She’d taken to abbreviating the organization’s name when talking to her mother, for sensitivity’s sake, and the more she used it, the more she thought she was on to something. CT had a trendy ring to it; even Shuki agreed. (He also claimed he was the first one to use the shortened name, which might or might not be true. Yes, it was the type of nickname he’d use; she could hear his voice saying, “How’d the big CT powwow go?” but she didn’t specifically remember him saying it, and honestly, couldn’t there be one good idea that came from her own creative brain and not her husband’s?)

Dini walked into the kitchen to check on the food. A girl was busy arranging vegetable platters. She looked like she was high school age, and Dini wondered what she was doing building kohlrabi stacks in her kitchen on a regular school morning, but it wasn’t her place to question Esti’s waitstaff hires.

It was a half hour until showtime, and everything seemed under control. She smiled to herself, feeling once again the irresistible comparison to her mother. It had been a good move, deciding to go with elegance over splash. Advertising some big-name entertainment might have drawn a bigger crowd, but she would have sacrificed on the ambience. Dini wanted this to feel like an exclusive, intimate gathering — an elite volunteer chesed club that a woman would beg to be part of.

So exclusive that you left out the head of the organization, huh? She shook her head; no point in going there right now.

An hour later, Dini couldn’t help giving herself a private thumbs-up. There were ten adorable young marrieds around her table — Esti had had to quickly add two settings for Sarale’s unexpected additions — and they were gawking wide-eyed over Dini’s lunch spread, table, decor, home… everything. As she walked into the kitchen to tell Esti they were ready for the soup, she caught the whispers behind her: “Didn’t you know she’s from an insanely rich family? No, like, seriously. I heard her father has a private jet, and they’ll fly to, like, Aruba, stam for a Shabbos.”

Dini chuckled to herself.  She couldn’t remember the last time her parents had gone anywhere for a regular Shabbos, other than their children’s homes. But let the girls gossip; she was used to this fascination with her family’s wealth.

She opened the lid of the soup pot and gave an absent-minded stir. The only time her label as “Dini, the rich girl” had ever really bothered her was when she’d started shidduchim. That was the first time she’d sensed actual jealousy from her friends. “Oh please, you have nothing to worry about. All the top guys will be begging to marry a Reiner!” It was Ayala — the only one of her friends who never seemed to be jealous of her wealth, whose quiet self-confidence and self-content actually made Dini jealous — who gave expression to what was really bothering her.

“Are you worried that your husband isn’t going to like you for yourself?” she’d asked one late seminary night, and Dini, leaning on her pillow in the dark dorm room, had realized yes, that was exactly her fear.

That was why she’d been thrilled that Shuki came from a wealthy family himself. No, he hadn’t been the top masmid in Lakewood, or in any other yeshivah, for that matter. But he’d been fun and funny and charming and she’d been confident that he didn’t have her father’s money in mind when he’d asked her to marry him.

Besides, she realized now, she would’ve made a terrible wife to the top masmid in Lakewood.

Dini tasted a spoonful of soup, nodded, and motioned to Esti’s helper to start ladling it out. Swinging her sheitel over her shoulder, she walked back into the salon, amused to hear the chatter instantly stop.

She sat back down at the head of the table and leaned forward. “Okay, ladies. Now that we’ve gotten to know each other, let’s talk about why we’re here. Chesed Tzirel. How many of you are familiar with the organization?”

There were a few knowing nods, a few uncomfortable blank looks, and one woman — Dini thought she’d introduced herself as Penina — who spoke up eagerly. “My neighbor needed emergency back surgery a few months ago, and you guys were amazing. She was literally going on and on about you. You came with her to the hospital, and met with all the doctors and explained all the medical information to her. She said that without you she would’ve been absolutely clueless and petrified.”

Ten pairs of eyes were now gazing worshipfully at Dini, which made her shift uncomfortably in her seat. It was all very nice for Penina to say “you,” but it was Ayala who had done all that. The neighbor clearly hadn’t gone “on and on” about the meals she’d received while she recuperated, though Dini remembered arranging five weeks’ worth for the woman who’d had back surgery.

Clearing her throat, she said lightly, “Penina, you’re hired as our PR person!” A titter ran around the table and Penina beamed.

“Anyway,” Dini continued, “as you just heard, at Chesed Tzirel we help Anglos living in Israel who are going through a medical crisis. I’m sure you guys can all picture how terrifying it can be dealing with a foreign system and doctors who speak a foreign language, when you’re scared for your life as it is. We—” Ayala? “We are very experienced with the healthcare system here, and we’ll serve as the liaison between the patient and the medical staff, to help the patient understand and make the proper decisions and also to advocate for them when necessary.”

The young women nodded. “Unbelievable!” Sarale breathed.

Dini’s voice grew stronger. “We also provide support services for the family at home. Meals, babysitting, cleaning help.” She faltered a bit on the last one. It was rare that they sent cleaning help, because it was hard to find volunteers for that sort of thing, and, until now, they’d had no budget for hiring cleaning ladies.

Until now. She smiled. Ayala might be the knowledgeable one when it came to the medical system, but it was thanks to Dini that they were now able to grow.

“More and more people have been reaching out for help. I’m talking families in all the Anglo communities here in Yerushalayim, in RBS, in Beitar. And to meet the need, we need to expand our volunteer base.”

“That’s what you want us to do?” the woman to Sarale’s left — Chaya? — asked. “Make meals and babysit for these families?”

Was it Dini’s imagination or did she sound slightly disappointed?

She straightened her back. “Yes and no. If all I needed was more phone numbers to call when I need to organize meals, believe me, I wouldn’t have bothered putting together this whole event. What I want—” She closed her eyes briefly, remembering how she’d practiced it with Shuki last night. “What I’m creating here is a totally new concept. I know there are lots of young marrieds here like you who are looking for meaningful ways to fill your time.”

Some of the nods were cautious, others emphatic. Dini continued, “I used to be in your position, I know what it feels like. I was so bored that first year, when my husband was out learning. I mean, there are only so many times you can rearrange the—” She’d been about to say “silver in your breakfront” but caught herself just in time — “the towels in your linen closet, huh?”

Penina and Sarale laughed, but Chaya muttered, “Who says we’re spending our time rearranging our linen closets?”

“So here’s my thought. We form a group of women who are looking to not just fill their time, but do it in a way that helps them grow. And it will be focused around chesed. We’ll have speakers and learning sessions about chesed and chesed activities where we help the CT families.” CT, yes! Whether it was Shuki’s idea or her own, it was brilliant!

“Nice,” one of the women murmured. “Love it!” said another.

Buoyed by their enthusiasm, Dini continued.  “And, of course, we can also do regular get-togethers just for fun, because we all need that, too, right? Like, café mornings, cooking demos, even tiyulim here and there. How does that sound?”

“Ooooh, sounds amazing!” Penina breathed. “Count me in!”

Others nodded eagerly as the questions poured in.

“How often will we be meeting?”

“What kinds of chesed activities?”

“How far out will the tiyulim be? Will we get home in time for the bein hasedorim break?”

As they peppered her for details, Dini felt herself soaring. Success! They were interested! Look at that, Ayala! Look at that, Ma, Ta, Eliana! She’d done it!

Then a small voice to her right cleared its throat. Sarale’s cheeks were red. “Um, is this group going to have, um, like, a membership fee to belong? You know, to pay for the events.”

Dini was brought up short. Membership fee? It hadn’t occurred to her at all. But of course, Sarale was right. These events would cost money. Who would pay for it? Ayala would certainly tell her to charge a membership fee. In fact, it would be a great way to raise money for the organization, wouldn’t it? Most of these girls could afford it; weren’t they the ones hanging out at Katzefet and Waffle Bar every day?

Then Dini remembered meeting Sarale and her husband at Waffle Bar. She remembered the look on Sarale’s face when she’d said, “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.”

She felt a pang. Some people really did have limited budgets; should they not be able to join her club because of money? She couldn’t in good conscience set up a system on that basis.

She turned to the waiting crowd and flashed a grin. “There’s no membership fee. This is our way of giving to our CT volunteers, in exchange for everything you’ll be giving to our families. It’s a win-win situation, see?”

The young women around the table looked delighted and Dini felt equally gratified. Ayala would undoubtedly accuse her of being oblivious to finances, but Dini felt proud of herself. After all, who was to say who deserved to be on the receiving end of chesed?

Couldn’t it apply equally to helping young kollel wives?

To be continued…

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 875)