unday passes in a whirlwind of baking with Mommy, dancing around to the tune of “Od Yishama” while teasing Tzippy about shidduchim, and loads of math homework. Simchi cracks us all up with imitations of Mali (his personal assistant at SHIPS), and the something inside of me that has grown restless since moving to Stonesworth is forced back into its cage for a little while. But then Monday arrives with a glare of sunlight and chirping alarm clocks, and honestly, I am excited. I bounce out of bed, humming.

Sari cracks open an eyelid and glares at me reproachfully.

“You are annoying,” she mutters. I throw my oblong pillow at her. “And you, sister dear, are lazy,” I trill, going to wash up. I’m sitting at the breakfast table, spooning granola into a yogurt, when Tzippy comes in. She raises her eyebrows. “No six pancakes with a side of scrambled egg?” she asks, pouring herself a cup of juice. My stomach growls. “Nah, just yogurt. I’m not really that hungry.” My stomach growls again and Sari smirks. “In that case, Tzips, can you pass me the pancakes?”

Tzippy tries not to smile. “Sure, Sari. Syrup or butter?”

Sari bob her head regally. “Syrup would be lovely, thank you.”

“Strawberries, dear?”

“Why yes, how very kin—”

“Okay, okay,” I cut in. “Thank you for that very amusing skit, you’re both hilarious.”

They high-five; I roll my eyes.

“Okay, Mommy, I’m out of here before these clowns continue whatever that was. Love you!”

Mommy blows me a kiss and I’m halfway out the door when she calls me back.

“RaRa, where’s Hadas today?”

I swallow and shift from foot to foot. Mommy’s green eyes flash, she doesn’t say anything.

I stare at the ground. Mommy clears her throat. “Rachel Ahuva, why don’t we go out for a date later?”

I look up. “Kay,” I say weakly.

I blow her another kiss and run out before she can say anything else.


 (Excerpted from Mishpacha Jr., Issue 725)