“Yes, she’s got a real head on her shoulders, my Eliana,” Ma said proudly. Growing up, that was always how it was.  Eliana was sharp, Eliana was brilliant, Eliana won all the school contests and awards. And Dini, golden Dini, sang and danced her way through school, popular, well-dressed and charming, and who cared if she barely passed her classes? As if a Reiner needed good grades to get into a top seminary.

She glanced at her sister across the room, laughing as she spoke to some elderly lady. With time, Eliana had learned the value of charm… and Dini had learned that she, too, was capable of serious thought.

Her mother turned to her. “Adele was just telling me about a beautiful cause she and Heshy have gotten involved in.”

“I’d love to hear about it,” Dini said obediently.

Adele waved her hand. “Oh, it’s nothing, really. An organization that helps sick children needed someone to dedicate their new respite center and, well, it’s a cause close to our hearts, what with our little Shaindy, you know.”

Dini tried to look compassionate, as her brain desperately attempted to pull up information. Ma must have told her about this. Was it a child? Grandchild? How long ago? Was she still alive?

“Of course. What a beautiful—”

“Mommy! Mommy!” Binny and Tamar were running up to her, eyes wide.

“You’ll never believe what they have here!” ten-year-old Binny exclaimed breathlessly.  “There’s this guy grilling huge steaks over a big flame, on the spot! And he gives you as much as you want! I already got thirds!”

Eight-year-old Tamar chimed in. “And they have an ice cream station, with cones and toppings and everything!”

Dini’s cheeks burned as she murmured, “Very nice, but save some appetite for later.”

“Adorable children,” Adele said, but Dini held her breath, waiting for her mother’s reaction.

“They live in Israel, you know,” her mother said smoothly. “So refreshing to have children growing up nowadays with such simple standards.”

But the decidedly forced smile on her mother’s face told Dini that despite the carefully curated simchah attire, she had failed to live up to expectations.

Ayala shouldered open her front door,  hands full with her therapy bags and phone.

“Gimme a sec and I’ll write this all down,” she said to the woman on the line as she nodded a hello to her twins doing homework at the dining room table, dropped her bags, and grabbed a pen.

“Schuster, Shaare Zedek, Pediatrics,” she repeated as she wrote. “No, please don’t apologize, I’m so happy you reached out. It’s hard when you don’t understand the language. That’s why we’re here.”

She felt small hands wrap around her leg. She grinned down at Levi, who had managed to toddle over to her, and patted his head.

“They want to do the surgery tomorrow already? Hmm, I see. Listen, just so you’re clear, we’re not a medical referral organization. I can’t give you medical advice about what you should or shouldn’t do, though I can put you in touch with those who can. But—”

“Ima! Up!” Now Levi was clutching at her arm, gesturing adamantly for her to hold him. Ayala threw a desperate glance at the twins, and Layale jumped up and carried a struggling Levi away.

“But what we can do is send someone to sit with you and be by your side to explain what the doctors and nurses are saying and just generally provide moral support through this crisis. Do you feel that would be helpful?”

Ayala smiled at how quickly the young woman’s yes came. Of course, it was helpful; this was exactly what she’d been desperate for herself all those years ago but hadn’t known how, and there was no one to ask.

Levi had broken free from Layale’s arms and was now toddling back to her. Ayala closed her eyes briefly, then glanced at her watch.  If she left now, the cab would get her to the hospital in 45 minutes. But could she really leave now?

“We’ll send someone over as quickly as possible,” she said. “The important thing is to stay calm.  You have the strength to get through this, I promise you.”

It was the most she could promise; saying a platitudinous “everything will be okay” was worse than meaningless. But that every person had the wherewithal and resilience to deal with life’s challenges was, she knew, an incredibly strengthening message — and one she firmly believed.

She hung up the phone and exhaled loudly. This Schuster lady sounded so frightened; it was the desperate helplessness in her voice, even more than her child’s uncertain medical diagnosis, that was urging Ayala to get to her side quickly.

But she’d just gotten home from work.

She blinked, trying to refocus as she looked around the room. Chumi was coloring a picture in the corner; the siren wails from the mirpesset told her that Rafi was playing ambulance; Levi was now in her arms, and Menachem should be home from school in another half hour.

Ayala raked a hand through her sheitel, trying to quell her guilty conscience. It was easy to spout values like “chesed starts at home” when you didn’t have a distressed woman in the hospital begging you to come help her.

“Tziri? Lay?” She walked over to the table and put a hand on each of their shoulders.

Her twins were fraternal, but right now they had identical expressions on their faces.

“So, who’re you sending to go sit with that lady in the hospital?” Tziri asked, with an air of feigned innocence.

Ayala chuckled. “You know there’s no one else who can do that. Listen,” she said apologetically. “I know you’ve just been babysitting, but would you mind—?”

Layale opened her mouth to answer but Tziri shot her a quelling look and quickly said, “Of course. No problem.”

Ayala’s eyebrows crinkled as she looked back and forth between the two. “Are you sure? Did you have something to do, Layale?”

Layale stared down at her open notebook. “No, nothing, it’s fine, Ima. Go to that lady; it sounds like she really needs you.”

Ayala smiled and brushed both of their cheeks. It was hard to believe her firstborns were going to be bas-mitzvah soon but, honestly, they’d been mature and responsible from birth.

Just like their mother.

She called the cab, then rushed into the kitchen to see what she could pull out of the freezer for dinner. It was Monday, which was usually meatballs. Did she have any frozen containers?

She stopped. Monday. Wait a second.

She walked back into the salon. “Don’t you girls have your dance class today?”

Layale squirmed in her seat. Tziri said, “It’s okay, Ima, we don’t mind missing it. This is more important, right?”

Ayala wavered. More important?

A memory flashed: She was in ninth grade and her friends had planned a big outing to celebrate the end of finals. But Mommy’s back had gone out again, and when she asked Ayala to accompany her to the doctor, Ayala had hesitated only a moment before saying yes. She hadn’t mentioned a word about the get-together.

Afterwards, her friends had gushed over what a tzadeikes she was, and Ayala had been taken aback by their reactions. Tzadeikes? But she’d only done what was expected of her!

“Helping my mother was more important,” she’d said with a shrug. Wasn’t that obvious?

Now, she looked at her twins and wondered if this was a good gene that she’d passed on to them — or a defective one.

“No, you’re not missing dance,” she said firmly.

She couldn’t help but notice that Layale looked relieved, though Tziri appeared ready to protest.  Ayala shook her head at her.

Okay, the cab was coming in five minutes.  It was time for Plan B.  She hated asking Naftali to leave kollel early, but there was no choice.

As she rushed back down to the parking lot five minutes later, she saw Naftali heading home and waved.  He walked over and opened the door of the cab for her.

“Tizki l’mitzvos. I hope they have a refuah shelaimah,” he said.

There was something in his voice that made her shoot her husband a questioning look.

“You sure it’s okay for you to babysit?” she asked. Which, of course, was a completely ridiculous question at this point.

“Yes, it’s fine.” He scratched behind his ear and shifted his gaze away. “But, Ayala… I think it’s time for you to consider getting more manpower for your organization. You can’t do it all alone.”

to be continued…

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 855)