***

Malky flipped through WhatsApp statuses. She had discovered them only recently (well, not discovered, Shlomie had shown them to her so she could post about his kids’ school fundraiser).

Today was the usual: political memes from Deedee, a vort from cousin Itche, a clip of some wedding somewhere — Mo loved to post those — and then a post from her nephew Boruch. She didn’t remember him ever posting before.

Please help. My friend is engaged and can’t even afford a bracelet for his kallah.

Oof. There was no finesse in his ask, no polish. Could he have written it himself? She paused. Was it really his friend? Or was he just reposting what someone else posted? There wasn’t a link anywhere to a GoFundMe page. She tapped to the next status. Someone needed a ride to Monsey. Next status, someone needed to send a package to Toronto. She went back to Boruch’s status.

She had money. If this really was Boruch’s friend, she could help.

She remembered when she got married — it was a different time, of course, it’s always a different time. But she still remembered that all her friends got pearls in the yichud room, and she got a pin, sterling silver, a script M. She knew her husband was a good man, and definitely worth it, and it wasn’t like her parents had much to offer him either — she hadn’t bought him cuff links like all her friends had bought their chassanim. But even when you know each other’s worth, and that life isn’t fair, and that these things aren’t what really matters, you’re still young and you want to impress.

If this was a real chassan in need, she would give. She dialed her sister-in-law Naomi.

“Is this Boruch’s friend?”

“Yeah, it’s such a hard situation.”

Malky listened.

“His parents don’t have two pennies to rub together. His brother just got married and he borrowed money from his rosh yeshivah for a ring, he’s still paying him back. Boruch’s friend can’t ask his parents for anything, they have nothing to give, and he doesn’t want to make them feel worse. He doesn’t even know Boruch posted anything, he doesn’t have WhatsApp. Boruch didn’t know what to do, he has a little maaser money but nothing major, he just had his first kid, he’s in kollel—”

“Say no more,” Malky interrupted. “We just closed on my mother’s house, I have maaser money. Tell me who to write the check to, I’m sending $5,000 so he can buy a bracelet and some other jewelry. But I don’t want him knowing where it’s coming from.”

Naomi was quiet.

“Are you serious?”

“Totally.”

“Okay. Wow. I’m calling Boruch now.”

Malky hung up. A warmth spread from the center of her chest, transforming into a tingle when it reached her fingers. It felt good. This is what she was meant to be doing with her money. She could be helping individuals in a way that really made a difference.

Ten minutes later her phone pinged. Naomi.

Boruch said thank you thank you thank you! And to please write a check to Yeshivah Maayan Torah. He has a friend in Brooklyn now, can he call you to see when he can pick it up? His rosh yeshivah is gonna give him the money. Also, it’s tax deductible.

Perfect, Malky texted back.

She took out her checkbook and flipped it open, slowly wrote the information on the check. When was the last time she wrote one for such an amount? Most transactions these days were by Zelle or credit card.

She found the old money envelopes, sealed the check inside, and picked up a pen. What should she write? Pen poised, she paused, then wrote “Chassan” in perfect script.

Malky’s phone pinged — Boruch’s friend.

Hi, Boruch asked me to pick up the check. When can I come? What’s your address?

He has a newly married older brother, a voice said in her head. She’d had something similar, her younger sister Layla had gotten married six months after her — and things were even tighter for Layla. Malky was twenty-one, she had made a few dollars as a secretary for Kedma Realty; Layla was fresh out of sem without a savings account. What was her wedding and shanah rishonah like? Malky wondered for the first time.

She dialed Naomi again.

“I want to give $5,000 for his brother. Can I just send another check with the first?”

“You’re kidding.”

“No, this feels a little personal to me. Like I wish someone would have done this for me when I was getting married. If I can help someone else in the same situation, it’ll mean a lot.”

“I didn’t know money was so tight growing up.”

“Yeah, my parents had their house and that’s it.”

“Let me call Boruch, I’ll get back to you.”

She waited, sitting on the edge of her ’90s floral-backed kitchen chairs. Her fingers tingled, and her chest squeezed. It felt good.

Her phone pinged again.

You’re a crazy special woman, just add another check. Rosh Yeshivah will take care of it.

She wrote out the second check with more attention and care this time. A tear fell as she signed her name. It smudged the date a little. She smiled.

When Boruch’s friend rang the doorbell twenty minutes later, Malky was in a serene space. Shame she didn’t have this kind of money all the time.

***

“Hi, Ma.” Shani was video calling from the car. “We just finished our interview at Bnos Atara.”

Malky sat up straight. This was important.

“How’d it go?”

Shani started speaking a fraction of a second too late and Malky knew everything was wrong.

“It went well.” She paused. “They were honest, they have a lot of siblings to take, but we’re really high on the wait-list.”

“Wait,” Malky held up a hand. “They told you this at the end?”

“Yeah.” Shani didn’t seem to think anything was off. “Which I guess is nice. No waiting in limbo. Well, in limbo, but I know where I stand.”

Malky’s stomach turned. She knew this was normal. She’d heard about it from her friends and their kids. It just felt so wrong. Yes, the schools were full. But there had to be a less degrading way to do it.

“Anyway, right after we left—” Shani continued.

Malky snapped back to attention.

“—Rabbi Singer, who called for us at least twice — and so did the Weisses, by the way — whatever, he said he knew from past experience that if the school benefitted, they’re a lot more likely to accept Bella… So, if we’re serious about getting her in we could donate a classroom for $20,000, and he’s pretty sure that would do it.”

“What?!”

Shani didn’t reply. She seemed near tears, Malky noticed. The hand holding the phone wobbled and Malky caught a glimpse of her son-in-law. Menachem was leaning forward, looking at Shani intensely, and it clicked — Shani wasn’t calling to hock or bond in the absurdity of it all; she wanted Malky’s maaser money.

Shani bit her lip. “Is there any way you can do this for us, Ma?”

***

“So Shani asked me to give $20,000 to the school she wants to send Bella to,” Malky told Naomi over a beet and feta salad.

“Wants to send?”

“Yeah, she wasn’t accepted yet.”

“Oh.” Naomi paused, a piece of corn muffin midway to her mouth. “The 20K will get her in.”

“Apparently.”

“Okay.” Naomi shrugged and popped the muffin into her mouth.

“That’s it? ‘Okay’?” Malky put her fork down.

“Yeah, what else am I supposed to say?” Naomi broke off another piece of muffin.

“That’s ridiculous. That’s insane. That’s extortion. That’s messed up. Something!”

Naomi laughed mirthlessly. “Well, yes, all that, but also you want your granddaughter in a good school that her parents will be comfortable and happy with, and if 20K will do that and you can make it happen — well, I guess there are some things money can buy.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Oh, you were expecting me to be outraged?” Naomi laughed again.

“Yeah…”

“Honey, honey,” Naomi chided, picking up Malky’s fork and helping herself to a bite of her salad. “I’ve gotten pragmatic in my old age, and I’ve learned that if money can buy it, I will buy it.”

“So integrity means nothing?”

“What does integrity have to do with this?”

Malky rolled her eyes. “Really?”

“Look,” Naomi started, gesturing with the fork. “You’re giving money to a school. Schools always need to cover bills and mortgages and salaries, and yeah, this is one way to fundraise. Think about it, it’s a win-win. You get a spot in the school, they get money they need.”

Malky decided to entertain Naomi’s version of reality.

“And what about the people who can’t afford 20K?” she asked.

“This deal isn’t for them.”

Malky huffed in disgust.

“So this is just a transactional thing? Like if I can afford to buy a Lamborghini, I buy a Lamborghini, why not? And if I can afford to buy my way into a school, why not?”

Naomi nodded. “Yup — exactly. Why not?”

“It’s ridiculous! Regular, good people are scrounging around for any means of pull, and they have to magically come up with twenty thousand dollars to get accepted into a school? Insane!” Malky voice was rising, and her arms flapped. How? How? How?

“You didn’t make the system, you’re not fixing the system,” Naomi responded. “The system wasn’t built in a day, and it won’t be broken in a day. You have to work with it. You want a kid davka in this school, pay up.”

Malky shook her head.

“So what happens if I pay, and Bella gets into the school. What happens to the kid who’s just as wonderful as my own, but her grandmother can’t pay? She doesn’t go to the school just because they can’t afford it?”

“Well, that’s kind of how the world works now. If you can’t pay, you don’t go.”

Naomi’s cool unnerved her. Malky closed her eyes and took a deep, cleansing breath. She used to meditate, hadn’t done it in a while, but maybe she could access some calm now. No go.

“Except this quote, unquote, offer is not for everyone. Not everyone is even given the opportunity to donate 20K — it’s only some people on the wait-list. Some people get in automatically, some don’t even have a chance. It’s extortion.”

“Call it whatever you want, I’m just looking at it from a different point of view. You want your kids in school, you have the means to make it happen, why not make it happen?” Naomi met Malky’s eyes. “When you’re talking about the grand scheme of things, you’re probably right; there’s something off here. But there’s a difference between standing on principle when it makes a difference, and hurting yourself needlessly when it accomplishes nothing. Everyone is just caring about themselves. You’re not hurting anyone by doing what’s in your best interests. If you don’t pay, no one will applaud you.”

Malky attempted another centering breath. Her voice nearly broke. “What’s messed up is that you make sense, and it feels so disgusting.”

Naomi poked at the salad again. “Really, you have to get over yourself. It’s tzedakah money, it’s going to a good cause, probably doing more good than the two chassanim you helped. I’m not saying you shouldn’t have done that, but they’re just two people, this school educates hundreds. You’re overthinking it.”

Malky rolled her eyes.

“Next topic,” she said. “Purim plans?”

Naomi started talking, but Malky barely heard her. She was too busy thinking. Was tzedakah about helping the most people, or making the biggest impact?

“What does Yisroel think?” Naomi asked suddenly.

“He said it’s my money, I can decide what do to with it, and he’s not going to say anything either way.”

Naomi laughed. “Typical.”

***

The Rosh Yeshivah sat across from her, and Malky wasn’t quite sure what to do or say or how this meeting even happened. Naomi had called two hours prior and said Boruch’s rosh yeshivah was in Brooklyn for a wedding. “He wants to see you. Are you available tonight?”

“Wait, what?”

“You heard me. Can he come by after he’s mesader kiddushin?”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh, c’mon.”

“Really, Boruch asked me to call you. I didn’t ask for details.”

“Does he know we’re not wealthy and the checks were one-offs that I wish could be more often but it’s unlikely to happen ever again?”

“Yes.”

“Ooookay.” Malky wasn’t sure what to say or do with herself. Was no an option? Should Yisroel be there? Her mind conjured an image of her and the Rosh Yeshivah sitting at opposite ends of the dining room table with her silk orchid arrangement in the center. Awkward. Yisroel would be there.

Malky cleaned the house even though the cleaning lady was coming in two days, and baked cookies to put out and so it would smell good. She knew she should have gotten one of those Scentify things everyone else had bought for Chanukah. She looked in the bottom of her breakfront and found an old bottle of Perrier. Probably from Devorah’s dating days — two years ago. She’d never hosted a rosh yeshivah, and definitely not the Rosh Yeshivah; she wasn’t the type. Was her house nice enough? She’d never wondered that before.

Now, hands on lap, she looked up at the Rosh Yeshivah. Avoid direct eye contact, she told herself. The Rosh Yeshivah’s body language matched hers.

Wait, is he also uncomfortable?

His voice was low, but clear when he spoke.

“I know you’re not a gvir. I know you gave money because you have maaser money from your parents’ house; their neshamos should have an aliyah. But you gave so generously and anonymously donated to this cause, it tells me you care about it.” He paused. “You don’t even know my bochurim’s names.” He stated the last in wonder.

She nodded. When he puts it that way… she mused, am I crazy that I did that? The Rosh Yeshivah rubbed his beard for a few moments. Was she supposed to say something?

“It’s very important to me to take care of my bochurim.” He paused again, taking a deep breath. What could he possibly want that was making him so nervous?

“But it’s not easy, especially as they get older. They move into the world. Their problems get bigger and more complicated, particularly when it comes to marriage and finances. It’s always sticky.” He shifted in his seat as he seemed to realize he was trailing from the point.

“There’s a very large focus on the kallah when it comes to hachnassas kallah. Women are the ones setting up the apartment and they need to buy more, I understand why the focus is on them.” Another long pause and Malky knew the “but” was next.

“But there is a big tzorech for taking care of chassanim, as well. Marrying them off with kavod. A chassan needs to be able to present himself to his kallah and feel like a man, like he can provide for her.” The Rosh Yeshivah’s voice caught at the end, and for a moment Malky saw him as a young chassan.

What was his experience like? she thought.

The Rosh Yeshivah closed his hand around the empty glass.

“It’s harder to raise money for a chassan, because most people just assume the kallah’s side will support — but it doesn’t always work like that. And there’s also the whole engagement, when a chassan feels terrible he can’t give his kallah what her friends are getting, what he sees his friends giving.”

Malky didn’t look at Yisroel. Only after they were married for a long time had they been able to talk about their early lack without shame.

The Rosh Yeshivah paused again before addressing Malky and Yisroel.

“I’ve always had a dream of having a chassanim fund. But as I said, it’s not the easiest fundraising call. These things tend to be done on a case-by-case basis” — here, he shook his head — “and that just makes the chassanim feel even worse.”

The Rosh Yeshivah pursed his lips and lay his hands out, palms up. “I know you don’t have a lot of money, but a lump sum would go a long way in starting a fund and encouraging other donors. So I’m here asking if you’ll start this initiative with me. If you’ll be the first donor.”

Malky and Yisroel exchanged looks, both a bit unsure what to think or say.

The Rosh Yeshivah continued, “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, about how it would work and run. Are you open to hearing?”

Open? Malky’s eyes widened. Like I’m some great gvir and he’s beseeching me. Is that really the dynamic here?

“This is a long-term plan, we’ll invest the initial money, and we’ll fundraise to add at least one thousand dollars a month to the principal. And we would start drawing interest from it only after at least five years because we want the principal to grow to the point where taking out money will be significant enough to help the chassan and still be enough to continue growing.”

Five years, Malky thought. That’s a long time. It’s like a retirement fund. Bella will be in fourth grade already. Does that make a difference? Her mind raced. What will a classroom do for Bnos Atara? How many kids will be educated there in five years? Is the money even going toward a classroom? The school’s already built! Does every class have a wall of donor plaques testifying how many times the room’s been rededicated? Am I donating a classroom, or am I just buying a spot for my granddaughter?

The Rosh Yeshivah cleared his throat.

“I don’t need an answer tonight. Like I said, this is a dream of mine, and it seems like something you care about, too.”

Malky jiggled her foot beneath the table. She was supposed to speak now.

“I appreciate the opportunity,” she told the Rosh Yeshivah. She could see his eyes dim; he thought she was saying no. “I just need a few days to think about it.” He didn’t brighten at those words. He probably thought she was prolonging the inevitable, but she meant it earnestly.

Yisroel cut in. “Thank you so much for giving us an opportunity to join you in this mitzvah, you’ve given us a lot to think about. We’ll be b’kesher.”

Malky thought Yisroel sounded kind and authoritative. Maybe he should be the one making these decisions.

The Rosh Yeshivah bowed his head.

“Thank you for hearing me out. Hashem should give you and your family much mazel and brachah in the zechus of what you’ve already done.”

It was over. They led the Rosh Yeshivah to the door, the men exchanged solemn handshakes. A lone bochur was waiting outside for him in an old model Camry. That was it.

“Oh, sheesh!” Malky said, collapsing onto the couch once the door was safely closed.

“It’s your money, your decision,” Yisroel said.

Malky rolled her eyes. “Can you at least weigh in with your opinion?”

“Nope.”

“Can you be a sounding board?”

“Maybe.”

She threw a throw pillow at him. “You’re impossible.”

“Call Naomi.”

“She already told me what she thinks.”

“But this is a new development.”

“Why would it change her mind?”

“Because it’s Boruch’s rosh yeshivah.”

“Doesn’t change her argument… but fine.”

“Also,” Yisroel added, “Shani texted me tonight asking me to speak to you because she didn’t want to be a nudge, but they need to know either way.”

Malky stared straight ahead. The abyss seemed nice. Was this what it was like to have money?

***

“You seriously waited until the next day?” Naomi seemed half-incredulous, half-annoyed.

Malky picked up a sock, tossed it into the pile, and started folding towels.

“I wanted to sleep on it, see how I felt, if any new ideas struck me.”

“Well, did they?”

“Yes.” She went quiet.

“Well…?” Naomi prodded.

“I think I should give it to the Rosh Yeshivah to invest.”

“But?”

“I’m gonna hurt Shani, and maybe hurt Bella’s chances of getting into the school altogether.”

“What else?”

“Also, is it fair to do something like this for one kid, and not the others? Devorah’s going to have to get her baby into school one day. So is Dovid.”

“And?”

“And you said it yourself, giving to the school helps more than just two people, like me helping those brothers. But this fund solves that.”

“So…”

“So I get to really be a part of hachnassas kallah in a meaningful way.”

Naomi gave an exaggerated sigh.

“I’m done poking your brain along. You seem totally decided, with good reasons, so what’s the problem?”

Malky looked at the undershirt she was folding. Her eyes teared up.

“How can I call Shani and tell her no? How can I hurt my daughter like that? I can kiss her boo-boo goodbye, and instead I’m taking the Band-Aid and putting it on someone else’s kid.”

Naomi sighed again.

“I don’t know what to say. I told you to give the money last week. If you would’ve listened, you could have told the Rosh Yeshiva the money was already spent….”

“You’re useless,” Malky grumped before saying goodbye.

She picked up the pile of socks, unmatched, and dumped them in Yisroel’s drawer. Her eyes roamed the room. She needed a distraction that wasn’t matching socks. She bent down and peeked under the beds, she hadn’t vacuumed there in a while.

Pushing the beds to the wall, Malky huffed and groaned and wondered why she was doing this, with Sonia coming tomorrow.

Because you don’t want to think about what you’re doing to Shani, she admitted.

She kicked the bed. It didn’t move, and now her toes hurt. Malky hobbled to get the vacuum. You deserve it, she scolded herself. You think you’re so wonderful with your values and tzedakah, but you’re really just saying no to your daughter.

When she returned to her room, Malky sat on the corner of her bed and looked around. Her wedding portrait still hung on the wall, and pictures of her marrieds at their weddings lined her dresser. They were her life, but… The but sat in her throat and didn’t move.

***

The doorbell was chiming. Malky checked her phone and saw Shani at the front door. No. Her stomach dropped. Why was she here?

She turned the lock and pulled the door open.

“To what do I owe this honor?”

Shani smiled. She was dressed to the nines, Shabbos sheitel and heels.

“Menachem’s cousin got married in Chynka tonight. We couldn’t come to Brooklyn and not say hi for a second.”

Malky looked around. “Where’s Menachem?”

Shani settled herself on the couch. “He wanted to schmooze a little longer with his brothers so I’m going to pick him up after.”

“Nice.” Malky felt the strain in her voice. She had already decided, but it was hard, seeing Shani in front of her, her daughter who wasn’t needy and didn’t ask for much. Her daughter who was happy and respectful and kind, and she was still going to say no.

Malky watched Shani thumb through one of the weekly magazines. She had barely brought up the money again; no pressure, no expectation. What kind of mother was she, to say no? I raised my kids right, but I’m all wrong.

“Want something to drink?” Malky offered. Shani demurred and cleared her throat.

“Um, Ma.”

Malky’s heart torpedoed to her stomach. Her eyes darted around the room, trying to focus on something that would distract her from the tears threatening to rise. Elter Bubby’s toucan needlepoint, why did she still have it hanging?

“So, Menachem and I have been talking — a lot,” Shani continued, as she furled and unfurled the back cover of the magazine in her hands. “And we realized that even if you’d agree to donate the money to Bnos Atara, it’s just not something we’re comfortable with.” She caught Malky’s eye and then looked away. Malky was grateful; she didn’t know what to do with her face as she listened.

“We want to be part of a school that will be happy to have us and not just look at us as parents they took in because of money. It’ll ruin the whole relationship before it starts.”

Shani looked at Malky again. For what? Affirmation?

“I don’t know if that means we’ll be thrown off the wait-list or what, but worse comes to worst, the Vaad can place us.” Shani shrugged. “Anyway, we’re really grateful that you considered doing it.”

Malky smiled deeply and finally met Shani’s eyes. As the creases of her eyes met the creases of her smile, the tears she’d held back started dripping. Malky reached out and pulled Shani into a tight hug.

“I’m so proud you’re my daughter,” she said.

The Rosh Yeshivah was right — what a zechus she had.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 907)