She didn’t know if Dovid would resent her interference, good-intentioned as it was, but she dialed anyway
Dovid had been quiet ever since they’d gotten back to Boston. Not that he was ever a chatterbox. It was one of the things that Golda found the most reassuring about him.
She’d grown up in a girls’ home and had raised a mostly boys’ one, and truthfully, both were equally noisy. What girls contributed in squawking and squabbling, the boys made up for in crashing down the stairs, slamming doors, and chewing really loudly. And through it all, Dovid steadied her, an oasis in the chaos of overstimulation.
She’d always found it amusing when people told her she was superwoman. Great kids, eager students, happy home, a chesed organization… it seemed like she did it all. The local paper had once even written a short piece on “Kids, Career, and Kosher Too, Orthodox Women Juggle It All,” and she’d been one of those featured.
And maybe she did. But it was only because Dovid built her, watered her like a plant, infused her with the confidence that she could do or be anything.
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