Feeling my eight-year-old's forehead, I realize she's now
only warm, sitting up with the blanket tucked around her
legs. She's been in bed for three days with the flu.
"Are you feeling any better, Surale?"
She looks at me, her eyes still slightly glassy. "Just a
centimeter better."
I chuckle. Boruch Hashem, she's beginning to get better.
She's not as achy nor as listless. The only problem is that
she's bored.
The other four children, ages 5 to 12, come in to Surale's
room. Outside it's windy and cold. Definitely an `indoor'
afternoon this afternoon!
I check my watch. Two more hours until dinner and then
bedtime. Two more hours! Sometimes two hours can seem like
forever...
Various games skip through my mind but each one is suited for
a specific age group. Hmmm...
"I've got it!" I say.
The four children look at each other quizically as they
follow me into my room where I rummage through the stacks of
clothing at the back of my closet. I pull out a large grey
bag and from within that, I pull out a large partially
embroidered white tablecloth.
Back in Surale's room, the children gather around me as I sit
on a chair, tablecloth draped around my legs until the
floor.
"Bubbie gave this to me when Naftali was a baby."
"But Naftali's almost fourteen years old!" Feigy pipes up.
"Yes," I smile, thinking of my oldest in yeshiva. "I started
embroidering this tablecloth more than thirteen years ago!
But," I look at the beautiful, intense faces around me, "I
haven't had a lot of time to embroider the last several
years." I remember thinking that it wasn't worth it to work
on the tablecloth with cookie- covered toddlers around or
cereal-smeared babies wiping their perpetually smudged hands
on it. I figured I'd get to it `someday.' With no little
babies in the house, it looks like `someday' is now.
I find the needle, still threaded with an emerald green
thread, and start where I stopped, how long ago?
"I remember thinking that it was so huge," I say aloud.
"It should be the perfect size for our table now," Rachel
says.
I nod, do a few more stitches, remembering how way back then,
a large family was such a distant dream. Now I feel the
satisfaction, the richness, of that dream having become a
reality.
"Ima -- it's so beautiful," Eli says, in his high five- year-
old voice.
I finish stitching with the emerald-colored thread and make a
knot at the back side of the tablecloth. Rummaging through
the large grey bag, I find a smaller bag filled with threads.
I let its contents spill onto Surale's bedspread amongst the
ahhhs and ooohs of the children.
"Look at this blue!" Motti whispers in amazement.
"This is a neat shade of orange," Faigy says, holding the
thread between her fingers. "It reminds me of summer."
"Well, maybe thinking of summer will help keep us warm! Would
you like to thread the needle?" She takes the needle and
hands it back to me threaded.
"Children, we'll take turns, starting with Faigy. Each of you
can pick a color and even help me to pull the needle through
the cloth but we have to wait our turn quietly, Okay?"
Five heads nod. This is a special kind of nachas for
me. The cooperation. The interest. The silence!
"This is a running stitch. Can you all see? I push the needle
up almost through the center of the previous stitch." I
manage a pretty straight row, considering how many years it's
been!
Faigy tries it. The stitches are a little too tight but I
don't say a word. Let a stitch or two be too tight or too
loose but let's not lose this moment of closeness.
The children watch, fascinated.
"Now Rachel, what color would you like?"
"The beige will match the curtains nicely."
"Go ahead and thread it, sweetheart." I hand her the thread
and the needle.
She does it quickly and easily.
"Will we finish tonight?" Surale asks.
I shake my head, `No.'
She sticks her bottom lip out.
Cupping her chin in the palm of my hand, I say, "Don't worry.
There's always tomorrow."
She pouts even more. "How many tomorrows do you think it will
take?"
"Maybe a few weeks worth." I smile.
She's so sweet. They all are.
Outside the rain and wind are growing in intensity. A bolt of
lightning flashes across the blackness of the sky. Eli and
Surale begin to fidget.
"You know, when you were little, Surale," I begin, partially
as a distraction to keep the children from being nervous
about the weather and partly to relive so many precious
memories, "you once asked me for Scotch tape to tape your
first wiggly tooth into place."
Everyone giggles.
"You even said `please.' "
Surale grins.
One by one, each child gets a turn pulling the thread and a
turn hearing about their babyhood.
"A little more gently, Eli." I look over his shoulder.
"That's right. That's terrific!" I say it and I mean it,
too.
"Eli, do you remember last winter how you came in from school
completely drenched and told me how you fell into a
pile of water?"
The giggles become laughter.
Eli's doing such a good job. I tell them that I'll be right
back and go to my sewing box in a different room. I remember
a few pieces of leftover material.
"Children," I say on my return, "how about if you each make a
small challa cover for yourselves? I could buy you each your
own challa roll for Shabbos."
The excitement is getting noisy.
"Here's paper. Draw a picture of what you'd like to embroider
so you'll have an idea of what will work."
I'm surprised at how patient I've been. I wish I could be
like this always.
Rachel's making X shapes around the outline of a butterfly.
Eli's still working on the tablecloth. I can't get over with
what ease he pulls the thread -- not too loose, not too
taut.
Motti's hunched over a small challa shape, the brown stitches
every which way, which makes it look a lot like a real
challa. I watch his face, his cheekbones tense in thought.
"Angle the needle like this, sweetheart."
A minute later he looks up. "Ima, look! I finished this whole
row!"
"Excellent, Motti, really excellent!"
He beams and starts the next row.
"Ima, I have a knot." With tears in her eyes, Rachel hands me
her half-finished butterfly.
"Don't worry. It's not difficult to fix." It takes some
concentration to untangle but soon I hand it back to her,
smiling. She smiles as well, not yet finished, yet proud of
her accomplishment.
I'm proud too. Of all of them.
Eli starts quietly to sing `Ani Maamin' and without
any thought, we've all joined in, harmony humming. I stroke a
cheek here, put an arm around a shoulder there...
I wish this moment would go on forever. At least I have it
right now and now has an aspect of forever, doesn't it?
*
* E * M * B * R * O * I * D * E * R * Y *
POINTS TO PONDER
1) We, as parents, always do each stitch as best as we can at
the moment.
2) When we pull a thread too tight, or not tight enough, we
must put considerable thought into how to rectify the
problem, often having to redo stitches even though it's time-
consuming and a lot of work. But we do want this piece of art
to be as lovely as possible.
3) The finished product has all the colors and stitches
unifying into a oneness of beauty that will be handed down
throughout the generations, perfect within its
imperfections.
4) Knowing that it's our task to find the right hue, the
right angle, for each child's particular pattern on his/her
background of white purity that we've been entrusted with.
