The speech was thankfully over soon. At least some people this Shabbos don’t delight in hearing their own voices.

“What are your plans after the seudah?” Avrumi asked me when they started bringing out dessert, a fancy Creamsicle concoction. I looked at the clock. It was 2:30. Just like I thought, my 3:30 shiur was in the “just settled in for a nap” slot. It wasn’t worth it for me to go home and come back.

“Gonna stick around here all afternoon, by the time the seudah’s over, it’s almost my shiur. When my shiur’s over, it’ll almost be Shalosh Seudos.”

Avrumi nodded. “I’m gonna chap a quick nap, okay?”

“Yes, please, go.”

At least one of us would relax over Shabbos, Avrumi was probably more exhausted than me and had longer to wait till he spoke — he was going between Minchah and Shalosh Seudos.

I walked up to the ezras nashim, where my shiur would be held. Maybe I’d say some Tehillim in the meantime. I was surprised to see a few women sitting around, chairs arranged in a circle, schmoozing. They waved when they noticed me.

“Hi, Rebbetzin, we’re here early.”

Wow! “Really?” Did they hear the disbelief in my voice?

“It wasn’t worth schlepping home to come back so soon, so we just stuck around.” Dassi Reingold said.

They missed me, they really missed me. They were giving up their naps to hear me.

“Such dedication, I really appreciate it!” I enthused, taking the seat they offered. Yehudis wasn’t here to witness it, but I can still be a proper Rebbetzin.

“So, how’s Shabbos going for everyone?” I looked around.

There were smiles and nods all around.

“Beautiful!”

“Inspirational.”

I smiled, then kicked my kitten heels off. “I know they’re low, but when I’m expecting, it’s usually fluffy slippers all day.” Everyone laughed.

Dina Schwartz in the corner didn’t join in. She looked thoughtful; I wasn’t sure if I should call her out. The door opened behind me and a few more women came in and settled around the room. More people giving up naps to hear me, who never wanted to speak, whom Yehudis had sidelined.

I leaned in. “It’s nice to have a few chilled, unscheduled minutes. I’d want to take advantage of them and hear from all of you.”

I noticed some faces perk up. Good.

“As the new rebbetzin, I came and kinda slipped into a role, but the shul is a decade young. Tell me more about its history. What made you join, what do you like about it?”

It was quiet. I wasn’t expecting quiet. That usually means something is being left unsaid. I looked around. A couple women averted their eyes. Dassi seemed to have decided that now was the perfect time to untangle the waves in her sheitel.

Chedva Eisen cleared her throat.

“So, it’s funny, this is actually something we were talking about just before. Like this Shabbos is so gorgeous, but most of us had nothing to do with the planning or anything.”

I gave a small nod, not enthusiastic — I needed to be neutral here.

“Yes,” Dina Schwartz said. “We love the shul, I mean, the rav has been amazing, you’ve been amazing, but like, I dunno, when it comes to the women’s side, it feels like high school a bit, we show up when we’re supposed to and do what were told.”

That confused me.

“Can you tell me more?” I asked.

Dina looked at the other women, for encouragement maybe. She pointed at Miri, a petite and reserved woman I didn’t know well.

“Miri’s a party planner, she’s insane. You should see the stuff she does. I don’t know why she wasn’t asked to plan the Shabbos. Or, like Chani…” She pointed to effervescent Chani, who always sat in front. “Chani has an amazing medical story, and she talks to high school students and other Nesheis, but she’s never been asked to speak to us.”

Hmmm…

“Did they ever offer?”

The women looked at each other again with a “why bother” eye roll.

Ah.

“A shul is supposed to be ‘your people,’ and you’re supposed to make a difference, but we don’t have that sense of community here. I feel like I’m just filling a seat.”

Totem poles, social hierarchy, and back to the community question.

“I hear. That’s really frustrating.”

Dina nodded, the other women looked at her, seemingly egging her on.

“Like, before the rav was hired, they were considering one of the founding members’ brother-in-law for the position. You were a breath of fresh air. Hope for what we wanted the shul to be.” She paused and looked around. The women were still nodding, “But then you stopped… I don’t know what happened, I got a babysitter special so I could come to your shiur, and when I show up there’s a sign that it was canceled. So frustrating.”

I knew she meant more than just the canceled shiur, and I felt caught between the different expectations. And also a little guilty; it’s not like I reached out to the shul members, I just ran to the next shiny speaking engagement. No one said names or pointed fingers, but the lines in the sand were clear. But now I was left wondering where my allegiance should be. I thought Yehudis represented everyone, but, apparently, that wasn’t the case.

Chedva Eisen crossed her arms and legs dramatically.

“If it was up to me, we would been davening at Shomrei Yisroel years ago, my husband doesn’t mind, he has his chevreh and his ‘thing,’ he takes care of the kiddush on Shabbos. But I want to have my place too, to do something. Am I supposed to just stand on the side and clap?”

A chair scraped. Then the upstairs door closed louder than necessary. I turned to the noise. Yehudis was standing there.

I couldn’t read her face. Did she just walk in or had she been there all along? I looked at the other women, we all wore the same deer-in-headlights expression.

to be continued…

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 712)