I have nothing to do with Mrs. Abramson, absolutely zero, she’s our Tefillah teacher, probably Bubby’s age, and while her lessons are beautiful, they’re also deep and esoteric, and sometimes I’m not sure Mrs.  A. lives down on Planet Earth with us regular folk.

But now I don’t think about that, or about the fact that I came to school to get away from it all. I simply blurt out the whole entire, awful story.

Mrs. Abramson listens compassionately, eyes widening a little. I guess it does sound dramatic — terrorist factions and civil war and government crumbling and people disappearing (to escape? To hide? Somewhere else?) with no trace.

But she doesn’t say anything much, just leads me to the mechaneches’s office where Mrs. Gerber once spoke to me, and brings me a cup of icy cold water.

“I’ll give you some time to yourself,” she says quietly. “Mrs. Gerber will come to you shortly.”

Oh, wow, now everyone’s going to get involved. I press the cup to my forehead; it’s heavy and aching. I’m dizzy from the crying bout. Did I drink anything yet today? I can’t remember.

There’s a tap on the door a few minutes later and Mrs. Gerber comes inside. “Ashira, Mrs. Abramson shared with me what’s going on,” she says. She sits down beside me. “I want to tell you that I’m here for you, and so is everyone in the school. If you want to talk, or anything….”

I’m quickly becoming more and more embarrassed about my outburst. “I want to go back to class,” I say.

Mrs. Gerber nods understandingly. “If you feel up to it, of course you can. And I’ll be in school all day today. If you need anything, or want to talk, or just need some privacy, you can come here to the office.”

I nod my thanks.

“So, the class wants to do something in the zechus that your family should be found, safe and well,” Mrs. Gerber says. Wait, who told the class what happened? Did the school just fill them in? I mean, I guess it’s not a major secret, especially since I had that meltdown in front of all of them, but….

“Mrs. Abramson spoke to me, and I told the class a very brief outline, so that they should understand,” Mrs. Gerber explains. “I hope that was okay with you.”

I nod. It made sense; otherwise, who knew what they’d be thinking of me?

Besides, the more tefillos, the better, right?

“So, the class thought it would be nice to make a brachos party during lunch, and then say Tehillim together,” Mrs. Gerber continues. “Does that sound okay to you?”

I nod again. It’s actually…sweet.

We reach the classroom just as the bell rings between classes. Mrs. Gerber opens the door for me, pats my arm, and closes it quietly. I blink, floundering slightly as everyone turns to me, and then, blessedly, Tammy comes flying down the aisle from her seat and gives me a huge hug.

“Ashira, I’m so sorry, it’s horrible what you’re going through. We’re all in this with you. We’re going to daven and everything….”

She doesn’t say it will be okay.

I’m so grateful.

Once she’s broken the ice, more girls come over, say things, some are uncomfortable, some just smile uncertainly. From her perch on the desk at the back of the room, Raizy waves and then — the unthinkable — she comes over to me.

“I guess there’s no news?” she says in a low voice.

It feels so good to have someone from the family there, someone who’s sort of in the know with me, that I tear up again.

“No news,” I manage.

Our next teacher is in the doorway. I have 40 minutes to get my raging emotions under control before this brachos party begins.

I need an update. I need one.

I can’t focus, not on class, not on Mrs. Gerber’s introduction to the brachos party, not on my classmates setting up the desks in a ches-shape and putting out cookies and little cups of grape juice and everything.

I go over to Mrs. Gerber. “Can I make a phone call?”

She nods understandingly. “Go to the office, Miss Glick will let you call.”

I stop for a minute, pondering who, exactly, I could call. Not Bubby, I couldn’t, she’s too… fragile, going through too much.

Aunt Chana, I think.

Raizy’s more than happy to come along with me, punch in her mother’s number.

“Ashira, sweetie, I’m so happy you called,” Aunt Chana says warmly. “How are you holding up?You’re brave going to school.”

My throat is thick. “Thanks,” I manage. “Um, is there any…news?”

“Not much,” Aunt Chana says. “They have found out that your family is not in a hospital and wasn’t among the…casualties. So that’s good news.”

Sort of. I guess.

“The thing is…they still haven’t found anyone who’s seen or heard from your family all week.”

My heart lurches. They must have escaped, right? They must be hiding somewhere…but where?

Back in the classroom, everyone’s eyes are on me. Ouch, will I have to give a speech or something?

Calm down, Ashira. Think — you’ve spoken in public before. You do this all the time. Is this so different?

Yes, it is, but maybe, I realize, I can do it anyway.

I take a deep breath. “Thank you so much, everyone, for being in this with me — with my family,” I say. My voice cracks a little. I share the basic update, and then take a seat at the table.

“Let’s start with mezonos,” Mrs. Gerber says, breaking the silence.

As everyone passes the cookies around, Leah, a random classmate who happened to end up sitting next to me, leans over.

“I don’t know exactly what this feels like, but I wanted to tell you, we went through something kind of similar last year,” she says in a low voice. “My brothers in yeshivah in Israel — they went hiking in the desert and were missing for about two days. Baruch Hashem, they were found…but I’ll never forget that horrible experience when we didn’t know where they were.”

Wow.

It’s different, of course, but I look at Leah in a new light.

It makes me realize that these classmates of mine — with their cookie-cutter lives and superficial conversations and whose life trajectories have been so different than mine — they’re really, deep down, more similar to me than I’ve thought.

Everyone’s been on a journey. And even if theirs are different, I realize, as the first girl says a fervent mezonos and everyone answers Amen, we can still understand each other. Appreciate each other….

Support each other.

Tammy squeezes my hand.

If I have to go through this nightmare, I think, at least I’m not alone.

To be continued…

(Originally featured in Mishpacha Treeo, Issue 983)