She can’t seem to find her voice — but now her son needs it

The apartment layout is familiar; the Chaitons live on the floor below hers. Michal notices the window in their living room with the same view of what she thinks of as “her tree.”

Her twins like to climb onto the back of the couch and press their sticky hands and faces against the glass.

Tonight, as she’d headed for the door on her way to the Chaitons, they were at the window in their matching racing-car pajamas. “Yehuda. Laizer,” she’d called. “Mommy’s going bye-bye.”

Yehuda had opened and closed his small fists, and said, “Bye-bye.”

Laizer had stared out in front of him.

They’d tested Laizer’s hearing last month because they’d noticed he no longer looked up when they called his name.

“His hearing is normal,” the doctor had said. “Normal is good.”

“Normal is miraculous,” she’d answered.

Mrs. Chaiton is walking around, greeting the women. She stops in front of Michal. “Nice to finally meet our upstairs neighbor. Your husband is Shua, right? Our husbands daven together.” Her eyes, crinkly and kind, are focused fully on Michal. “And you are?”

“Michal,” she says, and then she can’t think of anything else to say to her hostess, so she forces a smile.

Michal counts about 15 women in the room, all neighbors whom she’s seen around the building. She doesn’t know most of their names, even though she moved in almost two years ago, right after the twins were born. She’d told herself she was too overwhelmed to say more than “hello” when she shared an elevator ride or passed a neighbor in the grocery aisle.

She can tell from the snippets of talk and laughter that these women know each other, know each other’s children. She’s the only one standing alone.

Still, she showed up tonight. That has to count for something.

She’d seen the flyer in the lobby, recognized the name of the speaker — an author of an impressive collection of parenting books — and liked the subject: Parenting with Soul.

But now she’s wondering if it would be rude to leave before the program starts. Just then, the speaker — Michal recognizes her blunt-cut dark sheitel from the flyer — starts walking toward the front of the room.

The speaker is so short she has to slant the wooden podium so they can see her face. She shares how, whenever one of her children gave her a hard time, she’d remind herself, “There are no mistakes. This particular child, with his or her challenges, was entrusted to us so we can grow together.”

The speaker looks slowly around the room. “Ladies, think of something your child does that annoys or upsets you.” She pauses. “Now, ask yourself a question: Where is the opportunity for growth? For example, if your child is clingy, instead of pushing him away, you can show him extra sensitivity. If your child throws a tantrum, instead of yelling at him, you can model how to express anger while talking calmly. It’s in these teeth-gritting moments that we shape our best selves.”

Michal leans forward so she won’t miss a word. She feels a little breathless: This is what I need. Exactly this message. Exactly now.