ina rubbed her hands together as she stared at her blank computer screen. Where to start? She was determined to do this methodically. Okay, first of all, she needed an idea. A knock-their-socks-off story line. Then, of course, that idea needed to be made into a screenplay. And for that, she needed a writer.

Find screenplay writer she typed on the blank document.

And after that — um…

She consulted her list, culled from the web’s finest. Okay, she needed to buy a high-quality camera — some said get the best, others, a mid-priced one will do.

Camera for filming — what kind??

And then, according to the online gurus, she needed to decide what kind of editing program to use. There was the basic Windows Movie Maker, or she could buy special editing software like —

She pressed down on the edge of the keyboard. These words meant nothing to her. Like she knew the first thing about editing a film. She pictured all the naysayers in her acting troupe, those traitors, and her brow darkened. She would prove them wrong. She had to.

She looked once more at her scrawled list of How to Make a Film, and then picked it up and crumpled it in her fist. She was going about this like an amateur. How utterly ridiculous. If she was going to do this, and do it in perfect Rina Levitan style, she needed more expert advice than Google. She needed to speak to someone live, in the field.


They were out there, she knew. Frum women who made films. But the idea of calling up someone out of the blue and begging her, “Teach me what you know” left a sour taste in her mouth. Teach me how to be just like you, that’s what she’d really be saying, and even if someone were to be so magnanimous as to give away her trade secrets to a would-be competitor, Rina did not want to be “just like” anyone; she wanted to be her own unique, creative, powerful self.

She hesitated, then reached for her phone. She needed some heavy-duty validation.

“Is everything okay?” Heshy asked as soon as he picked up.

He hated to be disturbed at work. She’d learned that the hard way, in the beginning of their marriage, when she’d made the mistake of doing the cute little newlywed thing, calling every few hours to see how his day was going. He’d quickly made it clear that phone calls at work were for emergencies only.

Well, didn’t her mental health count for something?

“I need you to tell me I’m not crazy,” she said.

She could practically hear his eyes roll. “You’re not crazy. Can I get back to work?”

“No! I need you to tell me that my film idea is amazing and revolutionary, that it’ll be stupendously successful and change the world and that it’s absolutely worth investing so much time and resources into figuring this thing out. And that I’m totally up to the task.”

Her words came out in a rush, and she waited, holding her breath. (Excerpted from Family First, Issue 597)