Persuaded – Chapter XXXI

Velvel

Velvel came home from davening on Monday morning to a quiet house. The girls were probably sleeping in after their late evening with Yerucham, but at his age, he had a hard time sleeping late. He made himself a coffee and some toast and sat down to relax and scroll through the news on his phone. As he brought up the Yeshiva News feed, he suddenly threw down his phone in a mixture of excitement and consternation. It had just been announced that Rebbetzin Dinnerstein was coming to Lakewood from Eretz Yisrael, accompanied by her daughter Rebbetzin Cooperman, and would be available for consultations and to give brachos!

Oh no!—What should he do?

This was really awkward. Rebbetzin Dinnerstein, nee Elman, was one of Israel’s most prominent rebbetzins, a second cousin to Velvel with even closer connections to their shared ancestor Rav Elimelech Shraga Feivel of Chelminsk. When her husband, Rav Shloima Naftuli Mendel, ztz”l, was niftar some twelve years ago, Velvel’s wife had already been diagnosed, and he was in such a state that he hadn’t had the head to send them any form of condolences or call during the shiva. The omission was not appreciated, and when Dina was niftar a year later, no condolences were forthcoming from Eretz Yisrael.

Now the Rebbetzin was coming to their neighborhood, staying with a well-heeled couple in their forties named Berger, who had finally had a child after receiving a bracha from her. Velvel felt he really ought to right the relationship. The Rebbetzin had a lot of highly placed connections, after all. Maybe she’d have some appropriate shidduch suggestions for Zahava?

Although truth be told, Velvel had mixed feelings about the idea of Zahava getting married. He wasn’t sure how he’d survive if Zahava left his home; he was way too used to her arranging their home and their lives. Maybe Chani could step up to the plate, but he and Chani just didn’t connect in the same way, which was weird, because of all his daughters, she was probably the most like his departed wife. Was it that Chani was just too quiet and unassuming, or too wrapped up in that job of hers? He couldn’t envision her taking charge of the house and the hired help with the same authority and panache.

What to do about the Rebbetzin? Shulamis would know how to handle this tricky situation, he thought. He reached for the phone.

“That does sound a little sticky,” Shulamis concurred. “But I don’t think it’s irreparable. You just have to explain yourself! Why don’t you send her some flowers with a note, and include your phone number? I’m sure she won’t hold a grudge when she learns what you were going through back then.”

“But what should I say? How should I write it?” Velvel asked. “Could you—would you mind doing it for me? You’re the English teacher here.”

He could feel her wincing on the other end at his incompetence, but ultimately she was accommodating. For Shulamis, it really wouldn’t be hard to come up with something, whereas composing even a brief missive would have cost Velvel many torturous hours. “It doesn’t have to be perfect,” Velvel insisted. “English isn’t her first language anyway.”

Shulamis considered this. “Okay, I’ll write it in English, but maybe you want to give it to someone to translate?”

“I’m sure she’s surrounded by people who can do it for her,” Velvel said.

Shulamis obliged promptly, and as it turned out, her gracious prose worked magic! Velvel sent the flowers with her note, and had Shulamis add after the profuse apologies that he just happened to be staying right down the road in Toms River for the moment…here was the phone number, perhaps they could see each other?

The Rebbetzin responded with unexpected interest, and actually deigned to offer to visit them! She would come the following evening, with her daughter. Zahava was excited by the prospect; she loved the prestige of being related to Rebbetzin Dinnerstein and hoped to milk the connection for as much as she could.

Such an honor! Zahava went all out, ordering sushi, fancy pastries from a new French bakery, and a fruit platter. In gratitude to Shulamis for writing the note that broke the ice, Velvel invited her to come over as well with her daughter, who had of course heard of Rebbetzin Dinnerstein and was only too eager to ask her for a bracha for her children and parnassah for her family. Even Yerucham Elman had been invited, as he had run into Velvel on a golf course and Velvel felt obligated to invite him to come meet their mutual relative.

Velvel was a little shocked when the two Israeli women arrived. Of course, he knew they were extremely religious types from Bnei Brak; he’d met with them about 15 years ago on a trip to Israel. But he now saw that the Rebbetzin had grown much chunkier since her husband’s passing, her ankles swollen from her long hours baking kugels and challahs for the sick and needy. Her daughter, by contrast, was thin and pale. The Rebbetzin’s stiff sheitel was covered by a shpitzel, and despite the summer heat she wore a black skirt, black stockings and a white blouse with a navy sweater on top. As he had expected, she wore thick glasses and not a trace of makeup, and while her round face was pleasant enough, her daughter’s long face was decidedly plain.

He had her sit at his place of honor at the dining room table and told Chani to bring them tea, urging them to help themselves to something to eat and reassuring them that everything was kosher l’mehadrin and kemach yashan. They hesitated until Chani jumped up and simply made them plates of food, handing them to the wary guests.

The Rebbetzin was friendly enough, especially given the years-long breach between them, but Mrs. Cooperman remained silent and shy. Velvel and Yerucham managed to carry on a stilted conversation in a combination of their limited Yiddish and Hebrew, with Zahava and Shulamis joining in from time to time, catching up on news of the Israeli branch of the family and asking a few questions about Israeli chareidi politics and life in Bnei Brak.

The evening went well enough, which was a relief because it was only fitting that they should continue spending time with their relative while she was in town. Who else in these parts had a direct blood relationship to her, if not them? The Rebbetzin was royalty, and Velvel considered himself royalty as well.

Shulamis seemed less impressed, and Chani not at all. “She was nice enough, although I expected somewhat more substance from a Rebbetzin of her stature,” was Shulamis’s comment after their distinguished guests had left. “But she is certainly a good connection to have.” Chani was even less adulatory. “I’d rather spend time with people who have more to talk about than the price of chicken in Bnei Brak,” she said with a shrug, and caught Yerucham’s grin from the other side of the table. “You might as well benefit from the connection,” he said.

“I doubt the connection means as much to the Rebbetzin as it does to my family,” she said. She was quite sure that if Rebbetzin Dinnerstein had not once been an Elman and had not married a talmid chacham of note, she would have simply been another Bnei Brak housewife and certainly would never have merited the fawning attentions of her father and sister. After all, Rebbetzin Dinnerstein wasn’t particularly known as a speaker or a leader in her own right.

“Shame on you, Chani,” Velvel said. “Have you absolutely zero kavod haTorah or sense of family?”

He had always found Chani perplexing, even disappointing. Now she was even chutzpahdig. “If you all had a real sense of family, you never would have let your connection lapse for so long,” she retorted before going upstairs to take a shower and go to bed. She was due in Brooklyn the next morning for a work meeting, and wanted a good night’s sleep.

(To be continued)