They lived in the same building; their two oldest girls were
in the same class and the babies went to the same
babysitter.
When Gila had her third child, she took a year's sabbatical
from school. By the time her fourth child was born, she
realized that it did not pay to take so many babyistters and
child caregivers. She gave up teaching completely and decided
to devote herself to her home and family.
Meanwhile, her neighbor Rivka advanced steadily in her job in
the large office where she worked, and was promoted to a
managerial post. Each morning, as Gila took her children down
to the bus, Rivka passed by like a veritable whirlwind,
beautifully groomed and in a rush, as always. Each morning,
Gila felt a pang of regret. Just because I'm a housewife,
am I a second-rate citizen? I spend my day preparing meals
and hanging the laundry instead of typing on a computer and
drinking coffee from a disposable cup. So now I am
worthless?
Gila lived frugally, shopping where she could save a few
pennies, and making the clothes last just one more season, if
possible, whereas Rivka did major house improvements and her
children never wore hand-me-downs.
The children of the two families remained close friends, but
not so the mothers; they had no language in common. Gila had
little understanding for the new pair of fancy curtains which
"made the room look brighter," and Rivka was puzzled by the
complicated cake which looked so professional that Gila had
made for a simple party. After all, Rivka ordered those same
looking cakes straight from the shop.
The long summer vacation passed in a flurry of activities and
much happy noise and bustle in Gila's house. Rivka's children
went to various summer camps and were looked after by
babysitters the rest of the time.
One day, Gila mentioned to Rivka that she had found a good
girl to look after the children in the afternoons when school
started.
"That won't be necesary," Rivka answered shortly.
"But how will you manage? The children come home long before
you finish work."
"The nursery school has an afternoon program; my son finishes
cheder very late and the baby can stay by the woman
where she goes in the morning."
"But what about Tzivy?" continued Gila relentlessly.
"Tzivy is already seven. She is quite old enough to let
herself into the house, warm up her food in the microwave and
then wait for me till I get home." Gila shrugged as the two
women went into their respective apartments.
The new school year began and Gila proudly watched her
various children in their clean, well-pressed uniforms, on
their way to school or kindergarten. Esty already came home
at 1:30 with Tzivy, her neighbor, friend and classmate, in
tow. "You know, Mommy," exclaimed Esty, "Tzivy has no baby
sitter and she agreed to come to our house for lunch."
Gila was gratified by the evidence of her daughter's generous
little soul, and put out another plate of soup. While the
girls were enjoying their meal, they regaled Gila with their
`news.' Who their new teacher was, what she wore, why Channi
and Shoshi went up a class, and other important
information.
The next day, Tzivy felt more at home and after that, the two
girls came home together regularly each day. One afternoon,
Gila met Rivka coming home from work, having picked up the
baby on the way.
"How are you?" she asked her neighbor, holding her breath as
she awaited her reply.
"Fine, how are you?" The expected reply was not
forthcoming.
"How are you managing?" Gila could not refrain from
asking.
"Boruch Hashem," came the answer to this banal and
stilted exchange, as the women parted.
The next day, when the two came from school chatting merrily,
Gila asked offhandedly, as she ladled gravy onto the meat
balls. "Does you mother know you are here?"
"Of course," prattled the child, nodding her head
vigoriously. "I asked her the very first day."
"And what did she say?" Gila could not help asking.
"She said she didn't mind if I came."
"Does she know what you eat here?" Gila tried again.
"Oh, yes," enthused the child. "I always tell her what yummy
food you make every day." Gila bit her tongue to stop asking,
"And what did she say?"
The days passed without a sound from her neighbor. Gila was
incensed at the lack of gratitude. Surely the woman must
realize that it was extra work and extra noise round the
table and above all, extra expense for her. If this were a
service, she would be prepared to pay good money for it, yet
she was not even ready to accord Gila a word of thanks.
Gila was surprised at herself. No, it was not the money or
the extra trouble. Just once in a while, she wanted
recognition from this neighbor. She wanted to be told that
she was doing a wonderful job by providing hot, well-cooked
meals, by giving the children a listening ear and a happy
place to come to from school. In truth, she was content with
her life. She, herself, felt she had done the right thing by
giving up work. Nevertheless, she wanted approbation from
others. She wanted them to realize that shiny floors and
windows and beautiful cakes did not come so easily "Just
because she doesn't go to work."
The showdown came sooner than expected. As they passed one
another on the stairs one day, Gila said in honeyed tones,
"You know, Tzivy eats at my house every day. She
really..."
"She eats with you? Whatever for? The extra bother is
completely unnecessary. I leave her food out every day. All
she has to do is warm it in the microwave. Actually," added
Rivka, trying to be pleasant, "Esty could really eat her
lunch in my place. The house is quiet. I have loads of toys
and they could do their homework together."
Gila read the unsaid end to the sentence, "And you have no
toys and they couldn't concentrate on homework in your rowdy
house."
What arrogance, was Gila's first thought. She knows
full well that her little girl prefers a noisy house with hot
meals where she can tell of the day's events, to a solitary
silent meal heated up by herself. And if she isn't prepared
to thank me, nor to admit that I have some advantages over
her by staying at home, that's her problem. Furiously,
Gila murmured a word of parting and went home.
The familiar tumult which met her as she came in calmed her
down somewhat. Only at night, when the children were all
asleep and she was busy sorting and folding clothes, did she
give full rein to her thoughts. So I wanted her to give
some sign of approbation, and she has no intention of doing
so. There are enough people who appreciate me, and I have
plenty of little fans, she smiled and felt mollified.
And because of my pride, this child of seven has to eat
her meals and spend the afternoon alone? Why did that thought
not cross my mind before?
She dropped the garment she was folding abruptly, and left
the house to go to her neighbor's, having come to a sudden,
mature decision. The woman who opened the door to her was not
the stylish, high-heeled lady she met on the stairs in the
mornings. Besides the housecoat and slippers, Gila noticed
the slight wrinkles and fatigue lines round her eyes and
mouth, and began to see her in a different light. She
works hard, too, and no doubt would love to be at home to
serve her own children their midday meal, she thought in
surprise.
"I just wanted to ask you if Tzivy could go on eating with
us." Gila's tone was friendly. "We enjoy her company and
would really miss her if she left." There was a moment's
silence then. "That would be really wonderful," blurted
Rivka. "The truth is I couldn't have thought of a better
solution and would feel really relieved if I knew Tzivy was
eating with you and that you were responsibile for her. Are
you sure you don't mind?" she asked when Gila did not reply
immediately.
"No, of course not," said Gila, finding her tongue at last.
"That's what I came to ask."
