Dini stared at him. No! she had a sudden urge to shout. Don’t take the lazy way out and spend the rest of your life doing some half-hearted “something.” Not when you have so many real, untapped talents! She thought of the way he’d been helping her recently, and his surprisingly keen sense of marketing.

Maybe it was because Shuki’s thoughts had wandered in the same direction — or maybe he simply wanted to change the subject — but he abruptly said, “You have your target market right here, don’t you?”

Dini blinked. “Huh?”

“The young Ramat Eshkol marrieds. Aren’t they the ones you want to recruit for your new Chesed Tzirel volunteer club?”

She swallowed. “Oh. Yeah, they are.”

“So, nu? Go do your market research! Schmooze up these ladies right now.”

There was a wicked grin on his face, and Dini suspected this was revenge.

“Okay, I’m sorry I said you were old,” she huffed, though she knew what had genuinely hurt him was her questioning his job satisfaction.

He wiggled his eyebrows. “Chicken, are we?”

“No. I just… don’t have what to say. I haven’t decided on a plan for the club yet, I want to put together a brochure first, make it look professional.”

Shuki rolled his eyes. “You and your brochures!” He pulled a pen out of his shirt pocket and grabbed a napkin. Across the top, he wrote, Introducing the Chesed Tzirelettes: A new exclusive social club for fun-loving, chesed-minded women.

Dini met his eyes. “Chesed Tzirelettes?” She began to giggle.

He raised his eyebrows exaggeratedly. “Are you insulting my brochure writing skills? What name do you suggest, big shot? The Tzirel Tzadekeses? The Blessed Cheseds?”

She giggled even harder. “You’re insane, Shuki. Anyway, the name will hopefully be changed soon, once we have that meeting with my mother’s consultant.” Her eyes twinkled. “Go on.”

Shuki grinned and continued writing, reading aloud as he wrote.

“Looking for a way to while away the long hours while your husband’s in kollel?

“Tired of spending yet another day preparing long, complicated, unpronounceable dinner recipes when you know your husband prefers hot dogs?

“Wish you had a chevreh you could hang with while doing cool, fun, and meaningful activities?

“If this sounds like you, contact the Cool, Fun, and Meaningful Lady-in-Chief, Dini Blumenfeld, to find out how you can become a Tzirelette!”

By now they were both laughing so hard, the young couple sitting near them turned to stare. Shuki noticed and stage-whispered, “Grab your opportunity! She’s already impressed by our brilliant wit.”

Dini made a face but, with a sudden desire to knock Shuki’s socks off, she flung her sheitel over her shoulder, threw him an arch smile, and stood up.

“Take the brochure!” he hissed, waving the napkin at her. She laughed and, gathering her courage, approached the young woman at the next table.

“Hi, I’m Dini Blumenfeld. Are you new here?”

It was a safe guess; the way her engagement ring glistened, they couldn’t have been married more than six months, max.

The young woman’s eyes widened.  “Yes, we’re here just two months. I’m Sarale Ster— uh, Bakst.” She giggled as she exchanged a shy glance with her husband.

Omigosh how adorable. Dini smiled. “Nice to meet you. How’s the adjustment to life in Eretz Yisrael been going?”

“Oh, I’m loving it!” Sarale beamed. “I mean, like, I’m still trying to figure out the shopping, and the foods are so not what I’m used to. Like, the other day, I wanted to make a caramelized onion duck fry tart for dinner, and I had no clue where to find duck fry!”

Dini was absolutely positive that, behind her, Shuki was snickering, but she refused to turn around.

“Oooh, how annoying,” she said. “Don’t worry, after a while you’ll get used to the ingredients here.” She paused briefly. “What do you do during the day? I know it can be hard sometimes for the young wives to keep themselves busy.”

Sarale exchanged another glance with her husband, which Dini interpreted to mean that this was a frequent topic of conversation between the young couple.

“Yeah… I mean, I’m doing online school, but that’s at night. During the day, I’ll get together with friends. I have a few friends here from my class, so it’s not so bad, but there’s only so many times we can go out to eat, you know? Like, we’re not in seminary anymore, there’s a limited budget.”

Another surreptitious glance at hubby revealed that this, too, was a recurrent conversation.

“Sure,” Dini said compassionately, though if Ayala were here, she’d be muttering that Dini had no clue what the expression “limited budget” meant. Pushing away the sudden twinge of annoyance, she leaned closer.

“Listen, if you’re interested, there’s this great group starting for young married women like you. It’s being run by a local chesed organization, and it will be a mix of chesed and social activities.”

Sarale looked interested.  “Oh, wow! What kind of activities?”

Dini had been hoping she wouldn’t ask. “We haven’t totally worked out the specifics yet,” she said smoothly. “We’re putting together the group first, and then we’ll, uh, tailor the activities to the ladies in the group.”

Good one, Dini, she mentally patted herself on the back, as Sarale nodded. “Oh sure, that makes sense. Well, yeah, sounds interesting to me.”

“Amazing. Can I take your number to be in touch with you about this?”

One more glance at her husband, who shrugged his approval, and Sarale said eagerly, “Sure! Would you, um, like me to tell my friends about this, too?”

Dini flashed her a wide smile. “That would be wonderful.”

Only Lana’s face appeared on the Google Meets screen, but it was enough to show Ayala that the slick marketing consultant in the uber-trendy glasses she’d expected to see in Temima Shapiro was now before her eyes.

Ugh. The meeting hadn’t even begun, and she was already turned off.

“Hiya, pleasure to meet you gals,” Lana began, fluttering her fingers at them. “Now which one of you is Shifra Reiner’s daughter?”

Dini, who looked gorgeous as usual even on a jerky computer camera, waved her hand. “That’s me. I’m Dini Blumenfeld. Thanks so much for making the time to meet with us; I know how in-demand you are,” she gushed.

Lana smiled indulgently.  “No one says no to your mom, but I’m sure you already know that.” She winked and Dini chuckled, though it sounded a bit forced to Ayala. For the first time, she wondered what it was like having a mother you couldn’t say no to.

Ayala cleared her throat. “Hi, I’m Ayala Wexler, Chesed Tzirel’s founder.”

She immediately winced. Yuck, did she sound full of herself?

Lana’s expression turned smoothly professional. “Chesed Tzirel, yes. Tell me about your organization.”

Ayala quickly began, before Dini could grab the stage; she needed to present it her way. She described what the organization did in the streamlined way Temima had helped them hammer out, all the while wondering — for the hundredth time that week — why she was wasting her time doing this all over again. After she’d finished, Lana nodded.

“Fabulous,” she said. “Nice, crisp elevator pitch, delivered with sincerity. I would advise, though, when speaking with donors, to put some more passion into your voice.”

Ayala flushed. “You think I’m not passionate enough about what I do?” She tried to keep her voice even, as if the lady hadn’t just offended the very core of her being.

Lana flashed a smile. “I’m sure you believe deeply in your organization. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have started it. But I’m looking at this purely from a PR perspective, and when you’re speaking to prospective donors, passion needs to ooze from your every word. You don’t seem to be a very passionate sort of person. Am I wrong?”

Ayala felt like throttling the lady, but how could she defend herself when Dini was chuckling in agreement. “Impressive. You read her spot-on and you don’t even know her! No wonder you’re so good.” Throwing Ayala a fond look, she added, “Ayala’s an amazingly caring, compassionate, deep-feeling person. But she’s as calm and even-tempered as they make them.”

Lana nodded wisely. “I thought so. Those qualities make for a great administrator, of course. But the fundraising specialist reaching out to donors needs to be emotional and persuasive. That’s why every successful organization has a division of roles. For example, Dini, you may be better at that persuasiveness.”

Dini beamed. “Yes, I think so,” she said, trying to sound modest.

Why am I feeling so resentful? Ayala wondered. It’s not as if I have any desire to beg people for money. She was more than happy for Dini to take on that role. But for this stranger to be psychoanalyzing her after meeting her for ten minutes felt utterly demeaning.

She took a breath. “Agreed. Dini’s the better fundraiser. Shall we continue?”

“Yes,” Lana said.  “From what I understand, the first thing on our agenda is the organization’s name. Your mom told me you were interested in changing to a name with a more contemporary vibe, and I completely agree. The name is so important, it communicates in two little words a whole world of information about who you are. So — let me share my screen now — I’ve come up with these suggestions—”

Something in Ayala snapped. She thought of her mother, of her Bubby Tzirel, and of this smug woman informing her who she was and what she should do. “No.”

Two pairs of eyes swiveled toward her.

“Pardon?” Lana asked.

Ayala gritted her teeth. Let the woman see who was passionate now. “I agree that the name of an organization communicates a lot. And frankly, the name Chesed Tzirel communicates exactly who we are. My grandmother was a special person who — who loved people and saw the good in everyone.” She felt a lump rising in her throat. Bubby Tzirel had always told her she was the greatest in the world; she would never have let some stranger get away with telling her she wasn’t passionate enough.

“I’m not changing it. End of discussion.”

To be continued…

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 873)