Introducing Yisca Shimoni, who writes for Yated's
Bayit Ne'eman under her real name. In this autobiographical
sketch, she hides behind a pseudonym. Can't you just
picture this little Yerushalmi schoolgirl with long blond
`tzepelach' (braids), whose cheeky older sister manipulates
her to cause a diversion in school...
One hot midday, Bubbie, who lived not far from our home,
called me over and asked me to bring a sandwich to my aunt in
school. School had longer hours on that day, and Chana Etta,
about two years my senior, though my aunt, as well, had
forgotten to take anything along for recess. A scant five
years old at the time, I felt proud to be chosen for such an
important errand and readily agreed.
When I arrived at the school yard, I met my sister
Chedva. "What are YOU doing here?" she asked in surprise.
"Bubbie sent me with some lunch for Tante Chana Etta."
All of a sudden, I felt shy. "Could you go in and give this
bag to her?"
"Now? In the middle of class? With her strict teacher? I
wouldn't dare walk in now!"
Suddenly, a mischievous gleam shone in Chedva's bluish
green eyes. I stood there, perplexed, waiting for
instructions. She eyed me and scanned my attire, which was
not satisfactory to her scrutiny. I was dusty and my hands
and face showed traces of dirt. She took me over to the
faucet, washed me off and smoothed down my blond hair. She
was not yet satisfied with the results. She looked around the
school yard and spied Penina.
"Oh, Penina, could you lend me your apron? Just for a
little while! Please!"
Penina, a girl my age and an only daughter, always wore
a lacy white pinafore over cute starched dresses; she looked
and acted like a little china doll. She dutifully took off
her apron and handed it over to my sister Chedva.
I donned it and was instantly transformed into a little
doll, just like Penina. It felt good.
"Knock on the classroom door," Chedva instructed, "and
politely ask permission to give the bag to Tante Chana Etta.
Don't forget to say `please' and `thank you'." I had to
repeat these words several times and make a curtsey, as if I
were acting in a play. After rehearsing my part, I did as
bidden.
The teacher of that class was Chava Landsburg, recently
arrived from Europe, considered a very esteemed student of
Sara Schenirer, and a stickler for decorum. She was shocked
by the interruption to the lesson. "Yes?" she said to my
knock.
"Please, could you give this lunchbag to my Tante Chana
Etta? My grandmother sent it for her. Thank you!" I placed
the bag on the table, bobbed my head and quickly strutted out
the room.
I forgot my interrupted game and lingered on in the
school playground, still wearing my lacy apron. I saw that
Penina was enjoying herself without it. She was playing with
the rest of the girls and actually jumping rope!
The bell rang and my aunt came out. "I was very proud of
you, and so was my teacher. You were so cute and so polite!
But, please, don't ever do it again. You disturbed the class
and the whole lesson was disrupted."
I could see that Chana Etta was more amused than angry,
but her words made me confused. What had I done wrong? I had
obeyed my grandmother, my sister, my aunt, and had pleased
everyone all around!
What, then, had gone wrong? What strange grown-up logic!
How could I have disturbed the class if I had done something
that had made her proud and her teacher happy? Truth to tell,
I had been proud of myself, too. It had felt so good.
Perhaps it was all due to that nice, lacy apron...
