The day arrived. The day was here. Tikvah wore her favorite argyle sweater, her blue skirt, and her filthy white tights that were torn in the toes and not the knees. She needed tights and new shoes for Rosh HaShannah. The school was off for day one and she had a place to go. She was old enough to pray part of the day and spend the rest of the time in kids' service if they had it. She was fully ten years old now.

Albina put a candle into a piece of iced cake and slipped her class ring over it. The kids at the table Saturday night sung Happy Birthday, and Tikvah made a wish and blew out the candle. Study hall had been a blur after that, but Tikvah had spent half the evening finishing her English and then reading her book on light. The book was consolation. Yes, that was the same words used to describe the Haf Torah. It meant making a sad person feel better. It was a great word.

There were no presents, but Albina promised to help Tikvah buy some tights. Her mother sent her a birthday card and an Amazon gift certificate for fifty dollars. You were supposed to receive gelt for Hanukkah, Tikvah remembered as her seven suite mates and she reached Central Avenue and crossed to catch the Number Twenty bus to White Plains.

The real present was of course seeing her father. How many weeks had it been....It had been months. She tried not to think of the last time she saw him, standing in an archway near the kitchen with his own mother. The state troopers had Tikvah by one arm. She had cried like a proverbial banshee. She was going against her will and she wanted the whole neighborhood to hear. After the trooper shoved her in the smelly unmarked car, she stopped screaming. He was hoarse. Her head hurt. Her throat hurt. She was also very tired. Somewhere between New Square and Brooklyn, she fell asleep. She could have slept for days.

Even now the memory of that exhaustion brought a peculiar kind of pain with it. And Albina was right, it would happen again and maybe be worse. Tikvah pressed her face against the bus' dirty window and watched Central Avenue move through tree lined small buildings turned to offices, to a park, to apartments and finally old houses made into businesses. The bus turned at County Center and went up Tarrytown Road to White Plains across the Bronx River Parkway, under the railroad bridge, and into the garage that served as a kind of common center.

Tikvah's legs felt like water. The day was hot and sticky, like summer gone stale and mouldy. The trees looked tired, and ready to turn to fall colors. September was supposed to be the month with a killing front. Tikvah wondered if the weather in Rockland County was cooler. They eight girls and Albina -- She really was a mora that afternoon -- walked down Lexington Ave. and turned left on Main Street.

The Galleria towered like a huge dinosaur of cream colored granite or concrete. It was an old mall, built long before Tikvah was born. It had steps near the place where cars could drive through a kind of tunnel on the first floor. On those steps stood two bearded men in black suits, white shirts, and no ties. On their heads were grayish fedoras. One man was much younger than the other, young enough to still have acne, including several very pink zits. The other man had a slight pot belly, and a few gray hairs in his wooly, brown beard. His eyes were large and sad looking. They were beautiful eyes.

"Tati!" cried Tikvah who ran and hugged her father. She did not care if this embarrassed her suitemates.

"מזל דיין געבורסטאָג טיקוואַה" he said. "מזל דיין געבורסטאָג טיקוואַה."
"מזל דיין געבורסטאָג טיקוואַה"
"מיר גייען אהיים."
וואָס וועט איר טאָן ווען די פּאָליצייַ קומען?
"זיי וועלן ניט קומען. מיר וועלן דיך באַהאַלטן."
"He's lying," thought Tikvah. "He may be lying to himself. He may even think it's possible. After all, a Rav told him he could drive on Shabbos to get me."

TRANSLATION
"Happy Birthday Tikvah!" he cried. "Let's get out of here."

"We're going to the bank and then to the Container Store," Tikvah tried to explain.

"We're going home," her father insisted.

"What will you do when the police come?" asked Tikvah.

"They won't come. We'll hide you."

"I'm so glad you could come to see your daughter on our outing,"Albina cut in. "We're going to be walking to the Container Store down near The Westchester. We have to hit several banks along the way."

"My car is in the garage."

"Do you want to drive there and join us?" Albina stepped closer to Tikvah. The girl glanced at her briefly. Albina slid her smooth hand over Tikvah's smaller one, and quietly gave it a squeeze.

"I'd like to give my daughter a ride."

"I have to stay with the rest of the girls."

"I understand. Come on Tikvah."

"You don't understand. The Court in Brooklyn says this has to be a supervised visit Mr. Goldberg. Now you can walk with us or meet us."

"וואָס טאָן מיר טאָן איצט?" the young man asked Tikvah's father.

"היט דעם ...  "

"לויפן!"

TRANSLATION
"What are we going to do now?" asked the young man.
"Watch this..." Tikvah's father replied.
"RUN!!!!!!"

Tikvah focused on the ground. In all her dreams of this moment, she did not imagine herself fighting not to move, but there she was.  She remembered leaping the fence six months ago, putting her feet in the chain links and all but vaulting over the top, landing in a rolling fall on the sidewalk, the pain coming from far away, jumping to her feet and racing toward the open car door.

Now she replayed the scene but with her hands twined through the harsh metal links and her father driving away. "צי ניט גיין טאַטעשי!" Tikvah screamed in her mind while her face ached. Slowly she raised her head. Her father and the bochur who had come to protect him from a mora with soft hands and round shoulders cast dark shadows on the sidewalk.

"It's a good day for a walk you know," replied Albina. Tikvah squeezed Albina's hands again. She wondered how she would unfreeze and take a step. She wondered if her leaden legs would obey her, yet they did. Soon all eleven of them were walking through the retail kaleidoscope of Mamaroneck Avenue, crossing the street and making detours at ATM machines and pausing by the Dollar Store and other less expensive emporia. Talking about different food and where to get bargains. The bochur, whose English was poor, was at a loss for words even though Mr. Goldberg, Tikvah's dad happily translated.

Tikvah forgot about her shabby shoes and torn tights. Dad even translated the girls conversations about how to keep ice cream novelties in the pantry, asking how far they had to transport them. "Not very far at all," explained Jupita explained. "We just need the right boxes to put them in."

"מיר נאָר דאַרפֿן די רעכט באָקסעס צו שטעלן זיי אין," Dad told the bochur. "זיי דאַרפֿן אַ וועג צו פירן ייַז קרעם באַרס און סאַנדוויטשיז."

"וואו טאָן זיי באַקומען אייז קרעם?" the bochur asked. "Where do they get ice cream?" Dad translated.

"They serve it in our dining hall," Tikvah replied and then translated. "זיי דינען עס אין אונדזער דיינינג זאַל"

"אַז סאָונדס אַזוי פאַנטאַזיע." "That sounds very fancy," Dad translated.

"The food is decent," Albina explained. "עס איז נישט כשר אָבער עס טייסץ גוט," Tikvah's father turned it back into Yiddish.

The bochur shook his head. Tikvah remembered that the pizza had disappeared Friday night. Now there were hamburgers for those who wanted them and a choice of beans, nuts, and cold cooked grains on the salad bar. The school tried to provide something for absolutely everybody. It didn't care if a Jewish or Moslem kid refused to eat bacon or if a person wanted boxed cookies at every meal.

Tikvah was glad to reach the Wells Fargo bank and withdraw twenty dollars. She also checked her balance narrating to the bochur how to do this in Yiddish. "וווּ איר געלערנט אַז?" the bocher asked. "He wants to know where I learned to use an ATM. "מייַן מוטער געלערנט מיר. My mother taught me," Tikvah explained. Using an ATM unlike swimming would not wash away faith. It was just a convenient way to get money.

They turned down Maple St. and then looped around onto Blookingdale Avenue. The bochur admired the stores. Dad did not. "איז דאָס וואָס איר ווילט?" he asked Tikvah, who thought the question, "Is this what you want?" strange.

"They're just stores," she decided to answer in English. "If they have something I want, I buy it. I like the stores on Mamaroeck Avenue better. I like watching all the people. I can afford what they sell in Walmart." She then translated: "אויב זיי האָבן עפּעס איך ווילן, איך קויפן עס. איך ווי די סטאָרז אויף מאַמאַראָנעקק אַווענוע. איך ווי צו היטן אַלע די מענטשן. איך קען פאַרגינענ זיך וואָס זיי פאַרקויפן אין וואַלמאַרט."

The goal of course was the Container Store. The bochur stared bedazzled and nervous. Tikvah knew this was a women's store, though men could shop for containers, organizers, household gadgets, and even hangers. One girl wanted to buy ten colorful, plastic hangers. Tikvah and Corianne offered to pay for one rectangular container and one fruit bowl respectively. "I need money for shoes," Tikvah mentioned.

"You also need time, which you don't have," sighed Albina. Tikvah's dad translated. He translated allover the store, describing and narrating the wonders of something fairly simple presented in not-so-simple profusion. Meanwhile three other girls each bought one item, and Albina bought an ice cream scoop. She said she would make a printout of who bought what and tape it inside the pantry cupboard. Then Albina explained about how each suite had a pantry for after hours food because there were not vending machines. "The school asks each girl to provide a bottle for soft drinks, but nothing else.That's why we made this trip." Tikvah's dad once again translated.

"If you schedule a trip during an evening, I can give you a tour of our suite. Would you like that?" asked Albina.

Tikvah's dad translated than his face took on an odd expression. "Is this what you want to do the rest of your life?" he asked Albina.

"I don't know what I want to do with the rest of my life. I thought I wanted to earn a PhD."

"In what subject?"

"Philosophy."

"Why?"

"I loved the life of the mind. Hey you're forgetting to translate."

"We all need something more," Tikvah's dad explained.

"I had Orthodox friends in college. It's not for me. I need to earn a living and not be anyone's burden while I figure out my future," she replied. "I have a master's in philsoophy and no holes in my resume. The rest will have to take care of itself. Don't you believe in bitochon."

"Do you?"

"In a fashion. The universe is going to have to take care of the future, while I take care of the present."

"And where does that leave you."

"Responsible for eight children who are starting to become teens. It's like The Prime of Miss Jeanne Brody...have you heard of that."

"I have."

"Then you understand. The Universe is going to have to take care of the future," Albina repeated. They walked back up Bloomingdale Rd., Maple St., and Mamaroneck Ave. carrying their bundles. The air broiled as the sidewalks exhaled. Suri and Nelia complained of the heat. "We can stop at the Dollar store for drinks," Albina offered.

"Dollar store soda sucks!"Suri announced. "We need a translator," Albina reminded Tikvah and her father. Tikvah realized she had spent her birthday between languages, not that that was a bad place to be. She had gone to the Container Store, and they did stop at Walmart on the way back. Tikvah's brown shoes, purchased in May, still fit pretty well and were comfortable. If she bought brown shoe polish and a brush and chamois cloth, she could make them presentable enough with new tights and a reasonably new skirt, shirt, and sweater, that she would look good for Rosh HaShannah. "I'm buying tights with the money mom gave me, and she can't stop me," Tikvah reminded herself.

Still, Tikvah was not prepared to say goodbye to her father. She had to do it. The bochur and Dad walked the girls to the bus and waited until the Number Twenty pulled in. Then Tikvah watched her father drift away as surely as in the what-if scene in an April long ago, except she would see him again. Albina promised to write to the judge and start scheduling supervised visitation weekly if he would make the drive. It might happen.

Tikvah felt her legs ache. She could not remember if it had been an act of will not to break into a run or she had just hung on and hurt because... "The police got me and didn't get my father. They took him to court, but they didn't put him in a car and drive him forty miles against his will. I'm not going through that again..." Tikvah felt a ball of red heat burst behind her eyes. She blinked the hot tears that rushed down her face. Somewhere along the line, Tikvah had learned how to cry without making a sound. Tikvah took the sleeve of her prize sweater and wiped her eyes and nose.

Tikvah forgot to tell Corianne she set an alarm for 5:30am. This time there was no lady on the loudspeaker waking up the girls, and Corianne cursed her roommate out for the early wake up and then she got curious. She looked out the window and said to Tikvah: "It's still dark outside."

"It doesn't matter. I have to be at Singer-Provine at seven am."

"How come..."

"I'm going to shul, synagogue with a bunch of Orthodox kids."

"Good luck, and I'm sorry."'

"It's OK."

Tikvah found some fresh underwear. She remembered to pull her bed together and went looking for tights. She had two pairs. One was torn. The other was brown on the heels and tight through the feet. "Am I growing?" she wondered as she took her toiletry bucket to the bathroom to wash up. Then she dressed in a navy skirt, the white tights, and a pink and navy striped polo shirt and medium blue sweater, because the mornings were cold."

"You're going to need a jacket," the mora, who was really not a mora, Albina advised her when Tikvah knocked on her door for a pass. "Let's get you something out of the pantry," Albina suggested.

"I don't think I have time."

"It's a long walk. You don't have to pray on an empty stomach."

"How do you know."

"I had Orthodox friends. You can have a bit to eat."

The chocolate stripe short bread cookies sat in a corner of the pantry box. There were three left, and Albina gave all three to Tikvah. "Eat these," she said. Tikvah said the mezonas blessing and nibbled on the cookies. She ate them as she walked to Singer-Provine and then licked crumbs from her lips. Despite her sweater and jacket, she was cold. The sky glowed with silvery false dawn. Real dawn, which came half an hour later was blue.

There were seven kids and one adult in the group. Four of the kids were male. Two of them were nearly grown.  The rest were boys who wore kipot and kept to themselves. There were also two nearly grown girls, one of whom wore a leather mini skirt, well not really a mini skirt, just one that came down to her knees.

"Are you wearing comfortable shoes," Dr. Zafran asked Tikvah after she introduced herself. Tikvah wore sneakers. When she got new shoes, they would be comfortable enough to walk in. "Well let's go. Time flies when you're having fun," Dr. Zafran made a lame adult joke.

Tikvah knew enough not to complain. Dr. Zafran and the women knew enough not to move too fast. They walked through endless winding suburban roads, sometimes past apartments, but more often past palatial homes, the kind of homes that did not spring up in New Square because the residents were spiritually rich and materially poor, and besides that land was scarce. "How there could be a shul in such wealthy country and what sort of a shul it would be worried Tikvah.

The synagogue turned out to be built of yellow stucco and nestled among apartments and stores. They had come to White Plains the back way. They had walked an incredible distance through inhabited area, far longer than anyone should walk on Shabbos, but they were here.

The fourth and fifth grade service that Tikvah attended that morning was a disappointment. The kids wanted mostly to play and fool around. Tikvah told herself that she had forgotten that synagogue on Saturday especially for girls in religious school was a social time. Girls in secular school needed to get their religion on the weekends. There was a bit of a prayer service and lesson. Tikvah hogged the questions and answers. She knew them. She was also glad when she got sent upstairs to listen to the parsha and read along. The teacher offered it as an option, and Tikvah grabbed it. She returned with Moshe Rabbinu's speech to the soon-to-stray Israelites resonating inside her as well as Isaiah's words of comfort in the Haf Torah.

"Where were you?" the teacher asked.

"Listening to the Haf Torah," Tikvah answered sure she was in for it and would be back on campus next weekend. "It is one of the comforting readings."

"Yes..." the teacher decided it was OK. The class had a discussion about Israel, played a game outside that was if anything worse than what they played with Ms. Albina and the girls who loved games and then it was time for Kiddush, a big spread that beat Sunday brunch. There was pickled herring that even Corianne would not have eaten, cholent, cookies, fruit, kugel, and soda. It lasted forever. By the time, Dr. Zafran and all of them returned on the long, hot walk back to Kotiah-Yovanovitch, it was well past three pm.

"So how was fourth and fifth grade class?" Dr. Zafran had cluelessly asked as they walked through the endless fat country of Scarsdale and Hartsdale.

"It was OK."

"I'm glad you liked it."

"I didn't really. It's just those kids go to religious school, and this is my only day and...They let kids go up to hear the Torah, but I stayed for the Haf Torah and I don't think I was supposed to..."

"Did you enjoy the Haf Torah?"

This wasn't adult trickery speech.This was just weird. It wasn't something people asked, certainly not religious people.

"Yes, it was the Haf Torah of comfort."

"How do you know?"

"Because Yishaiohu talks about when Messiah will come and we all go back to Israel, and everybody's sins are wiped away, and you don't want to commit more of them."

"Where did you learn that."

"The rabbis back in New Square and I can read Hebrew, English, and Yiddish."

"OK....you know Tikvah, the services are for you to enjoy and get something out of. Everything we enjoy is not material."

"You mean spiritual." This man talked like Corianne.

"Yes. If the fourth and fifth grade class doesn't do it for you, then ask for a pass to come upstairs to the adult service. You can do that. Nobody will yell at you. If anyone has any questions, they can ask me since I'm responsible."

"Thank you Dr. Zafran."

"No problem, Tikvah. If you're willing to walk four miles each way to Synagogue then it's going to work for you. It's my job to see it works for you."

"Back in New Square, nobody talked about praying working for them," thought Tikvah. She was not sure what to make of that.

Tikvah arrived at campus, hot and thirsty. She tapped into Cerni-Al-Sigh and then into her suite. No one was around, but no one could send her to study hall because she was at loose ends. She checked the app on her phone, and found that Albina and the rest of the group was outside Rapinoe-McConolly-Brinker, and she could guess what they were doing. Tikvah decided she was thirsty and drank two glasses of water, grabbed her coffee table book on light and colors, and headed over to Rapinoe-McConolly-Brinker, making sure to keep the cardboard on a string visible along with her Dazzling Dodo D-Card. She had read the verses of comfort, gone to services, and was well inside the law. Alas, her second pair of tights was not torn at the toes on each foot. Tikvah pushed thoughts of Rosh HaShannah out of the way.

Both Marion and Zia knew the drill. Three kids, Faith, an African American girl with pink extensions, and a short, plump thing, were all there with Miella who half watched her lap top and watched the table.

"If you eat the same thing every day, you can get through the line very fast," commented Zia as she and Marion sauntered over to the menu.

"Now is a good time to let her know," Marion thought. "They moved my parents to a new sober home yesterday."

"Is that good news?" Zia asked.

"No, they took away their phones. The new home is very strict."

"Then maybe your parents will get cured."

"My parents are not trying to get cured."

Zia's face dropped. Marion knew the difference between a clueless question and an insult. "They're trying to kill time until their court date, but now we're cut off." Marion felt the beginning of tears again.

"Can they receive mail?" Zia's question was clueless but well intentioned.

"Yeah...I guess I need more paper." Marion blinked back only a few tears. Unlike those who set speed records getting to family table, Marion needed to look at the menu.



LBD Dinner 9/4/20

Main Line
Creamy Chicken Stroganoff  w. Noodles
Meatloaf w. Gravy
Beer Batter Fish
Egg Roll
Maple Glazed Carrots
French Fries
Sauteed Cabbage


Cold Bar
Spinach Salad
Brown Rice Salad
Canned Pears
Fresh Fruit
Assorted Baked Desserts

Specialty Station 1
Burger Bar

Specialty Station 2
Extended plant Protein for Salads

Welcome to the Weekend!


"Well that is different," remarked Marion.

"They announced the change this morning," Zia reminded her.

"I try to tune the announcements out."

"You succeeded admirably."

"Yeah, well it paid off. Don't you think?"

"Maybe."

"What could I do about it. Now I know why those kids came back so fast."

"You think the burgers are any good."

"I'm not into burgers."

"What you going to get."

"I'm checking out that extended plant protein."

Marion was glad the weather was warm enough for a cold salad supper, with buttered bread on the side. She no longer felt much like crying. She'd have to request more printouts or pay for them. It took three days for the mail to reach Florida, and for a few seconds, she imagined inundating her parents.

Miella sat on her bed, laptop open and the suite silent. There were still plenty of openings for off campus activities a week from next Sunday. She could schedule two such activities during a semester. Without even thinking she knew what she wanted. Franxie was in Simeon in Chains and while the show was not recommended for young children, a gaggle of middle schoolers were not young. Tickets were twenty-five dollars and Miella reserved a dozen spots. The school would order the tickets. Miella recommended an early brunch. There would be no need to buy lunch. Mega-Metro cards would take care of the transportation. That ensured that the activity would fill, except it was an off-off Broadway play nobody had heard of. It was not a musical. Miella knew the rest. She also knew real acting took place in creative spaces, and to see Franxie as a paying audience member would feel weird. It would confirm she was outside her old world looking in. Why did that make her so sad!

She made herself think of the boot with the broken heel, making her limp through the gray mixture that passed for three day old snow. She'd limped all the way to her day job, serving interns stitched into no-brand hipster wear or business casual like so many sausages manufactured in the sky scrapers above. Five hours here, twelve there if she was lucky, sitting in the crowded apartment in Queens memorizing lines for a monologue for a tryout.There had been three tryouts that winter, and except for the Pepsi commercial there were no gigs.  She borrowed money from everyone when her hours got cut.

She remembered the job interview at Kotiah-Yovanovitch. She remembered making it to the immunization and police background check. She'd gotten her shots at the New York Department of Health. The background check came out clean. Then a week later, a bit part for a lady on a trapeze came through. There were parties. Miella made a quick trip back to Westchester to pee in a cup. That was humiliating, but she stayed away from everything at the parties. The show closed in June. Miella started temping. She paid back the money and got one part in the chorus over the summer for a show that ran for three openings. She was glad when she could move to Greenburgh in August. She imagined just lying in bed, but she had a suite to get ready, training in health, safety, security, using the app, answering awkward questions.

She hadn't missed the theater when it went away. That was what it felt like. It just "went away." It was gone now. Somehow that was harder. It was fun teaching improv. She'd do it multiple times. Maybe she'd acquire a good reputation and followers. Maybe she could teach kids about real acting and theater. "My muse is not dead," Miella told herself. "He just left me too poor and tired." "And if my muse really is gone..."

Albina opened her lap top to the white noise app she found at lunch, attached a speaker and set the whole contraption near her bedroom door. Extension cords came in easy, and tonight there was a line outside her office. Corianne, Tikvah's roommate had an ugly letter from her father. Rupinder was having cell phone difficulties that Albina managed to fix by jimmying the settings. Jupita wanted to know if it was OK to leave undies out on a chair until morning and whether black undies meant you were a slut.

Albina watched Tikvah get into the queue. That was fine. This would either go or it wouldn't. "Put your phone on speaker," Albina told Tikvah. "Now dial your dad for me." The phone rang. On the fifth ring a male voice answered. He said something in Yiddish and Tikvah asked if they could speak in English.

"It doesn't matter if someone overhears. My....Suite Advisor is in the room and she needs to hear."

More words in Yiddish.....

"Alright," the male voice switched to English. "There was nothing planned, understand," the male voice sounded angry, which Albina expected, but he had not one trace of Yiddish accent, which surprised Albina. "I obey the court orders. What kind of man do you think I am."

"I think you are an honest man tempted by opportunity. Tikvah is now only twenty miles away instead of forty.That makes your daughter easier to reach."

"I don't like what you're implying ma'am."

"You don't have to call me Ma'am. The name is Albina Kael. I'm Albina or Ms. Kael"

"Alright Ms. Kael, I don't like what you are telling me."

"You don't like me telling you that it is easier to have supervised visitation with Tikvah, then it was when she lived with your exwife and inlaws."

"Who would supervise?"

"I would and you can bring a bochur if that's a problem. If you come to Station Parties or to free time in the penthouse, that's the thirteenth floor of our residence hall, you won't need a bochur because there are men around.

"If you meet us in White Plains, you might want to bring a bochur."

"And then what happens?" snarled the voice on the other end.

"More and more supervised visitation. I'll write to the judge and say what a great, compliant record you have."

"And how does this get my daughter out of a goyishe school?"

"It doesn't but it gets her and you together more. You stand less chance of losing her than if you sulk in New Square."

"I don't sulk, Ms. Kael. I learn."

"I believe that. How many languages do you speak fluently Mr. Goldberg?"

"Six," he answered as if he were saying how many quarters he dug out of his pocket.

"Which was your first one or were you raised bilingual."

"Tikvah was raised trilingual. My parents spoke only English."

"So next you'll tell me I'm 'very talented.' You'll say 'You could do anything,' but what I want to do is learn."

"Absolutely, but can you spare some time from your learning to see Tikvah. We'll be in White Plains on Sunday and can meet either at the Westchester, the Container Store if you can find that, or the Galleria."

"What time will you be in White Plains?"

"3:30pm."

"What's easiest for you?"

"The Galleria."

"I guess this is better than nothing."

"Alright, now you are going to resent this..."

"What do you want?"

"I want you not to drive your daughter back to New Square. I know that both of you believe it is the right place, but right now the court does not agree and that means the State Trooper's or Rockland Sherriff's Patrol will bring Tikvah back to this school and possibly to Brooklyn. You may lose all chance of visitation."

"Do you think I would do such a thing, Ms.Kael?"

"Yes...you did it before."

"I learned my lesson."

"You need to be an adult in this situation."

"Which means..."

"Don't repeat a failed behavior."

"I see. So it's Sunday  at 3:30pm in front of the Container Store in White Plains, and be punctual."

"Yes...may I speak with my daughter without the speaker?"

"Of course."

Tikvah and her father spoke for five minutes in Yiddish. When the phone call was over, Tikvah walked out smiling.