Dina checked the oven timer, peeked under the lid of the
simmering soup, untied her apron and dashed out to the living
room. Avrumi was waiting patiently, right where she'd left
him, strapped into his stroller and ready for the quick trip
to the neighborhood grocery store. Dina slung her purse onto
the back of the stroller, pushed it out the door and was
halfway up the hill to the grocer's before she stopped to
catch her breath.
Whatever had to be done, Dina did it, though not always as
efficiently as her mother would have. Take this cake, for
example. She had done her shopping earlier in the week, but
this morning, feeling an urge to be creative, she had thumbed
through her cookbooks and found an interesting recipe for
chocolate cake with coconut cream. It had just the right
amount of ingredients to be tasty yet not so many as to make
it a patchke, and chocolate, of course, was Yitzchok's
favorite. So with the baby in tow, Dina dashed out to the
grocer's to collect a few extra ingredients.
It's wonderful to have this grocery store so close to our
new apartment, Dina thought as she pushed the stroller
inside. Only after she had collected the things she needed
and was standing in the checkout line did she notice three
women standing outside, chatting together. Had they been
standing there when she rushed in? Oh dear, Dina
thought, I must have passed them right by. What must they
think of me?
Nervously she counted her change and hurried out. Well,
they must realize that I have no time to chat, she
excused herself as she wheeled the stroller back down the
hill. What with a baby and a houseful of work, I'm sure
they'll understand that I can't fritter away my mornings
standing in the sun.
The oven timer started beeping as she took Avrumi out of the
stroller and put him down with some toys. That's how Dina's
days went — one thing tumbling after another. Even
though she was just keeping house for the three of them, the
day never seemed long enough. There were always clothes to be
washed, dishes to be scrubbed and food to be cooked. Dina
never thought she was doing anything unusual by staying up
till one in the morning, ironing shirts. What needed to be
done simply had to get done and, amply endowed with the
vitality of youth, she adroitly managed to accomplish
everything that came her way.
She was so busy, in fact, that it was only late at night that
she thought about her social life — or the lack of it.
It was nearly two months since they had moved to this
neighborhood. One woman had smiled at her in the grocery
checkout line the first week she'd arrived, and another woman
had introduced herself at the baby clinic. But after dark,
when the neighborhood quieted down, Dina felt the twinges of
loneliness. She had deliberately moved to this neighborhood
because people were said to be sociable. Why hadn't anyone
sent her a welcome cake, as they had in her last
neighborhood? Couldn't the president of the N'shei pick up
the phone to say hello? Dina knew she was being unreasonable,
but the silent night unnerved her. Go to bed, she told
herself firmly. In the morning all these depressing thoughts
would be swallowed up by nonstop activity.
But soon the loneliness began to tag her by day as well. As
she sat in the deserted playground with her son in the early
mornings, or took Avrumi outside to catch the late-afternoon
breezes, she wondered why she never saw anyone else around.
Davka now, when I have a few minutes to sit and chat, no
one's around, she thought.
Invariably, as she pushed the stroller homeward, she saw a
few women standing by the grocery store, engrossed in
conversation. Dina suddenly felt awkward and self-conscious.
She could never bring herself to stand out on the street and
just chat like that. She hurried down the hill, her thoughts
already switching to what she would make for dinner.
*
"Did you see this?" Yitzchok asked, waving the neighborhood
circular at Dina's back while she worked at the sink.
"They're having a N'shei get-together this Shabbos with a
speaker and refreshments. Why don't you go? I could
babysit."
"Oh, I don't know, Yitzchok. Don't you have a shiur?
And what about our Shabbos walk?" Dina hedged as she scrubbed
her soup pot.
Yitzchok smiled. "Come on, Dina, you might like it. Didn't
you tell me how you want to meet people? Here's your
chance."
His words grated on her conscience. Dina knew he was right,
but it was hard to admit it. Unless she broke out of her self-
imposed isolation, she would never make new friends. She
turned back to her soup pot and started scrubbing the pesky
stain, with a vengeance. Shabbos was only a few days away.
*
Dina reached up to knock on the door, but then realized it
was ajar. The bustle of lively voices greeted her as she
stepped into a large living room. She looked around
nervously. All the women seemed to know each other and
animated conversations filled the air. Dina spied an empty
chair and slipped into it, holding its sides for support as
if it were a skiff lost at sea. From that vantage point, she
inspected her surroundings.
A long table against the wall was beautifully set with cakes,
fruits and drinks. Rows of chairs had been set up beside and
in front of the table to accommodate all the participants.
Soon most of the women had arrived.
"Welcome, everybody!" a pleasant voice sang out. "I'd like to
welcome you to our N'shei Shabbos Get-Together. Take a drink
and a piece of cake and find a seat, please. We'd like to get
started."
Congenially, the women settled down. The first item on the
program was a dvar Torah, delivered by a tall woman
wearing a short, blonde sheitel. Dina leaned closer to
listen.
"I always love hearing Chana Baila," a voice whispered behind
her. "She's been teaching for years, you know."
The woman's insight into the parsha was indeed
interesting. When the dvar Torah ended, Dina sat back
contentedly, mulling over the message. Voices around her rose
and blended into a happy stream.
"And now, ladies, we have a game!" the moderator called out.
"Everyone put on your thinking caps, because we're going to
find the biggest baalebusta in our neighborhood! There will
be a prize for the winner at the end."
A titter swept the assemblage. Dina perked up her ears. She
wasn't one for games, but the idea of a competition piqued
her interest. Carefully she listened as the moderator
explained how the game worked. She would ask a question,
followed by three answers. Each answer had a numerical point
value. Since it was Shabbos, the women would have to keep
track of their score in their heads. The one with the most
points was the winner.
"Here's the first question," the moderator said jovially.
"When you have guests during the week, how many courses do
you make? One — one point. Two — two points.
Three — three points."
Chuckles erupted from around the room. Dina grinned as she
thought how many courses she typically made for Yitzchok's
chavrusas who dropped in during the week.
"Next question: How much attention do you pay to a dirty spot
on the kitchen floor? Ignore it — one point. Wipe it
with a wet towel — two points. Do a full sponja
— three points."
Two women sitting in front of Dina turned around and grinned
at the woman sitting beside her. The three seemed to be
sharing a private joke. Dina glanced at her seatmate and
recognized her as one of the women she usually saw standing
outside the grocery store in the mornings. She had a
pleasant, open face and looked to be about ten years older
than Dina. "Your husband or son comes home with a torn
shirt. What do you do? Buy him a new one — one point.
Give it to a seamstress — two points. Mend it yourself
— three points."
As the questions continued, Dina scored herself generously.
She knew she invested all she had in running a home. But did
she really go so far? Even if she was exaggerating her
talents a bit, probably the other women were exaggerating
theirs, too. It was just a game, after all.
"What's your idea of a Rosh Chodesh treat? Store-bought
cookies — one point. Bakery pastries — two
points. Homemade brownies with mini-marshmallows —
three points."
Brownies, of course! Dina thought triumphantly, giving
herself another three points. She wondered if other women
thought the same, for they were all laughing and whispering
to each other. One reached over and patted the shoulder of
the woman sitting next to Dina. "Pessie, this game's for
you!" she laughed. Dina saw her seatmate smile and nod.
"How often do you launder your living-room curtains? Once a
year — one point. L'kovod Yom Tov — two
points. Every month — three points."
A few women threw up their hands and declared themselves out
of the running. "Pessie's the baalabusta, not me!" one called
out good-naturedly. With each succeeding question, a few more
women gave up. One leaned over Pessie's shoulder, urging her
on. Slowly it dawned on Dina that she and Pessie were the
only ones left in the game.
"And now for the last question," said the moderator. "At the
end of the day, are there any dishes lying unwashed in your
sink? Always — one point. Often — two points.
Never — three points."
"Have you seen Pessie's sink lately?" laughed one woman. Dina
glanced up and suddenly saw Pessie looking straight at her, a
questioning expression in her eyes. Flustered, Dina lowered
her eyes and tried to concentrate. She liked to wash dishes,
to be sure, but weren't there times she had left things in
the sink overnight to tend to Yitzchok and Avrumi? She chewed
her lip, caught up in the spirit of competition. She thought
of how sparkling clean her sink had looked when Shabbos came
in. Three points, she told herself firmly.
"Okay, let's hear your totals," the moderator said. "Who has
six points?" Several women raised their hands. "Ten?
Fifteen?"
To her satisfaction, Dina noticed that most of the women in
the room had already raised their hands. That left her and
Pessie.
"Eighteen? Twenty?"
With a shrug, Pessie lifted her hand. A thrill ran through
Dina. She was the winner!
"More than twenty?"
Dina raised her hand in triumph. With a smile, the moderator
handed her the prize — a plastic Shabbos dish scrubber.
To Dina, it felt like a bar of solid gold.
The game over, conversations resumed and women got up to help
themselves to refreshments. Dina remained glued to her seat,
stunned by her victory. Wait till her mother heard that she
was the biggest baalabusta in the neighborhood!
"Congratulations," one woman said, trying to get Dina's
attention. "You're new here, aren't you?"
"Um, yes, thanks," Dina mumbled awkwardly. The woman moved
away and a rush of conversations filled the gap.
"Come on, Pessie, is it really true that you don't clear out
your sink every night?" one woman exclaimed. "But I've been
in your house! You're the biggest baalabusta I've ever
seen!"
Dina turned around to see who was talking. The woman noticed
her and added hurriedly, "Maybe we have an even bigger
baalabusta in our neighborhood now." Dina blushed furiously.
Embarrassed by the attention for something she wondered if
she even deserved, she quickly left the apartment. Outside,
the sun daubed its finishing touches on a waning afternoon.
Dina briskly set out for home.
As she walked, the whole scene played itself out again before
her eyes. This time, she viewed herself objectively, like a
bystander, and realized that she had let the competition get
the best of her. She remembered how the other women had
smiled at and talked about Pessie, and she remembered how
Pessie had looked at her. It wasn't just a glance; it was a
penetrating, inquiring look.
What was she trying to tell me?
Dina groped for an answer. All the other women kept saying
what a great baalabusta Pessie was, but when the points were
added up, Dina had won. Won? Is that really true? If Pessie's
such a great homemaker, why didn't she win?
She saw the two of them sitting side by side, the older,
experienced homemaker and the young, struggling newcomer, and
was shocked by the answer: Pessie must have lied, especially
on that last question. But why? Dina fought to give the other
woman the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she saw how much I
wanted to win, and let me? Maybe it wasn't lying, but
neighborliness. Maybe she wanted to make me feel good. I
wonder if she's upset that I pass her by at the grocery store
in the morning?
First Dina felt embarrassed, then warmed, by the silent
welcome Pessie had extended her. She's probably a very
nice person, she thought. Maybe I should try to get to
know her better?
*
The next morning, Dina strapped Avrumi into the stroller and
headed up the hill. At the top, sure enough, she saw two
women standing in front of the store, chatting. Dina pulled
up the stroller and parked it right next to Pessie.
"Good morning," she said, a bit awkwardly. Her heart was
beating so loud she was sure it gave her away.
But Pessie didn't seem to notice. "Good morning," she replied
kindly. "How nice of you to join us. Ilana and I were just
talking about the Shabbos get-together."
"Yes, it really was fun," said Ilana. "And you won the game!
That's a nice welcome to the neighborhood. What's your
name?"
"Dina Mandelbaum. Nice to meet you."
"Ilana Goldberg. Nice to meet you, too. But you'll have to
excuse me — I have to get going already. See you later,
Pessie."
Dina and Pessie were left alone in front of the store. To
Dina's relief, Pessie started up a conversation and smoothly
steered it into one topic after another. Dina felt herself
relaxing as they talked about their families, shiurim
they enjoyed, and holiday plans. Dina even picked up a good
recipe for grilled fish from the obviously experienced
cook.
"But I'm not going to remember it," Dina admitted. "Could I
call you when I get home to write it down?"
"Sure," Pessie agreed, jotting down her phone number. After
half an hour, the two parted. The meeting had gone so well
that Dina felt she had really made her first friend. An hour
later, when she was sure Pessie had returned home, Dina
picked up the phone.
"Hi, this is Dina again. Is it a good time?" she asked
shyly.
"Sure, it's always good," Pessie replied. "Here, let me give
you the recipe."
After she wrote it down, Dina couldn't help but ask the
question that was uppermost on her mind. "I don't get it,"
she said. "Everyone says you're a real baalabusta, but you
seem to have all the time in the world!"
Pessie laughed. "The secret is to do everything quickly," she
confided. "Then you always have time for other things."
"Oh!" Dina cried in amazement. Then she drew in her breath
and asked the next question that was pressing on her mind.
"But this business of spending all morning at the grocery
store . . . I can understand how you have time to do it, but
I don't. Do you think, uh, maybe you'd like, um, to come over
sometime for a cup of coffee?" There, she'd said it. She held
her breath, waiting to see if Pessie would get the hint.
Again Pessie's gay laugh tinkled through the receiver. "Of
course!" she agreed. "You bake those brownies with mini-
marshmallows, and I'm on my way!"
