Serializing a new novel.
Chapter 14: Esther in Jerusalem (April 2001)
Esther returned from her friend's wedding. The whole class
had been together. It was if they had never been separated as
they whirled around the bride in joyous dance. The head
coverings told a different story. A fair number of the girls
were married. Hands told another story. Quite a few girls
wore rings to show their new status: they too would soon join
the ranks of married women.
There was talk and laughter and phrases such as "Soon by
you," rang out.
Esther walked down Tarmav street, looking into the store
windows as she passed — the dress shops with their
bargains, the book shops piled high to low with shelving
filled chock-a- block with merchandise, the sweetshops,
souvenir shops and two shekel shops. Her mind was not on
anything she saw, but on her meeting the previous evening.
There was no need to wait for the shadchan to call her
parents. She knew it had gone badly. First there had been the
careful enquiries. The bochur was clever, and he was a
good learner. He was prepared to meet her, even though the
amount her family could contribute was small. His family was
looking for good hashkofoh and middos and
apparently everyone they had called had assured them that in
this department she was not lacking.
Her mother had looked her over carefully after she was
dressed. "You look wonderful my dear. Now remember, just be
you own sweet self and I am sure things will go well."
Unfortunately, everything followed the all-too-familiar
pattern. She was overcome by shyness. The words clogged up in
her throat and when they did emerge they came out in a
strange high-pitched taut sound. She couldn't think of
sensible answers to the most common queries.
Why did it happen?
She was used to dealing with the public. She arranged with
people from all over the world to meet with the director of
the Ezrat Horeinu — no, more than that, she actually
persuaded these people to meet with him on their forthcoming
trip to Israel. She showed groups of ladies around the
center, groups from all over the world. Yet faced with a
bochur as shy as she was, she went totally tongue-
tied.
All these thoughts she tried to put away as she prepared for
work. It was a busy time. With the approach of Pesach,
letters to all the donors had to be sent out. She had a card
index of what they had given, what remarks they had made, if
she had met them or spoken to them on the phone, so that she
could personalize the letters.
Her small sketchbook lay in a locked drawer. When people left
her office she not only wrote down a record of their
conversation but also supplemented their words by lightning
sketches. Sometimes, with the sketch in front of her and the
words from her card index, she could almost feel she really
was talking to the person.
Esther sat at her desk and forced herself to concentrate on
her work. The extent to which people could be helped depended
on the amount of money that donors from all over the world
sent to them. She could not let her personal sorrows
interfere with her work. She had to excel at her work, even
if her performance on the shidduch scene was clearly
below what was expected of her.
The director had said to her only a few days ago. "People
don't just send checks, they often tell me how much they
enjoy your letters. They are so warm and interesting."
Now Esther gave a quiet grim laugh. "So warm and
interesting," she thought grimly. Just tell that to the
bochur of the previous night, who had sat across from
her for the requisite three-quarters of an hour and then
gratefully escaped from the room.
