After the kids had left, Rivka wiped down her battered wooden dining room table, a gift from her grandmother who’d insisted she take it before moving in with Uncle Yechiel. Her best friend Shaina told her it was hopelessly out of date, but Rivka didn’t care. Back then money was tight, and she was happy to have a solid piece for their Shabbos meals. Now it was already part and parcel of her home.

The phone rang just as she was about to run errands. She had exactly 30 minutes before she needed to do the preschool carpool run. Fumbling with the handset, she pressed the on button. The voice came through shrill and loud.

“Hello? Is this Rivka? I’m calling about your playgroup.”

Rivka glanced at the clock and tapped the pen on the green Post-it note she always kept next to the house phone for when parents called. It was May already. Didn’t people realize you needed to reserve a spot in December? She made sure to keep her voice even; it wouldn’t do to sound annoyed.

“Hi, who am I speaking with?”

The caller gave a nervous giggle. “My name is Basha, Basha Mersky. I…”

“Hi, Basha. I’m actually full for next year. I’m so sorry,” I interrupted. There was that laugh again on the other end.

“Oh, that’s good that you’re full.” There was an awkward pause. “I’ve actually just moved down to Florida.”

Rivka made a face. Florida? Was it Jacksonville? Fort Meyers? Tampa? She always grumbled about this to Meir. Why couldn’t people specify where they’re actually coming to? It’s like they rolled up all two-hundred-and-eighty-two cities and over 1,000 miles of clear open sky into one strip of Collins Avenue and called it “Florida.”

You and the rest of the world, Basha, she thought. “Oh! Very nice. Welcome!” she said.

“So actually, I’m thinking there might be a need for a more heimish type playgroup, you know, more Yiddish songs, whatever. I got your number from Raizy Gold; she said for sure you’d be glad to help me.” Rivka felt her jaw tighten. She began drawing dark circles on the green notepad.

“Um, heimish? Listen, this is out of town. We don’t make things so separate here. Like, we don’t look at how people dress or the shoes they wear or their yichus. I can’t imagine segregating two-year-olds based on their family’s ‘heimishkeit.’”

Basha giggled again. “Oh, for sure, that’s so cute. So yeah, maybe just a regular playgroup then, you know? Could you like send me your schedule? And maybe the kids that are extra, that you don’t have room for. Could you give the parents my number?”

Rivka felt something dark and cold settle in her stomach. She looked at the clock again. She had 15 minutes till pickup. She needed to end this fast. “Sure, that could work. I have to run now, but be in touch in a few weeks.”

“Oh wow, thanks a million! Really appreciate your help!”

Rivka hung up the phone and thought of her waiting list and printed schedule sitting in the second drawer in her desk. “Don’t thank me yet,” she said under her breath as she headed for the front door.

It was Sunday afternoon. Outside the South Florida sun blazed, but Aventura Mall was blessedly cool. Rivka walked next to her daughter, Shani, overwhelmed by the crowds and noise. She could count on one hand the number of times she’d been to the mall in the last ten years, but apparently the mall had a unique gravitational pull on 13-year-olds. If this is what it took to make Shani happy, Rivka would do it.

The eighth graders were finished by two p.m. on Sundays, so she’d bribed 14-year-old Dovid into babysitting the little ones for an hour while she was out. Meir had to work, and there was no other option.

“Mommy, can we go to Nordstrom now? I need sneakers.” Shani’s face was hopeful. The mall had infused her with something Rivka hadn’t even known she needed, and for a split second, spending Sunday afternoon in her least favorite place, doing what she liked least, seemed worth it.

“Okay, sweetie. To Nordstrom we go.”

In the store, Shani ran her hands along different pairs of sneakers, clearly looking for something specific. She stopped short in front of one pair.

“Ooh, everyone has these Veja sneakers. Please, Mommy, can I get them?”

Rivka picked up the clunky sneaker and looked at the price sticker on the bottom. “Shani, seriously?! Look at the price on these!”

The white sneakers reminded her of the gleaming white Tesla that pulled into her driveway every day. Rivka shook her head to clear it. “Is it really everyone? Or just a couple of girls? And since when do middle-school girls wear such expensive shoes? When I went to school here, we were out of town. There was no pressure to wear fancy, expensive clothing.”

Shani rolled her eyes. “Mommy, do you want me to be a nerd? ‘Cuz like I know in the olden days everyone went to DSW or Payless, but it’s not like that anymore. This is normal now. I need to buy these or I’ll be one of the nebs.” Shani crossed her arms, pouting.

Rivka firmly put the offending shoe back on the display.

“We can’t afford them?” Shani asked.

Rivka blinked. Meir was actually doing very well lately, and they had more breathing room than they’d ever had. How could she explain to her daughter that this had absolutely nothing to do with being able to afford something.

“It’s not about being able to afford or not afford something.” She placed her hand on Shani’s shoulder and felt her daughter stiffen.  “Baruch Hashem, we have more than we need. It’s a matter of our values. We don’t waste money on sneakers just because they’re a certain brand. You need to feel good about yourself for who you are. Your clothing doesn’t prove your worth.”

Shani shook her head, having none of it. Rivka felt indignation growing inside of her. It was all these new people and their fancy standards causing this. Ridiculous. To think that her daughter, growing up out-of-town, in a simple home, felt she needed these shoes to fit in!

“But if I need it, it’s not a waste of money! I’ll be a total neb without it.”

Rivka opened her mouth to answer, but then she felt her phone vibrating. “Home phone” flashed across the screen.

“One second, Shans.” She pressed the accept call button, and Dovid’s voice came through the line, frantic.

“Ma, you have to come home. Chaim is out of control!”

Rivka quickly lowered the volume on her handset. She didn’t need the whole store listening to this.

“Dovid, stay calm. What’s going on?”

“He came back from Davidson and started singing at the top of his lungs, banging on everything, bothering everyone. Dena got upset at him, and then he threw something at her, and now he’s running around the house banging and throwing things.” Rivka felt her whole body tighten. She took a deep breath.

“I’m coming back. Promise him a treat if he stays calm until I get home.” She turned to Shani. “I’m so sorry, we have to go home. We’ll look for the shoes online, okay? Either way, I’m not sure this is something you need right now. We have to think about this.”

Shani’s face fell. “Okay, but camp is starting in a month.”

Rivka tensed. She had to get home. This wasn’t the time for a teaching moment. Gripping her purse, she reached inside for her credit card before she could think it through. “You know what? Just take them up to the register. We have to go.”

Shani recovered instantly. She flashed her mother a huge smile. “You’re the best mother ever! Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

After a downpour the night before, Monday turned out to be an unseasonably nice day for May. Rivka finished playgroup, did preschool pickup, and had an hour left until the bigger kids got home. She pulled out her phone and texted Shaina. You up for the park?

Shaina answered quickly. Sure.

Sitting on the park bench ten minutes later, she saw quite a few faces she didn’t recognize. “Is it just me or are you starting to feel like a stranger in your own neighborhood?” Shaina asked.

Rivka nodded. “I’m totally with you. Miami has changed, and I hate it.”

Shaina laughed at her blunt response.

“Rivka, you’re allergic to any change. You know that, right?”

Rivka blinked. Was she?

“Don’t take that personally,” Shaina added quickly. “I’m just saying you don’t do well with change. Yeah, there are a lot of new people here, but it could also be a good thing, no?” She took a drink from her water bottle.

Rivka shook her head.

“How is it a good thing? All I see is how fancy things are becoming here and the standards keep going up and up.” She noticed Dena climbing at the edge of the slide. “Deena, too high! Come down from there!”

“It’s a good thing because of a million reasons. For example, it gives our children more options. More schools, more opportunities,” Shaina said.

Rivka shrugged.

“All I know is that everything in my life seems to be changing right now. Dovid’s going away to yeshivah soon, and my family will never be the same. Everywhere I go here I see new people. It’s a lot. I remember being in the park a few years ago, I knew everyone…”

The park gate clanged open, and the two looked up. There was Raizy Gold and another woman Rivka didn’t recognize. They were both wearing full faces of makeup, trendy peasant dresses, and sling-back shoes. Rivka pulled at her T-shirt. She would not feel frumpy. She. Would. Not.

Raizy waved and walked over, little Gitty toddling next to her. “Hi, Rivka! Gitty, say ‘hi’ to Morah!” Gitty smiled shyly at Rivka and then ran off to the slide. Raizy gestured toward the woman standing next to her.

“This is my friend, Basha. She called you a few days ago.”

Rivka forced the corners of her mouth upwards into a smile.

“Hi, nice to meet you in person.” Next to her, Shaina cleared her throat. “Oh, sorry, this is my friend Shaina.”

Basha laughed and ran a hand through her luxuriant sheitel. Rivka tightened her tichel resolutely.

“So nice to meet both of you,” Basha said. “It’s sooo cute here! I never realized people actually live here. We always just came for vacation, you know? Then my husband’s cousin moved here a few months ago, and my husband got this idea in his head that we should come, and next thing I know, here I am.” She smiled brightly. Rivka pretended to be busy with her phone.

Shaina smiled back and said, “Yeah, it’s really nice here! Don’t worry, the summer is a killer but the worst is over by October.”

“Yeah, the hot weather is hard,” Raizy said. “Also, the houses are so small. Back home, at least, we had basements. And it’s so annoying to have to go to three different supermarkets for your Shabbos shopping. And no heimish bakery! Seriously.”

Rivka felt her cheeks grow hot. “Little things,” she mumbled under her breath.

Basha looked at her. “Sorry, what did you say?”

The frustration bubbled inside of her. “It’s just… these little things, they aren’t important. What’s important is the sense of community, the simplicity of living out-of-town. It’s your children learning to accept others who aren’t exactly like them, being tolerant of all types of Jews. And not always needing to be a slave to every trend.

“Besides, I hate when people talk about this city like we live in the boondocks — you can get everything here!” All three women stared. Rivka felt her face go red as she looked at the other women’s surprised faces.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “I got a little worked up there.”

Raizy gave a short laugh. “Wow, Rivka, you really love living out-of-town, no? It’s special. Good for you. Anyway, I’m going to introduce Basha to some of the other girls. See you tomorrow.”

Basha waved and then stopped. “Oh, Rivka, just reminding you about the schedule and the numbers of the parents who needed a place for their kids when you get a chance. Thanks!”

The two walked off.

Shaina looked at Rivka and started laughing. “You’re nuts. Now they think we’re crazy out-of-towners who just don’t ‘get’ anything. You know that, right?” She patted Rivka on the arm. “Honey, you really don’t like change. You have to get over it. Nothing stays the same, and really, we don’t want it to. Trust me.”

They were driving to Dovid’s eighth-grade graduation. Rivka was trying to ignore the growing pit in her stomach, trying not to think about her son graduating and moving on to another stage in life. He was there already, probably adjusting his tie and hat a hundred times.

She truly loved living out-of-town, but it was so hard to have to send him away for yeshivah for high school. Although there were excellent options locally, none were the perfect fit for Dovid. She swallowed the lump in her throat and turned to Meir. She’d focus on a more immediate worry.

“So, what do you think we should do about Chaim? They called me again from school that he’s acting out. I feel like he needs something extra, you know? Something to make him shine, get him out of his middle child syndrome.” They stopped at a red light, and Meir tapped the steering wheel.

“I hear. That makes sense.” The light changed and their car moved forward. “So what could we do for him? We tried sports already, that didn’t work. What other options are there? He needs something he can do with his hands. I think drums would be amazing. Didn’t we say we were gonna look into that?”

“I posted on my chat looking for a frum boys art teacher or music teacher, but I didn’t get any names.” They pulled into the school parking lot.

“Don’t worry, we’ll figure something out.” They walked into the auditorium. Rivka looked around at the large crowd. She remembered her brother’s eighth-grade graduation. It had been much smaller than this. She looked up at Dovid on the stage. He’d always wanted to be big, always had two hands stretched eagerly out to embrace the future.

A memory arose. Dovid had been around three years old, and she’d taken him shoe shopping. Wrinkling his little nose, he’d dismissed pair after pair.

Exasperated, she’d taken a break and let him walk around the store for a minute.  Suddenly, his eyes had lit up as he saw a pair he liked. He’d reached for them, then quickly sat down and put them on. He’d looked up at her, his little face shining. “These shoes, Mommy! Just like Tatty.”

She’d looked down and burst out laughing as she saw that he had chosen a pair of men’s shoes, exactly like the ones he loved to clomp around in at home when he put on Meir’s shoes and hat and played “Tatty.”  When had he gone from wanting to be big, to actually becoming big?

Rivka was still staring at Dovid when the speeches started. Dovid was scanning the crowd. His eyes landed on her, and suddenly she saw a reflection of her morose expression settle on his features. The pride that had been emblazoned on his face a minute before was transformed to disappointment.

Her phone buzzed in her lap. Meir had sent her a text. What’s wrong? Smile, maybe? You look like you’re at a levayah. Rivka startled and quickly stretched her lips into a smile, but Dovid had already moved on with his gaze. Her stomach sank. The chance to offer reassurance and show him how proud she was of him was lost.

She stole a glance at the woman sitting on her left. She was beaming. The woman to her right also looked, if not overjoyed, at least at peace. What was wrong with her? Was she really so allergic to change?

The rest of the graduation passed in a blur. Before she knew it, they were on their way home. “That was so special. We’re so proud of you,” she said to Dovid, trying to infuse some warmth into her voice.

“Thanks.” He looked away quickly.

Rivka felt her heart clench. She’d failed him. She’d marred his special night with her attitude.

The next afternoon, Rivka still felt the ache. Dovid’s short “thanks,” the way his eyes turned away from her own, kept rising in her mind as she did her grocery shopping. While she searched for the bread crumbs she needed for the Tuesday night schnitzel, she tried finding a familiar face in the aisles, but there was no one she knew in the entire store. She felt her mood sink even more. This was the new norm. A stranger in her hometown.

She knew Shani would complain about dinner. She was always after Rivka to make something different or new, but who had the time for that? And what was wrong with a good, delicious dinner, even if you had it every week?  As she was waiting on line to pay, Rivka finally heard a familiar voice. It was Chana, her neighbor.

“Hey, Chana, how are you?”

Chana gave Rivka a warm smile. “You had Dovid’s graduation yesterday, right? Mazel tov!”

Rivka smiled back. “It’s so good to see you. I feel like an outsider here lately, with all these new people—”

“Isn’t it amazing?” Chana cut her off. “My speech caseload is bursting, I had to hire another two therapists! So exciting to see all this growth!”

The manager of the store piped up from behind the cash register. “Yeah, with the amount of business we’re doing, we were able to push out into the adjacent storefront. We’re adding a bagel counter, fresh salad bar, and a bigger takeout line. Lots of exciting things coming.”

Rivka paid and headed for her car. She put the key in the ignition and felt the welcome rush of cool air hit her in the face. She just sat there, hands on the wheel, forgetting all about the schnitzel growing warm on the seat next to her.

Exciting things. They were right, weren’t they? That change could be good? Exciting things.  Parnassah opportunities. She’d even heard rumors of another boy’s high school opening up.

She didn’t think she could ever see it as exciting. But maybe she could try to see it as positive? An image of Dovid popped into her head. Wasn’t Dovid going away to yeshivah the best thing for him right now? She should be bursting with pride over his accomplishments. Her aversion to change had blinded her of the brachos shining right in front of her.

Rivka felt herself relaxing, and a feeling of peace settled within her. I can do this, she told herself. She slowly pulled her car out of the parking spot.

A large Escalade shot into the spot she’d vacated. Glancing at the license plate, Rivka felt that familiar tightness. Okay, maybe there were some positives to all the changes. But couldn’t these people learn to drive normally?

Rivka slid a tray of cookies out of the oven and then walked over to her playgroup drawer. She paused for a split second, then grabbed a copy of her schedule and the waiting list just as Shani walked into the kitchen, inhaling. “Yum, Ma, these smell heaven.”

Rivka smiled. “I made these for one of the new families that moved in, the Merskys. Want to come with me to deliver them?” Shani nodded, and together they packed up the cookies and got into the van.

“Wait, Ma, is it embarrassing to give plain old chocolate chip cookies? Maybe we should send a chocolate platter or peanut chews.”

Rivka swallowed. She looked down at Shani’s sneakers. This time, she would stay true to her principles.

“It’s true that the Merskys do things a little differently than we’re used to, but it’s up to us to welcome them to our neighborhood. A welcome is always appreciated. Besides, everyone likes chocolate chip cookies, it’s a no fail.”

Shani wavered for a minute, then shrugged. “Yeah, I guess that’s true.”

They pulled up at the Merskys’ new house, and Rivka got out. She rang the bell. Basha opened the door, surprise registering on her face. “Hi! You brought us cookies? That is so nice, wow.” She looked genuinely touched.

Rivka quickly handed her the playgroup papers before she could change her mind. “Here is everything you need for next year. Hatzlachah. It will be good for the community to have another playgroup.” As Rivka said it, she knew it was true.

Basha took the papers from her. “Thanks so much. Everyone is so nice here! It’s crazy!” She paused. “You know, my friend is moving down here as well.”

More…and more. How many of you are going to come? The thought came to Rivka unbidden. She forced herself to smile.

“My friend asked me to get a feel for clients for her husband,” Basha continued. “He’s a music teacher.”

A vision of Chaim’s restless hands rose up in her mind, always grabbing, banging, bothering everyone. “He doesn’t teach drums by any chance… does he?”

Basha nodded. “Drums are his forte!”

Rivka smiled. This time it was genuine. “Alright Basha, you can tell him he has his first student lined up!”

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 757)