I’ve stopped thinking about it. They’ll manage. Somehow, something, someone. I don’t know
During recess, we huddled under the heater, letting the warmth thaw our stiff fingers. Chaya Leah said now she understood why they used to collect wood for poor people in the old days in Europe. Gitty said that tzedakah organizations buy heaters for poor families today, too, or help them pay their heating billls in the winter. Tziviah said she’d rather freeze than take tzedakah — too humiliating. Chaya Leah told Tziviah she’d take it soon enough if she had to go through one winter night without heating.
I kept quiet.
Maybe there are girls right here in this class in just that situation, I thought. Girls whose fathers get money from tzedakah funds. And they might feel bad.
“There’s no shame in taking tzedakah, if you need it,” I said loud and clear. Everyone looked at me. They all know that my mother sells cakes and desserts, and my father works at the newspaper office. But they probably don’t know that even two salaries aren’t always enough for a family with kids and a mortgage. I know, because I listen when the grown-ups are talking.
Ima gets annoyed with me when she finds out I’ve been sitting there listening again. “Tovi,” she says, “why don’t you go read a book? Did you finish Mystery at the Big Cliff yet?”
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