“What, they’ll sit with you on a park bench eating falafel, like street kids with no home?”
It was the last Erev Shabbos of the year. Raizele looked at the clock on the living room wall, pleased with her own efficiency. It was only eleven o’clock in the morning, and she’d already finished all the cooking and cleaning. All that was left was to wash the floors, and she had a whole unhurried hour to complete that task before Yanky and the children came home. She couldn’t help but pat herself on the back; her friends and sisters-in-law were always talking about their pressured Fridays, about the mad race up to the last minute and the total disarray until everything finally fell into place at candlelighting time. Raizele never really knew what they were talking about. In her house, the last Shabbos of the year, when everyone else aimed to actually be ready in time, was just like every other Friday. As usual, she had everything perfectly planned and under control.
She filled a pail with soapy water and poured small, bubbly puddles around the house. As she put down the pail, she heard Yanky’s voice at the door: “Hello!”
“You’re early!” she said, slightly dismayed at the interruption.
“Early? It’s twelve o’clock, my usual time on Fridays,” he said in mild surprise.
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