she asked, and all I could hear was her desire that I wouldn’t.
People were starting to form a line behind Mrs. Pincus, but I couldn’t move from the mezuzah. I wanted to tell her that she wouldn’t even be standing here had my mother not invited her over to our house to answer all her questions about the Schines’ way of life. It had been a cold winter afternoon, and she’d gobbled up half a plate of my mother’s peanut butter cookies with her tea. I eavesdropped on my mother’s gripping retelling of the story of the Schines finding her in the hospital after her appendicitis attack. Now I looked at Mrs. Pincus trying to offer me a smile, and my anger dissolved. She too had made the mistake of idolizing my beautiful and persuasive mother.
“Barbara,” she said gently.
“What?” Was she going to tell me to leave?
She pointed behind her to the line of mourners. I looked at their faces, and their lips, noses, chins, and hats all blurred into one. I didn’t know any of them, but I knew them all. And they knew me. I couldn’t go inside, and I couldn’t kiss the mezuzah. “Excuse me,” I said. “I think I left something in the car.”
I walked down the driveway, blinking away the memory of the last time my feet had touched this asphalt, placing my hands over my ears so I wouldn’t imagine Tzippy’s voice calling after me. I walked faster, faster than I had when I was a girl and my mother and I were running from one of her fogs.
By the time I reached my car and slid into the front seat, I was out of breath. I removed my Jackie O sunglasses and rested myhead on the steering wheel. The driveway couldn’t accommodate two-way traffic, so I had to wait until the stream of cars stopped entering the grounds. Nice going, Barbara, I scolded myself as I sat trapped on the Schines’ front lawn.
The parking attendant noticed me and walked over. “You okay, ma’am?”
I smiled at him weakly. “I’m not feeling well.”
He cocked his head toward the road. “Should slow down any second. I’ll cue you.”
“I appreciate that.”
I glanced up at Tzippy’s window, waiting for her to pull up the shade, run down to the foyer, and walk toward the women’s section, where Mrs. Pincus, my mother, the rebbetzin, and Mrs. Kessler would all be arranged properly in their seats.
The parking attendant knocked on my window and pointed toward the driveway, and I sped away from the mansion like I’d just taken a turn at Ding Dong Ditch. A part of me didn’t want to flee, though. I was like my college roommate who suffered from both kidney disease and heroin-like cravings for the salted fatty meats that could destroy her. The filminess of my dream clung to the dead parts of me, luring me back inside.
6
November 1973 – May 1974
B ecause I lived in constant fear that my mother would get caught with the Shabbos goy, I panicked when I found the rebbetzin waiting for me in Mrs. Kessler’s room the Tuesday before Thanksgiving. Maybe my mom and the Shabbos goy had been reckless and she’d found them together in the mansion. If so, the rebbetzin was here to fire me. She couldn’t have the daughter of such a woman poisoning the community she’d dedicated her life to building, much less working with children. I scanned her face for the lips she pursed when she was disappointed with Tzippy. Her lips looked perfectly relaxed, but that didn’t make me feel any better.
“I’m so glad you’re here, Barbara.” She kissed me on the cheek. “Mrs. Kessler had to take Yossi to the pediatrician, and I’m finishing a meeting upstairs. Can you handle the class alone?”
I let out a breath so big that it parted my bangs. “I’ll be okay.”
The rebbetzin nodded. “Listen to Morah Barbara, children. She’s in charge.”
“Don’t worry.” I wasn’t afraid. This was the one place I felt confident. Nobody was sneering at my long skirts or staring at my pimples. I smiled at the twelve children, but then two of the boys
People were starting to form a line behind Mrs. Pincus, but I couldn’t move from the mezuzah. I wanted to tell her that she wouldn’t even be standing here had my mother not invited her over to our house to answer all her questions about the Schines’ way of life. It had been a cold winter afternoon, and she’d gobbled up half a plate of my mother’s peanut butter cookies with her tea. I eavesdropped on my mother’s gripping retelling of the story of the Schines finding her in the hospital after her appendicitis attack. Now I looked at Mrs. Pincus trying to offer me a smile, and my anger dissolved. She too had made the mistake of idolizing my beautiful and persuasive mother.
“Barbara,” she said gently.
“What?” Was she going to tell me to leave?
She pointed behind her to the line of mourners. I looked at their faces, and their lips, noses, chins, and hats all blurred into one. I didn’t know any of them, but I knew them all. And they knew me. I couldn’t go inside, and I couldn’t kiss the mezuzah. “Excuse me,” I said. “I think I left something in the car.”
I walked down the driveway, blinking away the memory of the last time my feet had touched this asphalt, placing my hands over my ears so I wouldn’t imagine Tzippy’s voice calling after me. I walked faster, faster than I had when I was a girl and my mother and I were running from one of her fogs.
By the time I reached my car and slid into the front seat, I was out of breath. I removed my Jackie O sunglasses and rested myhead on the steering wheel. The driveway couldn’t accommodate two-way traffic, so I had to wait until the stream of cars stopped entering the grounds. Nice going, Barbara, I scolded myself as I sat trapped on the Schines’ front lawn.
The parking attendant noticed me and walked over. “You okay, ma’am?”
I smiled at him weakly. “I’m not feeling well.”
He cocked his head toward the road. “Should slow down any second. I’ll cue you.”
“I appreciate that.”
I glanced up at Tzippy’s window, waiting for her to pull up the shade, run down to the foyer, and walk toward the women’s section, where Mrs. Pincus, my mother, the rebbetzin, and Mrs. Kessler would all be arranged properly in their seats.
The parking attendant knocked on my window and pointed toward the driveway, and I sped away from the mansion like I’d just taken a turn at Ding Dong Ditch. A part of me didn’t want to flee, though. I was like my college roommate who suffered from both kidney disease and heroin-like cravings for the salted fatty meats that could destroy her. The filminess of my dream clung to the dead parts of me, luring me back inside.
6
November 1973 – May 1974
B ecause I lived in constant fear that my mother would get caught with the Shabbos goy, I panicked when I found the rebbetzin waiting for me in Mrs. Kessler’s room the Tuesday before Thanksgiving. Maybe my mom and the Shabbos goy had been reckless and she’d found them together in the mansion. If so, the rebbetzin was here to fire me. She couldn’t have the daughter of such a woman poisoning the community she’d dedicated her life to building, much less working with children. I scanned her face for the lips she pursed when she was disappointed with Tzippy. Her lips looked perfectly relaxed, but that didn’t make me feel any better.
“I’m so glad you’re here, Barbara.” She kissed me on the cheek. “Mrs. Kessler had to take Yossi to the pediatrician, and I’m finishing a meeting upstairs. Can you handle the class alone?”
I let out a breath so big that it parted my bangs. “I’ll be okay.”
The rebbetzin nodded. “Listen to Morah Barbara, children. She’s in charge.”
“Don’t worry.” I wasn’t afraid. This was the one place I felt confident. Nobody was sneering at my long skirts or staring at my pimples. I smiled at the twelve children, but then two of the boys
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