Yisroel and Benzi looked around. Mommy had disappeared in a
split second. Where could she be?
"Mommy!" whined Yisroel, stamping his little feet. "We're
waiting to go." Shoshy swung impatiently backwards and
forwards on the gate. "Mommy! Mommy, where are you?" and the
two shouts merged.
Avigail had just taken the spray down from the shelf when she
heard the children calling. "I'm coming," she called back,
hastily taking a dustrag out, as well. Just as she had been
going to lock the front door, she had seen a small set of
fingerprints on the glass, a souvenir from Benzi's birthday
peckele. For a moment, she had considered leaving the
telltale brown marks, but then the thought that a neighbor
might just come knocking while they were out made her hurry
to get the cleaning materials from the back of the house.
Silently, they watched her, knowing that they would have less
time in the park.
The beloved orange seesaw was waiting for them like an old
friend. The yellow sand with its grainy eyes recognized them,
too. The children were always clean, well-groomed and dressed
in matching outfits. Mrs. Bergman, a neighbor, had once asked
Avigail in amazement, "Is that how they come home from
kindergarten?"
Avigail had laughed and replied, "They couldn't possibly have
gone out in those clothes. They're in the washing
machine." Another time, as they were sitting on a bench in
the park, another neighbor had asked in surprise, "Do you
change them every day?" Avigail had nodded, fixing the hair
clip on Shoshy's hair yet again. "How do you have the
energy?" wondered the other.
Yisroel called her to help him get on the swings. She picked
him up and thought, as she heard his squeals of delight,
"Should I have answered that I don't have the energy?" She
had no choice; the house had to be spotless; the children had
to look clean and well looked after. Their homework always
had to be handed in on time and they must never be short of
anything in their pencil case. Of course she was tired, worn
out, in fact, but there was no choice.
Coming home from work one day, Avigail found herself in a
traffic jam. She felt dizzy and her head ached. She closed
her eyes against the pain. What with the hot weather and her
tiring day at work, this traffic almost at a standstill was
just about the last straw. "I must get to bed early tonight,"
she promised herself as she took a sip of water. "I am
getting less and less sleep each night and I feel on the
verge of a breakdown."
She decided to get the children to bed early, finish some
housework and then have a good long night of blessed sleep.
The very thought calmed her and the headache eased off a
little. To complete the euphoria, the bus began to pick up
speed.
Silence reigned in the children's room and Avigail began to
make a salad for supper with her husband. An invitation which
was stuck on the fridge with a magnet caught her eye. It was
for Shoshy's siddur party. All the family, including
Avigail, knew the date of this party, just as they knew all
the songs and declamations which Shoshy and her friends were
going to sing. There was a note at the bottom of the
invitation asking if parents were willing to prepare some of
the refreshments for the party.
Why didn't I think of this sooner? she chided herself.
The party is the day after tomorrow. The young teacher
at the other end of the line was very pleasant about it.
"It's quite all right. We have plenty of food without the
extra cake," she assured Avigail. But in the end, when she
felt that this mother was almost begging to be allowed to
bake a cake, she was pleased to accept the offer.
Forgetting her fatigue and the promised early bed-retirement,
Avigail put on her apron and started sifting flour. Shoshy
will be so pleased, she said to herself several hours
later when the kitchen was once again immaculate and the only
evidence of her efforts was the heavenly smell which seemed
to linger, and the magnificent nut cake sitting in the
fridge. Ever since they had been married, Chaim had had a
sixth sense when not to interfere, as in this instance.
After all this, when Avigail was finally in bed, sleep eluded
her. The words mesibat siddur seemed to fill the whole
room and took her back many years.
Her teacher had closed her accordion and announced, "Tomorrow
we will have the last rehearsal and in the evening . . ."
"Mesibat siddur!" the childish trebles had chorused.
In the corner of the large room there was a makeshift stage
where the siddurim were piled high and the golden
ribbons and collars for each girl, which Teacher had
prepared. Avigail had been spellbound while the music was
playing, but when Teacher had started talking about what time
all the mothers would be coming, the light left her brown
eyes. Only too well did she remember what had happened
yesterday.
Her mother had not been around when she came home, so she
tiptoed straight into her parents' bedroom. "Mommy, it's me,
Avigail," she had whispered to the pale thin shape on the
bed. Her mother had opened her eyes and said, "Go and eat
some bread till Ruthy comes home to make some lunch." Ruthy
was her big sister in fourth grade, and Avigail regarded her
almost as a surrogate mother. As usual, lunch would be salad
and scrambled eggs, but Avigail was not interested in lunch
right now.
"Mommy, we have a siddur party tomorrow," she had
blurted out. Her mother had nodded, "Oh, yes, so you have."
As if she had forgotten all about this so important event in
her life. "Go and eat something," she had added, closing her
eyes again wearily.
Ruth came home from school to the remains of breakfast on the
table and dishes piled high in the sink. The dirty floor
seemed to match Avigail's mood exactly. "I've got to have a
white blouse for the party. The teacher said I must . . ."
Avigail had grown up in this neglected house. Father was an
unhappy man who worked hard to support the family. Every now
and then, the frail, sickly woman made a great effort and
cooked a meal and did a machine load of washing, but the
house was never clean. As for clothes, they just wore what
came to hand. On this particular day, Mother had been
especially weak, yet the children were quite accustomed to
this state of affairs.
"But who will come to the siddur party?" agonized the
little girl.
In the end, Ruth helped her find a white blouse, somewhat
creased, but it was a white blouse. "A pity we didn't think
of phoning Savta earlier," sympathized Ruth. "She might have
come." Avigail had no answer; she had been convinced that her
mother would come for her special day.
"So what," she consoled herself. "I'll go with Dina Levi and
her mother."
"Bye, Avigail," said the mother from her bed. "I'm sorry I
can't come but I'm sure you'll tell me all about it, won't
you?" Avigail only nodded, afraid she was going to cry.
Mrs. Levi looked at the little girl in a plain skirt with a
creased white blouse with compassion. Dina chattered all the
way while Avigail walked in silence. "My Mommy can be the
Mommy for both of us," she said with childish innocence.
"Unhunh," agreed Avigail, "but only for this time. Next time
my own Mommy will be coming."
"Of course," said Mrs. Levi firmly. "Avigail's mother will be
strong and healthy and she'll come to all the parties."
Avigail loved her tone of conviction, but when she looked up
at the woman and saw the pity in her eyes, she was sorry she
had come with her.
*
The silence of the night was broken by distant chirping, as
Avigail tossed and turned in her bed.
The memory of that siddur party with its
disappointment was deeply etched into her mind. All the
mothers had come; her mother hadn't. The teacher had looked
at her with pity and said something to the accordionist, who
flashed her an artificial smile. Avigail came home from the
party deeply wounded and thoroughly upset. But when her
mother had asked how it had been, she said, "Oh, it was
wonderful. I'll tell you all about it tomorrow . . ."
The years passed and Avigail helped Ruth run the house.
Together they saw to the laundry and the meals and the
general cleanliness so that their house would be like
everybody else's. Avigail never again wore creased blouses or
sandals which were a size too small or too big. She learned
to look after herself and was a neat, tidy seminary girl. Yet
when she visited the sparkling, well-run homes of her
friends, the thought sprang to her mind, My house is going
to look like this, one day. My children will not grow up like
I did.
When she got engaged, she felt that now she could realize
her dreams. She forgot that she was arranging everything for
herself while others had loving mothers to see to them; she
forgot about the modest purchases she made. She was going to
make a lovely, clean house for herself and the children to
come. Her husband understood her compulsion. Anything her
friends thought of doing in the house, she just HAD to do.
*
Avigail got up and flung over the window to let in some cool
air. Tomorrow is Shoshi's siddur party, she
thought. The wheel has turned full circle. Yet she
felt that something was not yet complete in the circle. It
was three o'clock in the morning. The distant chirping once
again broke the stillness of the night. There was a cake in
the fridge. All that mattered was for Shoshy to be happy.
*
One hot summer's evening, they were supposed to go to the
wedding of her husband's brother. But the next day's dinner
was not yet cooked and the house needed a thorough cleaning.
"Let them eat scrambled egg and salad for once. I'll clean
the house tomorrow night," her husband suggested. Avigail was
aghast. A scrambled egg and salad, in a disorderly house?
Why that's just like . . . She couldn't; it was
altogether impossible.
"I'll work very quickly," she promised him, but it was very
late indeed when they left to go to the wedding. Her husband
was silent, upset and also worried about what the family
would say to their late arrival. She, too, felt conscience
stricken and was silent, as well. What could she have done?
She couldn't have left a dirty house, and she HAD to
cook the meal for tomorrow.
The wedding was in full swing when they arrived and Avigail
found herself a seat at one of the tables. "So why were you
so late?" asked a sister-in-law. Avigail tried to explain how
she just couldn't leave before she had done various things
and to her surprise, her sister-in-law understood her
perfectly.
"I used to be just like that," she admitted candidly. "I was
a workaholic and fiendishly clean, until I realized that in
every walk of life there are middos which need
attention. Who said we only have to control our temper or
work on laziness? Anything which we do to extremes needs
control. Today I have learned to adjust my priorities. I
realize that some things are more important than extreme
cleanliness, and I try to overcome my natural
inclinations."
It's different for me, thought Avigail, toying with
her ice cream. Mine is not an inborn trait. Mine is an
obsession as a result of trauma. No, it's impossible to
change that. As she went through the motions of dancing
with the others, her mind went around in circles. Was it
possible to change?
They came home very late. Her husband had almost forgotten
about the late arrival and they talked about their pleasant
evening and the various people they had met.
But the seed had fallen onto fertile ground as the words,
"Who said we only have to overcome temper or laziness?"
echoed in her ear. Do I have to let this age-old trauma
dominate me for the rest of my life?
*
The orange seesaw greeted them with a smile but the sand
wondered if these were really Avigail's children. "You didn't
change their clothes!" exclaimed Mrs. Bergman. "What
happened?"
"We had no time," she answered with aplomb. "They were in
such a hurry to get out that it seemed a pity to waste time
on changing."
Shoshy whooped in delight at her freedom, as she ran to the
swings. Unconsciously, Avigail doodled in the soft sand which
was around the bench.
"Mommy, you drew circles," Yisroel appeared at her side. He
looked just like she had, so many years ago. The circles were
closed but this time, they seemed rounder and more perfect
than usual. Her children would never be neglected, and they
would have a healthy mother.
Yisroel looked on in fascination as she traced yet more
circles in the sand.
