*****

There was artistic lighting, the purple kind, when I walked in Yehudis’s Schloss’s home. Small Melaveh Malkah? I smiled at the woman who stood at the door.

“Hi.”

She half smiled back at me.

“I’m Chana Schwartzberg. And you are?”

It took a moment for her eyes to register what I’d said. “Oh, hi.” Her eyes did a slow elevator sweep of me. “Shani Katz. Yehudis said you’re speaking tonight, I can’t wait. So nice to finally meet you.”

“Likewise.” I tapped her lightly on the arm and walked into the room. She was excited about my speech? I wasn’t.

“Rebbetzin Schwartzberg!” Yehudis Schloss approached, looking perfectly put together.

“Just Chana,” I corrected her. She twitched her jaw, but didn’t protest.

“So glad you came.” She held her hand to her heart. “Let me introduce you to everyone.”

Clasping my elbow, she ushered me farther into the room. Intimate round tables with flowers and flickering tealights were on one side of the expansive living room; the other two walls featured an elaborate buffet set up in an L.

“I scheduled you to speak first to set the tone for the evening, and then I was hoping you could do some table rotations so the women get to know you. A number of them are more reserved and won’t approach you, but if you do, they’d love to talk.” She peered intensely into my eyes. “Okay.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Sure, wonderful,” I said and meant it.

Yehudis then made her rounds to every table, introducing me like a proud mother-in-law.

The women were nice. Kinda stiff. No black skirts or solid sweaters in the lot. Bless you, Shifra.

“Can you excuse me a moment?” I asked Yehudis, stepping back and looking around.

“Bathroom is down the hall, second door on your right,” she whispered.

Wonderful hostess.

The bathroom smelled like lavender. Calming. Didn’t know I needed that. My palms were clammy. This whole thing was a bit higher stakes than I’d anticipated. Why was it so fancy? I looked at myself in the mirror. I still looked like me. That was good. I think.

“Have fun!” I told mirror me and waltzed out. As I walked back into the living room, Yehudis caught my eye and nodded. I nodded back. Showtime.

A slender podium and mic materialized in front of the room. A mic?

Yehudis stepped gracefully up to the podium and leaned in.

“Thank you everyone for coming tonight to our annual start of the school year Melaveh Malkah. Before we get started, I asked our new rebbetzin, Rebbetzin Schwartzberg, to give us some perspective on the coming school year.”

The women were now looking around at me, some clapped lightly. I shuffled awkwardly to the podium.

“Hi, everyone,” I started. “It’s so wonderful to be here, and meet all of you. This is the beginning of a beautiful relationship. And first things first, I’m the rav’s wife, not the Rebbetzin. Please call me Chana, and until you get used to that, avoid calling me anything, like your mother-in-law when you first got married and there was no way you were calling her Mommy.”

The woman tittered and smiled. So far so good. Now to the actual speech. I took it out of my purse, unfolded it, and flattened it on the podium.

“In this past week’s parshah, parshas Nitzavim-Vayeilech the pasuk says ‘ki hamitzvah hazos’ and there’s a great machlokes between Rashi and Ramban over which mitzvah it’s referring to.”

I read that confidently. Though suddenly, it sounded like the start of a high school shabbaton devar Torah. This was also the point to which I knew it almost by heart. I looked down at the paper. “Rashi says the mitzvah it’s referring to is Torah, the Ramban says it’s teshuvah.”

I brought the paper closer to my face, the next words were from the Ramban, I wasn’t familiar with it. I wish Avrumi had added nekudos but plunged ahead, stumbling over some of the words. I would ad-lib the rest, but I didn’t know it well enough to connect the dots successfully.

I looked up at the women, they were shifting in their seats. Only one woman was making eye contact, everyone else averted their gaze. A weight laid itself on my chest and settled there. I shook the paper in my hand, willing the words to change into an easier, more relatable message.

“The Ramban suggests that the words ‘b’ficha u’belvavcha’ are referring to doing teshuvah in your heart and saying Vidui.” I continued reading straight off the paper. I couldn’t look up again. This was awful. I read faster. Just a few lines left.

“Are you familiar with the story of the childless woman seeking mechilah from her high school teacher?” I looked up. Every single head nodded. Oh, no. Now what? “May we all be zocheh to do a teshuvah sheleimah and bring Mashiach, bimeheirah biyameinu,” I finished, stepping away from the podium and hastily mushing the paper into my bag. Yehudis Schloss stepped up and gave me a strange look.

“Thank you so much for your words of inspiration—” she paused. And didn’t say my name. There was tepid pity applause. No seat appeared readily available, so I stumbled back to the bathroom to steady myself. Once inside, my stomach roiled. At least I could go home soon.

*****

“Never seen you like this,” Avrumi said. I was sprawled on the couch, shoes still on, a half-sleeping mess.

“This is the new me,” I garbled. Avrumi chuckled.

“How was?”

“Epic failure. I may be a natural schmoozer, I am not a natural speaker.”

Avrumi frowned sympathetically. “There’s a learning curve.”

“Curve? It’s a cliff for me. Tell me I don’t have to do it again,”

He was quiet.

“Nooooo,” I moaned. “I’m so tired and I was so awful.” I took a throw pillow and smothered my face with it.

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad,” Avrumi tried. Before I could correct him, the phone rang, my hand reached for it automatically. The caller ID read Yeshivas Meko, the rest was cut off, but I knew who it was: Chaim’s yeshivah. My stomach dropped.

“Is Rabbi Schwartzberg available?” I recognized the mashgiach’s voice.

I offered the phone to Avrumi. I’d survived the night, but I wasn’t sure I’d make it through this phone call.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 689)