“I’m not going anywhere with Aunt Ita. Not even from the Kiryah to Ramah Beit. She’s an old grouch!”
“This isn’t happening to us,” Shifra says.
She’s resting in bed, wearing her new top, a Yom Tov gift Gedalya urged her to buy. But the blue fabric and the shining pearls aren’t having the desired effect. Simchah is not what she’s feeling.
“This isn’t happening,” she says weakly. From outside the door, she hears the children rumbling around, chattering, arguing. Soon her sister and brother-in-law will be here, they’re coming to spend Shvii shel Pesach with her and the kids. Gedalya’s going to Yerushalayim. She insisted on his going, not wanting him to miss the reenactment of Kri’as Yam Suf at the main beis medrash.
“It is happening to us,” Gedalya says firmly as he opens the closet door. He takes out a shirt, a pair of socks. “This is what Hashem wants, for me to go with Tovi.”
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