Sruli took the opportunity to grab the toy car from Ayala’s lap.

“Give me,” Ayala modeled once more, gently taking it back from his hands. “Give me.”

She held the car out to Sruli, who grunted, “Me.”

Hindy clapped.

“Kol hakavod!” Ayala handed him the car.

As Sruli zoomed it back and forth, Hindy said, “I don’t get it. You run the entire organization yourself?”

Ayala shrugged. “Not exactly myself. I have a friend who helps me. She’s the one who coordinated the meals for your sister. How’s she doing, by the way?”

Hindy’s eyes lit up. “Much better! You guys have been a lifesaver! The food, the babysitting — it’s exactly what she needed. And baruch Hashem her baby is gaining weight. They’re talking about taking him off the feeding tube soon and letting Lani try to nurse him.”

“That’s wonderful! We’ll keep providing the assistance for as long as she needs.”

Sruli was moving the car in circles around the room. “Zoommmm,” Ayala said. “The car goes zoom.”

Without lifting his head, Sruli said, “Oomm.”

Ayala opened her mouth to point out to Hindy how much Sruli had progressed, but his mother seemed more interested in conversation than therapy. “How long have you been running your organization?”

Ayala never knew how to answer that question. When had Chesed Tzirel officially opened its doors? The first time she got a phone call from someone asking hesitantly for advice, “because I heard you went through something similar yourself”? When she decided that the informal assistance she’d been increasingly offering needed an official name and logo? (She remembered how her mother had cried when Ayala told her she was naming her organization after Bubby Tzirel.) When she decided to take the plunge and list Chesed Tzirel in the Newcomers Guide? (There was nothing that made you an official entity in the Anglo-Israeli world like being listed in the Newcomers Guide.)

“We became official about six years ago, I guess,” she said. “But even before that, I was helping people unofficially. One of my daughters was born with a heart condition, and I know what it’s like to deal with a medical crisis alone.”

“That’s so beautiful.” The admiration pouring out of Hindy’s eyes made Ayala shift her legs uncomfortably. “So you spend your days helping kids like Sruli and the rest of your waking hours helping everyone else in the world.”

Ayala looked down at her lap. “You’re making me sound much greater than I am. It’s not such a big deal.”

You mean you gave up our graduation celebration to help your mother? You’re such a tzadeikes! As a high school girl, her friends’ incredulous respect had made her stomach writhe, and she was still squirming now. Didn’t they all realize that there was nothing remarkable about her at all? She was just lucky enough to be in a position to help.

“Yeah right, not a big deal.” Hindy smirked. “You’ve been running a chesed organization single-handedly for the past six years, and you call that ‘not a big deal’? Plus, you work every day and take care of your own family? Ayala Wexler, you’re, like, superwoman.”

It’s a compliment, Ayala told herself. A flattering, over-the-top compliment. Just smile and accept it.

So why did the words make her insides stretch so tightly she felt like she was about to snap?

Dini’s suitcases were packed and lined up neatly in her parents’ living room, ready to be taken to the airport tomorrow morning. Shuki had nodded approvingly when he’d come in from Minchah and seen his own suitcase standing in the row.

“Will you look at that? I actually packed ahead of time!”

Dini had made a face at him. “It’s a lot easier to pack when the housekeeper does it for you.”

“It’s a lot easier to do most things when the housekeeper does it for you.” Shuki had stretched his hands behind his head. “That’s why I invited Ana to come back with us to Israel.”

“Very funny,” she’d said coldly, though she wasn’t quite sure what had irritated her so much about his joke. Maybe being around her uber-high-achieving family was contrasting just a bit too starkly with her “chilled” husband. (“Our words create our reality,” her marriage mentor always told her when she’d fume over Shuki’s laziness. “Use positive adjectives.”)

At the moment, Shuki was regaling her family — who’d gathered at her parents’ house for their last dinner together — with a story from back in his yeshivah days, when he and a bunch of friends had rented a car, bought themselves white robes and keffiyehs, and driven into an Arab village to hang out for the day. It was a story she’d heard many times, but Shuki told it well; right now, he had her parents and siblings in stitches as he recounted his conversation with Ahmed the donkey driver.

Yes, he was funny and charming, her husband. But she couldn’t help getting the sense that, though her family liked Shuki (who wouldn’t?), they didn’t quite get him.

Sometimes she wondered whether she herself understood him.

When Shuki finished, Eliezer wiped his eyes and shared a yeshivah story of his own. Dini’s brother wasn’t a storyteller like Shuki, nor had he ever been the adventurous type, so it didn’t go over quite as well (“And then, would you believe it, our cholent spoiled and our baal hadirah came running in to ask what that nasty smell was!”), but everyone chuckled politely.

In the lull that followed, Tatty leaned back in his chair and said casually, “So, what are you busy with these days, Shuki? Working for your father, huh?”

Next to her, Shuki stiffened. “Yes,” he said shortly.

“You’re managing one of the nursing homes, I understand?”

Shuki sent her a swift, surprised glance, and Dini reddened. She didn’t think she’d actually said those words to Tatty, but yes, she had implied that he was in a management position in the business.

“Um, not quite managing an entire nursing home, but I’m involved in one of the departments,” Shuki replied smoothly.

Involved, as in doing a bit of the billing and inventory when the weather was right and the moon was full and he chanced to be in the mood.

He added, “It’s hard to do actual management living so far away, you know.”

Dini groaned softly. No, Shuki! No, no, no! He’d probably thought he was helping her by explaining why he didn’t have a more choshuve position in his father’s business, but omigosh didn’t he realize—

“That can be easily solved,” her mother said swiftly. “We’re all waiting for you and Dini to move back home, and I’m sure your parents are, too.”

Her father nodded his agreement. “And if real estate’s more your thing than managing nursing homes, I’ll be happy to find you a position in our company.”

Dini’s hands clenched in her lap. Why did this topic have to come up every time they visited? After 13 years, why couldn’t her parents come to terms with the fact that they’d chosen to make their lives in Eretz Yisrael?

“Thanks, Tatty, I appreciate that,” Shuki said easily. “But I think we’re happy where we are.”

“Yes, baruch Hashem, we’re living such full, meaningful lives there,” Dini chimed in. “There’s nothing like living in Eretz Yisrael.”

Did she sound like a starry-eyed seminary girl? She saw her sister’s curled lip and winced. Yes, she sounded like a starry-eyed seminary girl.

“That’s great to hear,” Eliana said. “What do you do to keep busy? Other than taking care of your family, of course.”

Dini’s eyes narrowed. As if running a household and raising five children was a side job! Of course, for Eliana, it was. Her sister worked full-time in her high-powered position at the family firm; her home and children were cared for by hired help.

“Taking care of my family keeps me plenty busy,” she said.

“Naturally, when you only have cleaning help three times a week,” her mother murmured. “I don’t know how you do it.  Don’t you think she should get more help, Shuki?”

Shuki held up his hands. “Hey, if it were up to me, I’d have a live-in like Ana. In fact, I’d have Ana herself. I asked her to come back with us, but she must really like you, Ma, ’cuz she said no.”

He almost succeeded in diffusing the tension; Dini’s parents’ shoulders visibly relaxed as they laughed, but Eliana was still leaning forward, looking at Dini intently.

Annoyed, Dini said, “And I’m one of the managing partners of our chesed organization.”

“Right, you arrange meals for people who had a baby? Are you still doing that? That’s so sweet.”

Dini’s face burned. Sweet? She had a flaming urge to wipe the condescending smile off her sister’s face.

She lifted her head, flipping her sheitel over her shoulder. “It’s much more than ‘meals for people who had a baby.’ We’re helping Anglo families in medical crises. There’s a huge demand for our services. Our phones are literally ringing off the hook.”

“Is that so?” her mother said. “I didn’t realize.”

A glance at her father told her that he, too, was impressed. Giddy with the realization, Dini continued, “Yeah, we’re a huge organization, and growing bigger by the day. Everyone in Israel knows about us.”

“So how come we haven’t heard about this… what’s it called again?” Eliana asked.

Dini gave a fleeting frown. “Chesed Tzirel.” From the beginning, she’d urged Ayala to choose a more sophisticated name.

“Chesed Tzirel,” Eliana repeated. “No one knows about it in the US. Why is that? How do you do your fundraising?”

Dini hesitated briefly. “Until now, we’ve managed with localized fundraising. But don’t worry. You’ll be hearing about us soon.”

To be continued…

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 856)