“You feel that Nechami has missed out on a lot in life.” Yoeli’s observation plays like a soft melody

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hat’s the point of going to Rav Glikovsky?”

Chaya is irritated. Her video editing program is open on the screen in front of her. Yoeli is sitting on the bed. His words ring out like a xylophone, cool and mellow.

“To help you get clarity. It’ll do you good to hear someone with a broad perspective. A spiritual perspective.”

“What if he tells me I have to get engaged to this boy? I’d rather not ask.”

“We’re not going to him to ask if you should get engaged or not,” says Yoeli. Do, re, mi. Nechami, watching the conversation quietly just outside the door, can almost hear the notes. She envies her brother for being able to talk like that.

“Like, maybe he tells me the best thing I can do is get married to a masmid who’ll learn all day and night,” Chaya says. “And live in a cramped apartment without a shekel to spare, raising kids, and being alone most of the time. I’m not going to do it!”

“We’re not going to him to ask who you should marry,” says Yoeli. Fa, so, la.

“What for, then?”

Nechami wonders, too. What for?

“To listen. To listen to each other,” Yoeli says with the same maddening calm. “You, and Abba and Ima. And then to hear his broad perspective. Rav Glikovsky has a bigger picture. He’s not going to tell you what to do — don’t worry.”

“Hmm,” Chaya says. “I’ll tell you what I don’t want. I don’t want to get into a situation where I’m the bad girl who won’t listen to the rav.” She clicks on a slide and moves it forward and back again. Nechami knows it’s just a show — Chaya’s not doing anything productive right now.

“In any case, you’re not a bad girl,” Nechami interjects. They both turn around.

“Nechami! When did you get here?” Chaya shouts.

“You’re back from the moshav already?” Yoeli asks. They’re still waiting for Havdalah, for Ima to come home from her friend Yocheved. “You already put the kids to bed and got here so soon? Or is Shua putting them to bed?”

“Shua has a Motzaei Shabbos shiur,” Chaya reminds him, with a slightly sharp edge to her voice. “You should know that by now, after everything Nechami has had to miss because she can’t find a babysitter on Motzaei Shabbos. When we were at Yaffa’le and Dudi’s sheva brachos in Netanya, Nechami and Shua packed all their kids into a van on the stroke of zeman Rabbeinu Tam so Shua could get to his shiur, and they weren’t there for the performance with the band.”

“You feel that Nechami has missed out on a lot in life.” Yoeli’s observation plays like a soft melody.

Nechami doesn’t say a word. She only listens. But her cheeks are on fire.

“You know,” Chaya chides her brother, “that even when they had that big event at the seminary for alumnae, she couldn’t be there because one of the kids was sick, and Ima was out of town, and she had no one to babysit. No babysitter will come for a baby with a virus.”

Nechami nods.

“Couldn’t Shua have learned at home that night, so you could go to the event?” Yoeli asks gently.