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The large crowd of girls in the hallway kept growing as the seniors inched their way closer to read the posted sign with the senior jobs. We had all been waiting for years and couldn’t wait to finally see what our senior jobs would be. Secretly I had been hoping to be one of the chesed heads, which was considered to be one of the “best jobs” for the “best girls.” After all, I had worked very hard throughout my high school years maintaining excellent grades, and staying friendly with all my classmates.
There was a snowdrift on our dining room table. Well, more like a huge stack of shirts, still crisp and clean in their crackling plastic wrapping. “C’mon boys! Come get your Yom Tov shirts.” It always amazes me how the dining room can change so drastically from one second to the next. From a peaceful, quiet kind of room, it suddenly fills with yells and laughs as my brothers — all seven of them — bowl down the stairs to claim their Yom Tov offerings: two new shirts and two pairs of black pants.
The bus ride was bumpy. Normally, Sheva’s stomach would have been turning and all of her energies would be invested in staving off the car sickness. Today though, her energies were concentrated elsewhere. Biting a nail, Sheva turned to look out of the window. She didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to remember the scene that she’d been privy to less than half an hour ago. But the images came to her unbidden.