Smadar adjusted the tablecloth for the fourth time and,
glancing out of he window, she once again put the fruit bowl
in the center of the table. She could hear the birds chirping
in the oncoming darkness and a few lamps cast their light
onto the deserted cobblestone path leading to her house. The
pale curtains swayed as a pleasant breeze freshened the
kitchen. But Smadar couldn't enjoy it; she was too
worried.
The wind set some garden chimes into motion. Smadar closed
the window; she was not in the mood for wind chimes. She was
waiting for the results.
Smadar was deeply attached to Alumot, a small, picturesque
kibbutz in the central part of the country. Each morning she
pulled back the curtains and gazed at the view. Green lawns
surrounded by neat stone paths, lush vegetation all around
with hills in the background. She breathed in the distant
smell of the citrus fruits intermingled with the smell of
fresh hay. This was her `Good morning', an introduction to
the new day.
But now? Was she going to give it all up? Would she have to
draw a curtain over this part of her life, relinquish any
social position she might hold, not to mention her job at the
exclusive studio, and start afresh?
She tugged at the ends of her kerchief in mounting tension.
"They say that the harder the trial, the greater the reward,"
she remembered. And this really was a hard trial. She turned
abruptly to the bookcase and took out a volume of
Tehillim. She calmed down as she chanted the age-old
verses with devotion. The large window no longer held her
attention as the time slipped by.
The gate creaked and footsteps on the path heralded the
arrival of her husband, Matan. Smadar closed the Tehillim and
jumped up to greet him. The butterflies were back in her
stomach and she could barely speak.
"Tell me, what did the Rav say?"
Matan was a little pale. Smadar hurriedly made him a drink
before she sat down beside him. He started talking. He
repeated every word of the Rav's questions and what he had
answered, not leaving out the slightest detail, and then he
dropped his bombshell.
"He advised us to move to Bnei Brak where I should learn for
half a day and continue to work for the Council on a part
time basis," he said in measured tones. Smadar was
dumbstruck. There was nothing she could say.
*
"Hey, Smadar, wait up. I want to discuss what we were talking
about this past Tuesday. Can I pop over tonight?"
"We could talk by phone, you know."
"Yes, but I have so much to say, so much to ask. And you
still know far more than I do."
Every Tuesday the women used to meet in Smadar's house where
they were treated to talks by avreichim from nearby
places. There were arguments, heated debates and above all, a
vast amount of curiosity. There was definitely a movement of
change in the kibbutz. People showed interest; they asked;
they probed, requested the phone number of that night's
speaker and wanted to know next week's topic.
Smadar swallowed a sigh. They don't know that we are
leaving, she realized. She wondered what their response
would be. They won't understand; they won't want to accept
our decision. Do I want to accept the decision? she
thought wryly.
The move was inescapable and things progressed swiftly. The
Rav's verdict was in the forefront of their minds all the
time. "You have come to the end of the road here. You have
given of your best to Alumot and it is time for you to move
on to the next plane in your lives."
Smadar packed each item carefully, gently putting the glass
tray into the tea chest, while her thoughts took her back to
the beginning of the trail, to the first time she had put a
kerchief on her head. She worked with mixed feelings,
incipient tears threatening to choke her. Another pile of
plates went into the chest, clearly marked besari. All
at once, she remembered the pile of treife dishes,
expensive china, which she had thrown into the bin. After
that, she had bought less ornate ones.
As she carefully wrapped the long-stemmed glasses, her mind
was elsewhere. She recalled the astonishment in the eyes of
the other members of the staff when she had arrived at work
one morning. "A skirt? Have you gone out of your mind? How
can you give a gym class in a skirt?"
Her friends couldn't come to terms with it at all but the
management of the exclusive fitness institute tried to
understand the change in her dress code. When all was said
and done, they needed this skilled member of staff, so they
had no choice but to agree.
The flashbacks continued, one after the other. The first time
she had davened sincerely from a siddur. Her
husband's insistence on having dangling tzitzis. The
Shabbos which they began to observe with all its niceties,
including the hotplate. It had been an exhilirating climb,
but not at all easy. All their friends had tried to dampen
their enthusiasm, to warn them of the pitfalls, but she and
her husband were determined to stick to their guns and get to
the top.
Slowly, gradually, they had changed from being on the
defensive to being the instructors. Smadar folded the towels
slowly and systematically, as if she were afraid to finish
the job too quickly. She remembered the original taunts and
jeers. "Why do the dossim throw stones? Why don't they
serve in the army?" The usual media mantra.
Now, however, things were different. One family had started
keeping kashrus. Ruthy was lighting candles on Friday night;
together they had all built a kosher succa. Well, more
or less. On Friday night innumerable guests dropped by to
imbibe the marvelous atmosphere of Shabbos, and each week
they had also invited various members of the kibbutz, in
turn, to meals. To leave it all suddenly, now? To move to
Bnei Brak?
What would happen to Alumot? Her mouth felt dry and she took
a drink of cold water to cool the storm in her heart. She
knew full well that they had to move on, that her husand
needed a kollel on his level. Besides, there were the two
children, of two and six months, who needed to grow up in a
different environment.
The baby woke up as if on cue, making her forget her worries
for a while as she picked her up.
*
The principal eyed the list in front of her with dismay. The
extra-curricular classes were due to begin within a fortnight
and she was still short a few teachers. The sewing class on
Tuesday afternoon was not yet fixed up and the fitness
teacher had moved to another town. She did have some
candidates but she felt that the applicants were not
qualified enough. On a sudden impulse, she decided to
advertise the vacancies in the paper.
*
Smadar flung open the window to see the view. Dismally, she
surveyed the neighbor's blinds with their layers of dust.
What else? Some laundry on a line. Smadar found it difficult
to adjust to the two-and-a-half room flat, after the
spaciousness of the kibbutz, but they hadn't been able to
afford anything bigger.
Never mind, she consoled herself. You have to
sacrifice something to advance in a place of Torah. In
truth, she knew that these were not really the things which
she was giving up. Something else was missing. She felt the
difference as soon as they got off the moving van. A crowd of
excited children surrounded it. "New neighbors," they
giggled. And "They've got children," when the high chair
appeared. Smadar was excited: so many boys with kipot
and payos and how well behaved they were. Life was
going to be great!
However, the mothers were different. Two of them came up and
greeted them impassively. "All beginnings are hard,"
she reminded herself.
Smadar managed to find the local grocery, the park and a
nearby shul. But she missed her work and she felt
lonely. She was not out for esteem or accolades, but it would
be nice to be part of the crowd. She longed to go back to
Alumot to be consulted about things, to advise or just to
chat.
One more affable neighbor handed her a newspaper cutting.
"This is just up your alley," she said. "It's an ad for a gym
teacher in the Seminary. Working in a school will give you a
different standing altogether."
The words were balm to her tormented spirit. She had felt
particularly lonely that day. Her husband had been away the
entire day to settle a few essentials and the women in the
park had ignored her. Now here was this neighbor who had
actually thought about her!
Smadar read the ad and felt it was just for her. She dialed
the number and spoke to the secretary. As she gave the
details of her former place of work, she hastened to add that
they were chozrei bitshuva and had just moved to Bnei
Brak. The secretary listened and took down the
particulars.
"You seem perfect for the job," she said emphatically. She
knew how desperate the principal was for a qualified teacher
and the woman at the other end of the line sounded ideal.
That night Matan came home to a changed woman. He had not
seen her in such a good mood since they had moved to Bnei
Brak. "What happened?" he asked with a smile.
"I'm beginning to feel that I belong," she said, showing him
the ad. She told him about the phone call and the the
secretary's encouragement. "Working in a seminary gives you a
completely different status," she gushed, repeating the
neighbor's words.
*
"Smadar? Matan? Is that our scene?" the principal said, her
face darkening.
"I don't know what you mean by `our scene,' " replied the
secretary, "but she's worked for several years at the
Friedman body-building institute."
"Really? How did she get there?" the principal began showing
some interest.
"She lived close by in Kibbutz Alumot and..." She stopped in
mid-sentence. The principal's enthusiasm seemed to have
dissipated.
"She must be a baalat tshuva."
"Quite so."
"No. That isn't for us."
"Why not give her a try?" asked the secretary, remembering
Smadar's pleasant and gentle voice.
"It's not worth the effort . . . "
This story, as A. Flam wrote it, does not have a happy
resolution. Reality is like that sometimes. Perhaps reading
it will give us an insight, a push towards a different type
of attitude. Perhaps in real life, Smadar went down in person
and asked for an interview -- and was accepted. Perhaps she
found another way to become integrated, through a job in a
local community center gym course. We didn't write
this.
We have to understand the principal. Sometimes, people
move to the religious community before they are completely
ready, before they have made a complete break with their
past. Although gym is not a controversial subject, there is
plenty of opportunity to "spike" the lessons with the wrong
comments. Even if the principal had the time to make a
thorough investigation and to convince herself that Smadar
has really joined the community, she may have to face worried
parents and convince them as well. It is not easy and it is
not simple.
But we do think it is important to be understanding of the
people around us, be it with regard to jobs, schools or
shidduchim, and respect them -- not in spite of but --
because of their differences.
