*****

I looked down at my ringing phone and felt a familiar pit settle in my stomach. I pulled out a chair. Better sit for this phone call.

“Yehudis, hi!”

“Hi, Rebbetzin Schwartzberg. I love calling you, you’re always so upbeat.” She sounded genuine, which made me feel bad about the looming dread I feel when her name shows up on my caller ID.

“Thank you. What’s up?”

“So I took the liberty of asking one of the women who attended your speech yesterday to video it on her camera. I know you might have preferred me asking first, but I didn’t want you to feel self-conscious, and I wanted to give you feedback on your speaking style.”

It’s a good thing there was nothing in my mouth because choking was not a good idea.

“Ah.” It was the only sound I could muster.

“First, bravo! You’ve improved tremendously since your first speech and I’m so impressed with both your improvement and your attitude.”

I felt a momentary surge of loathing for this woman and her glowing enthusiasm. She sounded like a kindergarten morah.

I drummed my fingers on the tabletop, trying to work out the right way to put it.

“Look, Yehudis, I appreciate your involvement and investment in mine and the shul’s success, but videoing me without asking, just to critique me, doesn’t that cross a line somewhere?” I said it lightly, my tone belying my injury.

Yehudis laughed. She laughed. I wish I could say it was maniacal, but it’s Yehudis “Perfect” Schloss — of course it was a well-modulated tinkle.

“You make it sound so serious and official. All I did was text my neighbor, ‘Hi, can you video the Rebbetzin’s speech, I want to hear it.”

I frowned, when she framed it like that, it sounded fine. But it was wrong, my gut knew it was.

“I’m not faulting your neighbor, Yehudis, but you knew what you wanted it for, you knew I’d be uncomfortable. Please don’t do that again.”

“Sorry, I didn’t realize it would bother you that much.” She sounded contrite for a moment, but then said, “It’s just a shame, and a wasted opportunity. I’m really just looking out for the greater well-being of the community.”

I took a deep breath. Talking to this woman took everything out of me, it was a diplomatic high-wire like I’d never crossed before.

“Yehudis, no one would ever question your dedication to the shul. You’re attentive and involved and hands-on. It’s inspiring.”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Yehudis said in an aww-shucks kinda way that I knew meant she was pleased but would never say so.

“And you’re more than welcome to join any shiur I give. I’d love for you to be there, because then I know at least one person would be listening to me.”

Yehudis chuckled. I got her to chuckle. YAY!

“I’m very open to feedback, I’m new at this, and have a lot to learn, especially from a master MC like yourself. And you’ve been incredibly helpful, guiding me, showing me the ropes, I really appreciate it.”

And now the but.

“But recording me without my knowledge, while well-intentioned, just doesn’t work for me. I think it’ll put something between us, and I wouldn’t want that in our relationship.”

Yehudis was quiet. Did that mean she was thinking or upset? I held my breath and pushed my fingertips into the table, feeling the pressure build.

“I hear you,” she finally said. Phew. “I think my feedback is valuable, not just in style, but content. I’ll make an effort to attend all of your shiurim.”

This woman was incorrigible.

“What do you mean by content?”

There was a pause on the other end, and I felt the bracing in my chest.

“So, going back to your shiur. I thought it was really interesting. It had an intellectual bent I didn’t know you had, which was nice.”

“That was my husband’s doing.”

“Ah,” Yehudis said vaguely. She continued, “When you said—”

Then there was a loud crash followed by wailing and cries of “Mommy! Mommy!” Tzvi tumbled into the kitchen, clutching half a Lego dragon in each hand.

“Sorry, Yehudis, can we continue this conversation a little later? My little one needs me.”

“Of course.”

I quickly hung up before she could consult her calendar to schedule a call back. I bent down and wrapped Tzvi in my arms.

I didn’t have to ask any questions, I already knew the answer. Chaim. Since he’s been kicked out of the dorm and is home at night, he’s always the reason for crying kids.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 693)