting of Chesed Tzirel….) She chuckled at herself, then took another sip of grape juice to cover it up.

“Okay, boss.” Dini placed her palms on the table. “What’s on the agenda?”

Ayala took a breath. “Um, so I thought we should start by clarifying our mission. You know, what it is we offer, who we help. And also, I guess, what we don’t offer. You know, crystallize what we do?”

She flinched at the hesitancy in her voice. Where was this nervousness coming from? It wasn’t like she was running a real board meeting; it was only Dini, for Heaven’s sake. Dini, her good friend for the past 15 years, her loyal partner since Chesed Tzirel’s inception.

And now, the provider of her salary. Was that why Ayala was feeling this pressure to prove herself?

Dini nodded. “Great idea. That’s exactly what Temima said we need to do.”

“Temima?”

“Temima Shapiro, the NPO consultant. Remember I told you I met with her?”

Ayala squinted at her friend. She’d met with an NPO consultant? On her own? “No, I don’t remember,” she said slowly.

Dini’s voice faltered. “I mean, I’m pretty sure I told you. It was right around when your father went to the hospital, so things were kind of hectic.”

Ayala’s shoulders relaxed slightly. True, things had been hectic, and she hadn’t been very available at the time. There was no reason to think that Dini would have deliberately kept such information from her. Still, there seemed something very backhanded about Dini’s meeting solo with a consultant about Ayala’s organization.

Her fingers tightened around her crystal glass. Yup, just as fishy as the fact that she started a fund for financial grants without mentioning it to you.

“Yes, I was very busy then,” she agreed. “But…” Uch, she hated confrontations, but it needed to be said, it really did. “But I don’t get it. Why did you meet with a consultant without me? Isn’t that the type of meeting I should be at?”

Dini’s eyes flashed and Ayala gave a little sigh. She knew how badly Dini handled criticism. When they’d first met back in seminary, Ayala had assumed that Dini’s hypersensitivity to tiny comments about putting away her scattered papers or turning down the volume of her music was merely the arrogance of a spoiled rich girl. It took Ayala many months to understand that it actually stemmed from insecurity.

“The reason I met with her was to discuss how to fundraise for your salary,” Dini said coldly. “Should I have included you in the discussion?”

Yuck, they were back to her salary. Blushing, she mumbled, “No, no, I guess not.”  Ayala squirmed in her seat and took another sip of the Moscato grape juice. “So, um, what was it this Temima said?”

“She was encouraging us to streamline our services, I think that’s the way she put it. Like you said, to be very clear about what it is we do for people. She said that’ll help with the marketing.”

Ayala made a face. Marketing? Double yuck. She pictured some slick woman with trendy glasses talking about how to leverage a sick child for maximum donor appeal. “I’m not talking about marketing right now. I’m talking about helping people.”

“Well, you can’t really have one without the other.” Dini tossed her sheitel over her shoulder. “I mean, if you want to stay right where we are now, running a small organization with no budget on a purely volunteer basis, then sure, we don’t need to think about marketing. But if we want to grow….”

She left the obvious unsaid. They were growing; Ayala had made that choice herself, when she’d decided to accept the salary. And that meant that, like it or not, marketing and fundraising needs were going to have to be a part of their decision-making equation.

Ayala suddenly felt the bottom of her stomach fall out from under her, as if she were headed down a roller coaster. What had she gotten herself into?

She cleared her throat. “Let’s get back to clarifying our mission, shall we?” She wrote the words, “Chesed Tzirel Mission Statement” on the top of her notepad.

What was her mission? She closed her eyes, trying to recapture the heady sense of purpose she’d felt when she’d first realized she had the experience and skills to help others navigate a difficult life challenge.

“We help people who are going through a medical challenge,” she began, writing as she spoke.

“People?” Dini asked.  “Isn’t that vague?”

Ayala crossed out the word “people” and wrote “Anglo olim.”

“Fine, we help Anglo olim cope with a medical challenge. The services we offer—”

Dini shook her head. “I think that’s still too vague.”

Ayala raised an eyebrow. “How would you say it?”

“I dunno…” Dini drummed her fingers on the table as she squinted into space. At last, she said, “‘Kay, how about this? ‘We help Anglo olim who are suffering from the emotional trauma of dealing with the Israeli medical system find security and comfort in their challenging time.’ ”

Ayala bit her lip hard to stop herself from giggling. “Um, how is that any less vague?” she asked. “And ‘emotional trauma of dealing with the Israeli medical system’? I mean, no medical system is perfect, but seriously?”

Dini looked hurt. “I thought it had a great, emotive ring to it.” Her eyebrows creased. “Know what? I say we should schedule another meeting with Temima. A mission statement is very important. We should definitely get an expert to help us write it.”

Ayala’s mouth dropped open. Was she kidding? “Why do we need some lady charging us 300 shekels an hour to tell us what our organization does?”

“Five hundred,” Dini said. “And it’s because her job is to know how to package an organization in the best way to sell it to the public.”

Ayala’s fist clenched in her lap. Why did she feel she and Dini were approaching this from two different planets? “We’re not talking about selling Chesed Tzirel to the public,” she said through clenched teeth. “We’re talking about clarifying for ourselves how we’re best able to serve the people who need our help!”

“She does that, too!” Dini insisted.

“For 500 shekels an hour? Who’s paying for this?”

Was that a silly question to ask a Reiner?

Dini lifted her chin. “Thanks to a generous donor, Chesed Tzirel now has a budget for branding and marketing.”

“Who? Your parents?”

Dini didn’t answer. Ayala knew she should stop, but her surge of annoyance was too powerful. “You’ve been doing quite a lot of fundraising lately, I see.”

“Yeah, I have,” Dini replied with a touch of pride.

“For example, we now have a fund to offer financial grants to families?”

At least Dini had the grace to blush. Confusedly, she said, “Oh. Um. Oh, yeah. You heard about that, I guess, from Leora Schwartz?”

“Uh huh.” Ayala waited, looking at Dini.

Dini rubbed her finger along the chipped edge of Ayala’s dining room table. She opened her mouth slightly, and Ayala could practically see the apology hovering on her lips.

Instead, Dini’s mouth tightened.  “Do you have any idea how hard I’ve been working these past few weeks?” she asked. “You put me in charge of fundraising, and look how much I’ve accomplished! I raised money for your salary, plus the seed money for this fund, plus for marketing so that we can continue fundraising. But instead of saying, ‘Way to go, Dini, that’s super impressive,’ the feeling I’m getting is that you don’t trust me. I need your trust, Ayala. Don’t I deserve it?”

Now it was Ayala’s turn to feel confused. Had she been too harsh? Had she not been appreciative enough? (But how could she appreciate what she didn’t know about?) She looked at Dini, who was now blinking back tears. Was Dini right? Did she not trust her?

Ayala rubbed her forehead.

“I’m sorry if I haven’t been appreciative.” She sighed. “Okay, make us an appointment with this Temima lady.”

As Dini brightened, Ayala frowned down at her notepad. Why did she have the funny feeling that, as much as she’d prepared for this meeting, it had been Dini who’d ultimately set the agenda?

To be continued…

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 869)