Nechami knew that under the surface of all those battles was a stubborn, desperate craving to love and be loved

First it was Ima and Dudi. On her way back from errands, with Yossi in the stroller, Nechami was feeling good. She’d finally picked up that package from the post office, and she’d bought a new light bulb for the kitchen and a screwdriver to fix the cabinet. Which meant that tomorrow Yehudit would have new tights to wear (all the old ones had holes), there’d be decent lighting in the kitchen, and the cabinet would swing smoothly again.

As they passed through Abba and Ima’s street, she said to Yossi, all innocence, “Let’s go say hello to Savta.”

“Chaya Savta?”

“Yes, Chaya Savta,” she said with a smile.

Up the stairs they climbed, his little hand in hers. They knocked on the door. The moment it was opened, they felt the tension, scattered throughout the space like bits of shattered glass.

“We came to see what you bought today,” Nechami said cheerfully, trying to send out a volley of shining bubbles to sweep away the glass. “Did you go to that linen sale? Did they have anything nice?”

Chaya sighed and waved her hand dismissively. “Ima didn’t have the patience to go with me. I went with Goldie. I didn’t buy anything.”

Yossi was running around them, clearly looking for attention. Why wasn’t anyone calling him “Yosef’sefon” and giving him a chance to squeal that his name was Yossi, not Yosef’sefon?

“What happened?”

“Ima had another fight with Dudi. Don’t ask.”

“Say Sefsefon!” Yossi demanded outright.

Chaya gave him a hug. “Yosef’sefon, you’re delicious and adorable. And too little.”

Over his little head, she eyed Nechami and told her the full story. Dudi and Yaffa’le had hired a photographer and done an outdoor photo shoot with Avital, it seemed. Some of Ima’s lovely friends had seen the pictures in the photographer’s online gallery, recognized Dudi, and been shocked at some of the poses, which struck their delicate sensibilities as quite unseemly. And of course they didn’t keep this discovery to themselves. One of them even took the trouble to print out a picture as an example.

“Don’t those ladies have anything better to do?” Nechami sighed. “They need to get a life! They should go volunteer at a nursing home if they’re so bored.”

“It’s much more entertaining to blabber about other people’s lives,” Chaya said dryly. “Anyway, Ima was furious.” Pictures they need, from a professional photographer, for no special reason? Fine. But did they have to let her post them on her online gallery for the whole world to see? It must have been Yaffa’le, Ima said. And then she was mad at Dudi again — he was the one who’d brought that girl into the family, and now he gives in to her caprices all the time….”

“And that’s the whole story?” Nechami wanted to stop for a moment, to assess the damage.

“The whole story? That’s only the beginning. The intro. After that, Dudi had some tainehs about everybody being worried about my apartment, and nobody caring how he’s managing to pay his bills, and nobody ever thinking to give him even a fraction of what they’re giving me. Abba kept quiet, as usual, and Ima answered back, as usual.”

Nechami knew that under the surface of all those battles was a stubborn, desperate craving to love and be loved.