He swilled his black coffee in three gulps and left with a small distracted wave. Shira heard Dovi calling for her in the distance. She wasn’t sure if “later” was real or just an attempt to pacify her.

Now, she looked at her phone again, and sank deeper into the wingback chair. How could she phrase it so that he’d want to talk to her? The put-together sheitel and makeup approach clearly hadn’t worked. Was she a nag — is that why he was so distant? Was he really that busy? Were other husbands in school that busy?

She changed tactics.

I miss you! Clarissa is staying late today. Wanna go to Dairy Star when you come home?

Have a deli sandwich for lunch, he texted back an hour later. He totally missed the point. Did he do that on purpose? He had to be kidding. Shira rubbed her eyes, trying to avoid ruining her mascara. She’d love to go running, that always cleared her mind and helped her think, but she wasn’t allowed to put that much pressure on her ankle for at least another two weeks. Doctor’s orders.

Shira started to text back, then paused. She tapped record and immediately felt self-conscious. What should she tell Ephraim? How should she say it?

She opened the voice recording app, maybe she needed to collect her thoughts first. She tapped record and immediately felt self-conscious and tapped the red button again. Back in the texting interface, the cursor blinked and blinked. Maybe you’ll make a podcast about this journey one day she told herself, you should have in-the-moment raw audio to work with. That’s how DeeDee Dvorkus got her start.

“Ephraim, I know you’re busy, but I’m in a really bad place. I’m so unsettled. I don’t know what’s going on with me or house-hunting. And I need to know now. Yes, I need to know now. Cuz I’m so miserable, and I need to see that something can change.

“I’m stuck in this house. I don’t do anything, your mother thinks I’m a ridiculous waste of money, even though we’ve barely had a proper conversation since we moved in. I’m trying to make friends but feel like I’m in a different world. Everyone else is so busy and I’m just bored and lonely. And you’re in school. And I don’t even know why you’re doing this. You just decided this, and 18 months later here I am. We don’t need the money. Is this craziness worth it for your self-esteem? Cuz that’s the only thing I can come up with.”

Shira inhaled deeply, and exhaled as slowly as possible, letting the tears that had welled behind her eyes break free and flow down her face.

“I need someone to listen to me,” she whispered. She tapped the button to stop recording, hit delete, then flipped back to texting.

Can’t wait to see you later. She hit send. He sent back a heart emoji.

He had no clue. She sighed and let a few more tears leak out.

Eva adjusted the screen. She looked poised. The area behind her was refined, with a nice plant and abstract mini-sculpture. Shira’s million boxes were on the floor, but the camera wouldn’t capture that.

A frisson of something flitted through her — was it anxiety? Excitement? She wasn’t sure. She recalled hearing a TED talk where the presenter reframed anxiety in situations like this as exciting messages from the brain that we should embrace.

Well, maybe this was exciting neural messaging, but she was feeling guarded already. What she had thought would be a slam-dunk concept was sniffed at by most, tepidly accepted by others. Even the local music teachers were skeptical.

The screen in front of her shifted, another square appearing with the display splitting to reveal a perky woman with a dirty blonde wig and a big smile.

“Hello!”

Shaindel Rachel was enthusiastic. This surprised Eva. She’d been nothing but super professional, maybe even distant, in the email communication, and Shaindel Rachel had been forthcoming but diplomatic. She was surprised that the cute woman on the screen was the nonprofit powerhouse.

“I don’t have a lot of time, so let’s get right to it. You told me the basic idea. Sounds really wonderful, very special. So I ask the following questions to anyone I meet with about starting a nonprofit.”

Eva leaned in. Questions meant answers, answers meant clarity. Maybe.

“What do you want to do, how do you want to do it, what will it cost you, and how will you get the money?”

Oh. Eva frowned. The first two answers were simple, the third was a question, and she supposed so was the fourth.

“Well, I explained the concept to you — that answers the first two questions. I spoke to Alana, who referred me to you for questions 3 and 4.” Eva paused. “As of now, I suppose I am the answer to the fourth question. So the only open one is the third, which Alana sort of answered, 30 to 50k, so maybe I have all of them?”

Shaindel Rochel smiled.

“Not quite. Yes, you told me what you want to do. But I need you to narrow it down to more of a mission statement. Right now your vision is a little vague, but your plans for implementation are super specific. You want to reverse that. Have a super clear mission and an open mind on the different ways you can achieve that before you home in on one.”

Eva nodded. That made sense. She’d been so focused on getting into the schools and putting on a concert, she hadn’t actually considered that there might be a different way to accomplish her goal.

“I hear.” Eva took a delicate sip of water. “How do I clarify my mission statement?”

Shaindel Rochel held up a hand. It struck Eva as a funny gesture through a screen.

“Let’s tackle the other questions as well. If you’re shifting the way you do it, then the numbers you need to hit will change too. Also, let me be straight with you. This may be a pet project now, and you’re willing to take on the financial burden. But if you follow through, im yirtzeh Hashem, it will grow, and it may become more than you were willing to invest.

“You need to think about money streams from the get-go. You don’t have to have them set up yet, but plant seeds. Nonprofits eat money for breakfast.”

“I hear,” Eva exhaled the words.

The conversation wrapped up soon after that, Shaindel Rochel exiting with a cheery “Hatzlachah!”

Eva shut Zoom. She needed a mission statement, people who would support her monetarily, and people who’d use her organization. She had none of these.

She pulled out her phone and texted Binyomin.

Just met with that nonprofit expert, she told me to think about funding.

Is this a privilege of money? Is it right, or a waste? Am I just pushing my POV on the world without caring what they think or really need?

It took him five minutes but he responded in classic Binyomin style.

You’re overthinking, as usual. But I haven’t seen you so involved in anything ever. So you can’t ignore that. From a business perspective this whole thing is a rotting money pit. But is this a business or an organization or a hobby? They all have different answers.

He was right. So right.

She started to text back, then let her hands fall limp at her side. What was her mission? And also… why was it?

to be continued…

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 813)