Page 102 - Issue4-November2017_online_opt
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T Chapter 1he lightbulb moment occurred while Molly by Devora Lifschitz
Tumim was sitting on a yoga mat in the lotus
position. bride: Dena Maizels, a slender, green-eyed blonde, who lived in
She loved teaching yoga, but not at the wom- the same Har Nof apartment building two flights up and resem-
en’s gym with its windowless room, air-condi- bled a younger version of Molly. She’d set that up and then she’d
tioning set to freezing, and obnoxious Zumba plan a wedding and the sheva brachos and help them set up their
music seeping in from under the door. Yoga had apartment and then, nine months later, please G-d, she’d start on
never paid the bills. It was a sideline, a project that kept her hap- the best project of all – helping to care for her new grandchild.
py and sane and most importantly distracted her from sources
of stress. The Zumba music stopped. The room was silent and empty.
She opened her eyes and the lump was gone.
Highly functional and highly fortunate families had no at-
risk kids. Others had one, but she had two – Bella, 15, and Ela- Just then the studio director, a 20-something in a paisley
zar, 17, were slipping. She wouldn’t cry, not here. headscarf, walked in. “Sorry, it doesn’t look like anyone is inter-
ested in your class.”
Rabbi Nachman of Breslov said that a joyful heart held bless-
ing. She needed to be happy, but how? She’d thought this job Molly straightened her legs and got up without saying a
would be her project – teaching twice a week at the gym – but word. She wanted to stay in her reverie, imagining Asher and
the class was supposed to have started 10 minutes ago and the Dena and their beautiful babe.
room was still empty.
When she bumped into a matchmaker in the elevator as she
She pressed her finger to her nostril and breathed in deep- rode down to the parking lot, she knew she was on the right
ly – alternate nostril breathing, what would have been her first track. “Thank You, Hashem,” she whispered as soon as she
exercise. Then she shut her eyes tight. Underneath her closed spotted her former neighbor Esther Bernstein.
lids she saw her eldest son Asher, a yeshiva bachur and budding
talmid chacham who had just celebrated his 22nd birthday. Why Esther slipped her cell phone into her bag and said to Molly,
was she in a tizzy over a failed yoga class? She had a much more “Wow! It’s been a long time. You look great.”
pressing job before her, a weighty project. She needed to marry
off her son. Years before, Molly had enjoyed having another American
baalas teshuva down the hall, until Esther had abruptly disap-
He was handsome, intelligent, and well-bred. The match- peared to a remote settlement, divorced, remarried, and began
makers would surely line up, but Molly had already chosen the making matches.
In a just-below-the-knee length white denim skirt, silver
sneakers, and a blonde ponytail wig, Molly was slim and athlet-
ic and barely wrinkled. The years hadn’t been as kind to Esther.
Her sagging face was smeared with makeup, and her wig was
clown-like curly and jet black.
“How’s Asher? He must be getting to that age,” she said.
94 u www.wherewhatwhen.com u
T Chapter 1he lightbulb moment occurred while Molly by Devora Lifschitz
Tumim was sitting on a yoga mat in the lotus
position. bride: Dena Maizels, a slender, green-eyed blonde, who lived in
She loved teaching yoga, but not at the wom- the same Har Nof apartment building two flights up and resem-
en’s gym with its windowless room, air-condi- bled a younger version of Molly. She’d set that up and then she’d
tioning set to freezing, and obnoxious Zumba plan a wedding and the sheva brachos and help them set up their
music seeping in from under the door. Yoga had apartment and then, nine months later, please G-d, she’d start on
never paid the bills. It was a sideline, a project that kept her hap- the best project of all – helping to care for her new grandchild.
py and sane and most importantly distracted her from sources
of stress. The Zumba music stopped. The room was silent and empty.
She opened her eyes and the lump was gone.
Highly functional and highly fortunate families had no at-
risk kids. Others had one, but she had two – Bella, 15, and Ela- Just then the studio director, a 20-something in a paisley
zar, 17, were slipping. She wouldn’t cry, not here. headscarf, walked in. “Sorry, it doesn’t look like anyone is inter-
ested in your class.”
Rabbi Nachman of Breslov said that a joyful heart held bless-
ing. She needed to be happy, but how? She’d thought this job Molly straightened her legs and got up without saying a
would be her project – teaching twice a week at the gym – but word. She wanted to stay in her reverie, imagining Asher and
the class was supposed to have started 10 minutes ago and the Dena and their beautiful babe.
room was still empty.
When she bumped into a matchmaker in the elevator as she
She pressed her finger to her nostril and breathed in deep- rode down to the parking lot, she knew she was on the right
ly – alternate nostril breathing, what would have been her first track. “Thank You, Hashem,” she whispered as soon as she
exercise. Then she shut her eyes tight. Underneath her closed spotted her former neighbor Esther Bernstein.
lids she saw her eldest son Asher, a yeshiva bachur and budding
talmid chacham who had just celebrated his 22nd birthday. Why Esther slipped her cell phone into her bag and said to Molly,
was she in a tizzy over a failed yoga class? She had a much more “Wow! It’s been a long time. You look great.”
pressing job before her, a weighty project. She needed to marry
off her son. Years before, Molly had enjoyed having another American
baalas teshuva down the hall, until Esther had abruptly disap-
He was handsome, intelligent, and well-bred. The match- peared to a remote settlement, divorced, remarried, and began
makers would surely line up, but Molly had already chosen the making matches.
In a just-below-the-knee length white denim skirt, silver
sneakers, and a blonde ponytail wig, Molly was slim and athlet-
ic and barely wrinkled. The years hadn’t been as kind to Esther.
Her sagging face was smeared with makeup, and her wig was
clown-like curly and jet black.
“How’s Asher? He must be getting to that age,” she said.
94 u www.wherewhatwhen.com u
