It had been a long day. Malka Weiss, nee Braun, sat on the
bus on her way home. As she gazed out the window, her mind
played over the conversation she'd had earlier in the day
with her best friend Tzippora.
"Malka, what's up with you lately? You seem out of things,
not yourself . . . "
"Oh, I don't know, Tzippi," said Malka, trying to sound
blase. "Just busy, I guess."
But Tzippora wasn't about to let her best friend get away
with it. "Malka, look at me," she said. "We've been friends
since first grade. I can see that something's up. What's
going on?"
Malka swallowed hard, determined to dam the river of tears
welling up. She bit her lip.
"Has it got to do with Menachem?" Tzippora gently
suggested.
At that point not even Malka's determined efforts could hold
back the flood and she started to cry.
"What is it, Malka? Has he said something to you?"
"Oh Tzippi," sobbed Malka. Once the dam wall had broken,
Malka didn't hold back. After all the tension, it felt so
good to confide in an old friend — one who was happily
married, at that.
"What can I say? Things haven't been going well. We're not
even through shonoh rishonoh and there's so much
stress and tension. You know that finances are tight, and
that, plus the other stresses of daily life have kept us from
having time to work on our marriage. It feels like we don't
even have time to breathe, let alone just relax or have
dinner together."
"Malka, you know I love you like a sister, so what I'm going
to say is coming from a good place." Tzippi took a deep
breath. "It's so important," she said, "that you try to make
that time."
"I know," cried Malka. "You're right, Tzippi. But things are
so hectic with Menachem running from place to place. We're
going to have to move out of this apartment soon and he
hasn't gotten into a good kollel yet. He can't help
but bring his stresses home with him. I just can't see how it
can be done. I don't know how we can make time. It's not
realistic."
The bus came to a halt, jerking Malka from her reverie.
Here's my stop, she realized. She heaved herself from
the seat and trudged home to face another tension-filled
evening.
*
Shaindy Sacks was pacing the floor. She knew that Mrs.
Lowenstein only got back at night, and that being a single
parent, she worked hard all day, but Shaindy couldn't wait
for her to get home so they could speak.
How could Mrs. Lowenstein have lied to her? she fumed.
She seemed like such a nice lady. And how on earth was
Shaindy going to break the news to her daughter, Naomi.
Yossie Lowenstein was good-natured, bright, and most
importantly, he wanted to learn, which is exactly what Naomi
wanted.
The Prices thought they had got it all, but then that phone
call from the shadchan. "Shaindy," she had said, "I'm
sorry to tell you. I've got some bad news about the boy
— about Yossie Lowenstein."
Shaindy had sat down. "I met one of his classmates today, and
we got to talking about your future son-in-law. It seems
— well, it seems he's not such a great learner after
all. In fact, he's only moderate and will probably go into
business eventually. I know you've agreed on the engagement,
but maybe you should reconsider. After all, I know your Naomi
is set on a talmid chochom ben Torah."
Shaindy had put down the phone with a broken heart. She was
furious. So angry, in fact, that she didn't trust herself to
speak to Mrs. Lowenstein in person. She knew it was a sin to
hurt a widow. But still, that didn't excuse lying. So she had
dealt with the matter in the form of a letter. She had
written to Mrs. Lowenstein, demanding to know why she had
lied. Then, she had sealed the letter, and given it to Malka
Weiss, from her weekly Tehillim group. She lived in the same
building as Mrs. Lowenstein, so Shaindy knew Mrs. Lowenstein
would be receiving the letter tonight, and she was waiting,
pacing the floor, for the inevitable phone call.
*
When Malka arrived home, she turned the key to her apartment.
Menachem was already there. "Hello," he said, trying to be
friendly.
He sounds so tense, thought Malka. Still, I won't
let him see how it upsets me. "Hello, Menachem," she
said, straining the dejection from her voice.
She's angry at me, he berated himself. I'm such a
loser. I can't even provide for my new family. Still, I have
to try. "Good to see you," he said, but it came out as an
attack.
Malka swallowed. "Good to see you, too," she said, but she
herself heard how forced her voice sounded. Tzippi's
right, thought Malka on the verge of tears again. We
need time to sit and talk, to explain our thoughts to one
another. If only someone would lock us in a room with nowhere
else to go. But then Malka remembered her errand.
She put her hand in her purse and brought out the letter
Shaindy Sacks had entrusted to her. "I better go give this
letter to Mrs. Lowenstein downstairs," Malka said. "Shaindy
asked me to deliver it as soon as I could."
"Fine, so go."
"I'll be right back," said Malka sadly, and she closed the
door behind her.
*
It was seven o'clock when Sara Lowenstein returned home.
Exhausted from her full time job as a secretary downtown, she
dragged herself up the two flights of stairs to her
apartment. All she wanted was a hot cup of tea and to close
her eyes. They were so tired from staring at the computer all
day. Oh, if only her Mendel were still alive. How she missed
him. How she hated being alone. Still, she had to go on. For
her son's sake, if not for her own . . .
Mrs. Lowenstein was just pouring herself a cup of tea when
the doorbell rang. Who that could be? she wondered.
She walked to the door, and peeked through the keyhole.
Oh, it's Malka from upstairs. Poor thing. Mrs.
Lowenstein never let on, but sometimes, she could hear Malka
and her husband arguing late at night. Mrs. Lowenstein opened
the door wide.
"Hello, Mrs. Lowenstein," Malka greeted her.
"Hello, dear, how are you?" Sara asked.
"Baruch Hashem," replied Malka dryly. Then she caught
herself. "Uh, this is for you, Mrs. Lowenstein," She handed
the letter to her neighbor and forced a smile.
"Oh, thank you, dear." Mrs. Lowenstein turned the letter over
in her hand. "I see this is from my new machatenester.
Baruch Hashem, my Yossie's found a lovely girl. I'm so
excited about this match. It's the one really positive thing
for me at the moment."
"That's great!" Malka said, more out of politeness than
conviction.
"Have a good night, dear, and thank you for bringing this
over."
"No problem, Mrs. Lowenstein." Malka turned and looked with
not a little drudgery up the stairs at her apartment.
*
At that moment, there was a decree in Heaven! And in a
certain building on 29 First Street, there was a blackout.
"Oh, dear," gasped Malka. "I can't see where I'm going."
"Malka, are you O.K?" Menachem had come out on to the
staircase to check on his wife. He didn't want her to walk up
the stairs alone in the dark. "Follow the light of this
candle, O.K?"
That's really sweet of him, thought Malka, as she
walked inside the apartment.
*
"What's that?" said an alarmed Mrs. Lowenstein. "No lights! I
guess I won't be reading this letter tonight after all. What
a shame. Some bright news from my new in-laws would have been
a welcome end to this day. Oh well, at least let me try to
light a candle and have something to eat."
*
Meanwhile, at the Sacks, the phone rang. Shaindy went to pick
it up. "Shaindy? It's me." That voice again, the
shadchan who had brought the bad news. "I've got some
good news, after all. I hope you haven't called off the
engagement yet because that classmate I met from Yossie's
yeshiva who said he wasn't a good learner, was speaking about
another Yossie, not your new son-in-law to be. Yossie
Lowenstein is all that his mother said he was."
Shaindy first breathed a sigh of relief — and then she
remembered the letter! "What are you saying?" she breathed.
"I've just sent a letter . . . oh never mind. I have to go. I
have to try get hold of Mrs. Lowenstein."
Shaindy put down the phone and dialed as quickly as she
could.
*
"Thank you for the candle, and for coming to get me from the
stairs, Menachem," said Malka, and she meant it.
"Sure, no problem," he said. At least I've done something
right, he thought.
"You know, since we don't have any lights anyway, we could
sit and talk together until we're able to go on with what we
need to do for tomorrow."
"All right," he grunted, and he placed the lit candle on the
table.
Malka put together some leftovers, and brought them to her
husband. "So, what's new?" she asked, and she just managed to
see him smile in the candlelight.
*
In a downstairs apartment, the phone rang. Mrs. Lowenstein
woke up with a start. She had fallen asleep at the kitchen
table; her tea sat cold in its cup.
"Hello," she said into the receiver.
"Sara, it's Shaindy Sacks." Shaindy took a deep breath.
"Listen, about the letter I sent you . . . "
"Oh I'm sorry, Shaindy," interrupted Mrs. Lowenstein. "I
haven't had a chance to read it yet. The strangest thing
happened — a sudden blackout in our area! I guess it's
for the good, although I sure can't see how. What can I say?
I guess Hashem works in strange ways."
