Persuaded – Chapter XXVI

Chani

Chezky, Mindy, and Chani returned to Brooklyn shaken, glued to their phones for updates. Chani was sure she wouldn’t be able to sleep, but the pure exhaustion of the stress of the day knocked her out quickly.

Hennie and a friend set up a round-the-clock Tehillim chat, and Mindy, never one to miss any action, insisted on driving back and forth to Monmouth Hospital the next day and throughout most of that week during the hours her children were in day camp. Chezky grumbled that as a result they were all getting mighty tired of eating takeout pizza for supper.

“It’s too hot to cook anyway,” Mindy rejoined. It was true that they’d had a spate of early-July weather in the 90s that discouraged everyone from spending too much time out of the AC. “Anyway,” Mindy continued, “I drive your mother in most of the time. Who else could do it? Your father can’t leave the store so easily.”

Chani returned to work, doing her best to stay focused despite her constant preoccupations: Would Lieba recover? Would she continue to date Effi? Where was Effi anyway? No one had seen or heard from him since the accident. It didn’t seem like him to run away; he’d appeared so piteously wracked with guilt at the hospital. Was he in touch with Ralph or Chezky for updates? “I haven’t heard from him,” Chezky replied when she asked.

Another week went by—another tense, subdued Shabbos that Hennie spent in the hospital next to her sister—but finally, they received reassuring news about Lieba! She had opened her eyes and was now awake from time to time, able to sit up, but very weak and in need of hours of sleep. She was woozy and confused, but the doctors said it would take time for her to heal. When she did speak, to their overwhelming relief, she was more or less coherent.

The Moskowitz parents and Hennie shuttled back and forth, and the Hararis had been real angels; one or the other stopped by every day, and Rena continued to generously send packages of her delicious food or make sure one of her sisters or neighbors did. Chaim Haber was also wonderful, making the drive to check on Lieba when the Moskowitzes weren’t able to (“He’s trying to get on my in-laws’ good side so they’ll let Hennie date him,” Mindy whispered to Chani).

“It’s too exhausting for us to make the drive every day,” Mrs. Moskowitz admitted one evening to Chani when she picked up Mindy’s boys from her house. “But we call the doctor every single day and speak to her by phone on the days we can’t come. She can’t talk much yet, but I know it’s good for her just to hear her mother’s voice.”

Even Chani took a day off to drive to Deal to visit, finding Ralph there dropping off more food with his friend Ezra Beyda, and Lieba asleep in her bed. She gave a quick reflexive glance at the monitors. Lieba’s vitals were good, baruch Hashem, and her color was better.

Beyda, a short, slight man with rather wispy reddish-brown hair and glasses, had brought Lieba a small selection of things to read. “I think he’s a bit too optimistic,” Ralph said to Chani. “I think it’s going to be a while before Lieba has enough concentration to be able to read a book.”

Chani privately thought that Lieba had never had much concentration for reading even before she injured her head. “Maybe when she’s a little further along,” she said diplomatically, picking up a couple of the books and leafing through them.

‘Of course!” Beyda responded. “After my kallah passed away, I found myself reading a lot about emunah and bitachon, and it helped me tremendously! I don’t know what I would’ve done if I didn’t have a spiritual perspective to help me deal with the tragedy.”

Ralph nodded. “My sister Frieda, aleha shalom, was a really special girl,” he said. “A real tzadeket. Always helping somebody out, never spoke bad about other people. She was smart, too. She was a reader like Beyda.” His eyes were wistful.

Beyda flushed. “We used to exchange books a lot,” he said. “We learned shmirat halashon every day together, and I gave her a couple of books about hashgacha pratit because I knew she loved those stories.”

Chani asked which books he was reading on emunah and bitachon, and he showed her an English-Hebrew Bais Halevi and a sefer by Rabbi Y.Y. Rubinstein. “These contain original sources,” he said. “But a lot of people like Rabbi Ashear’s books. They’re lighter but the messages are inspiring.”

Chani privately thought it might be a good idea to read some of Beyda’s books herself. She had been feeling increasingly in need of chizuk about her depressing status as an ever-older single. Time was ticking by too fast, and as much as she yearned to find the right guy and have a family of her own, the shadchanim hadn’t come up with anything tempting in ages. What if she never found anyone? Should she try to have faith that Hashem had her shidduch waiting for her at the right time? Or should she just have faith that, whatever the outcome, her situation was perfectly tailored for her soul’s journey through this world, and therefore she should accept it with joy?

Even if it meant remaining single her whole life?

That would be extremely hard to swallow, she knew. Yes, if she never married, she could devote all her time and energy to her work. She could become a star in her profession and do tremendous good in the community. But she yearned for a broader life, for a family of her own.

At any rate, as she now observed Beyda flipping through his books, her social work training kicked in, and it occurred to her that Beyda’s voracious reading had probably been a means of intellectualizing his trauma without having to face any of the tumultuous feelings underneath. She gently suggested he might also want to read some books about grief. “My mother died when I was 16, and I had a very hard time with it,” she said. “I found some good books about dealing with grief and trauma. If you like, I’ll write down the titles for you.”

“Oh,” Beyda said, looking surprised. “Yes, maybe that would be helpful. That never occurred to me.”

“You went through something huge! You probably have huge feelings to process!”

Suddenly Beyda’s eyes became moist, and he put his head in his hands. Chani realized that she’d touched a nerve, but she was glad. “It’s important to grieve,” she said softly, sensing he was embarrassed by this welling up of emotion. “You can’t get beyond it unless you go through it.”

She sat and let him absorb the moment, allowing him to pull himself together. She looked up to notice Ralph looking at her intently. “What you said goes for me too, I think,” he said quietly. “I think in my family we didn’t avoid our emotions, but I’m not sure we’ve figured how to handle them exactly. My mom is still a mess.”

“Maybe she could get help,” Chani said. “There are therapists and support groups for bereaved parents and siblings.”

Beyda lifted his head, apparently about to say something, when suddenly Lieba stirred and opened her eyes. “Lieba, you’re awake!” Chani cried. “How are you feeling?”

Lieba could hardly speak. Her forehead was still bruised, her brown hair fanned prettily across the pillow. “My head hurts,” she whispered.

“Do you want me to help you? Move the pillow? Call the nurse?”

Lieba shook her head ever so slightly. “No thanks. Thanks for coming.” She closed her eyes again.

“Your mother’s going to be here soon,” Ralph told her reassuringly. “I just got a text. She’s coming with Hennie and your father will join them tonight.”

Lieba gave a tiny nod. “I want my mommy,” she muttered drowsily before drifting back to sleep, leaving the others to tiptoe out and wave her a silent goodbye.

To be continued.