Giti

​

I shivered as we walked down the road. My dress, however pretty Michal thought it was on me, provided no resistance to the cold. Michal, wrapped up in her heavy jacket, smirked over at me. I tightened my scarf around my neck and scowled at the ground. It was only about five in the evening, but the sun was already threatening to set. Winter, I decided, was the worst. A small group of lights became visible as we walked over a small hill. And all this time I'd thought we were more completely cut off from the rest of civilization. Interesting. 

 

As we approached the town, I noticed how closely it resembled my own. The hand-painted signs advertising cheap slogans in Yiddish hung in storefront windows and the smell of freshly baked challah indicated the day and time. The town’s people looked it as well, with everyone dressed in their Friday best. I smiled seeing the men with their big black coats and wool hats, reminding me of my father and brothers. I missed them. But these men kept their eyes resolutely trained on the ground, making an active effort not to notice us walking in front of them, careful not to so much as look at us for fear of inviting impure thoughts. I hated myself for being able to do that to a man, to distract him from his studies. If women were created in the image of Hashem, then why were we the harbingers of sin? That thought stung me as I bitterly shook it off. No fire may be kindled on Shabbat, not even the fire of righteous anger. We jostled together as we clumped more tightly so as not to accidentally touch the men on their way to synagogue. The wives and children followed closely behind them, though not too closely. A few pre-bar mitzvah boys trailed anxiously behind their fathers, earlocks whipping around as they turned to look at us. Neither party smiled; rather, we pretended it had never happened. 

 

The shul was cramped, with a whole town plus an additional sixty midreshet girls. Nonetheless, the attention to detail was great. The great wooden doors were intricately carved and small designs were painted on them. Stained glass windows winked from the very top of the outside wall in blue, yellow, and red as light shone through. The main room of the shul smelled somewhat musty and didn't appear to be very well taken care of. The men here who frequented it did not appreciate the space that they had to pray, I noted. It must be the same all over. Married women wearing beautiful hair wraps and dresses that all looked somewhat similar ushered their young sons toward their fathers through the door to the first level of pews, their tiny shoes clacking on the hard floors covered in a thin layer of carpet. The rest of the women, their daughters, and the midreshet girls hurried up the narrow stairs toward the balcony of the shul. I liked this setup better than the one back home, where the women were awkwardly shoved in the back of the shul behind the mechitza, where only giants like Michal would be able to see above the divider. All this because we were a "distraction" to the holy activities of men; like we didn't deserve the same opportunity to be holy, to connect with the divine. 

 

I took my seat, a few seats away from the end of a row. I was in the second row from the front, and I could see the rebbe and cantor quite well from where I was sitting. I became acutely aware of Michal's presence in front of me and to my right when she turned around to grin at me. 

 

"Great seats, yes?" she asked, a smile splitting her face in two. Her cheeks and nose were flushed from the walk in the cold. I noticed, for the first time, that she had a smattering of freckles across the middle of her face. Her eyelashes, long and dark, dipped as she examined my dress. I blushed as her eyes grazed my figure, however concealed it was. 

 

"Shh, pay attention," I said hurriedly, waving my hand towards the ark in front of us. I grabbed the hardcover siddur in front of me and buried my nose in it as the rebbe started the service, muttering the words to every prayer along with him. A sea of black hats bobbed below us as the service went on. We sang songs in exactly the same style as I remembered from home, and I threw myself into the movements so enthusiastically, that I was nearly out of breath by the time the Sh'ma was over. Aleinu, the last prayer in a Kabbalat Shabbat service, seemed to be there before I knew it. The congregation rose in time with one another, each person quietly davening. My eyes seemed unable to stay on the page, flitting up and to the right to land on a girl with wild, thick brown hair pulled into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, a nondescript dark-colored dress that only accentuated the sharp angles of her jaw and shoulders. She had set down the siddur precariously on the half-wall in front of her, covering her tightly closed eyes with her left hand. She bent her knees and bowed, her pink mouth moving as she whispered graces. I hopelessly wondered what she was thinking about. My focus snapped back to the page in front of me as I began to mutter the words printed on the thin paper again. 

​

​

Michal

​

The service was just like any other one I'd ever been to. The rebbe delivered an uninspiring analysis on this week's Parsha and then the cantor led the song service in the same order it was always led in. I knew all the songs, all the prayers by heart, and I'd set my siddur halfway on the wall in front of me. I liked being on a separate level than the men, it was much less hassle than trying to see over a too-tall mechitza from the back of the shul. I guess there was something comforting about doing Kabbalat Shabbat the same way in this new place, but it all just made me think of the times I'd come with my mother and sat uncomfortably by her side, more or less just waiting for it to be over so we could walk back home. One nice new thing, though, was the prospect of having friends for this. I'd had almost no friends in my town back home, and the idea of having a girl from Midreshet Tehillah by my side almost made me look forward to the whole ordeal of services. As we filed out of the shul and back out into the street, I shivered. Giti had taken her scarf back, and I was now thoroughly cold. The sky was completely dark and the lights in all the storefronts were all off. I wrapped my arms around myself and hunched my shoulders over. 

 

At last, we made it back to the campus grounds, the old iron gate squeaking roughly behind us. I rushed down the path, following the girls to the dorms. The brick building stood as a warm oasis in the midst of what seemed to me to be a frozen tundra. I made a beeline for my room, and almost cursed out loud when I realized both Giti and I had forgotten to turn on the light before leaving. The room was, more or less, completely dark. I reached my hands out in front of me, finding a bedpost in the darkness, and the mattress creaked as I sat down on it. The door creaked open as Giti entered, laughing. 

 

"We forgot to turn the light on?" she asked.

 

"No, what do you mean? It's on right now," I said in a voice dripping with sarcasm. She walked over to me with no trouble. Her outline was nothing but a shadow in the doorframe. She sat down on the bed next to me. My bed. I took a shallow breath. This was the closest she'd been to me, voluntarily. "So how did you like services?" I said in a desperate attempt to fill the silence in the room that was choking me. 

​

"It was okay. The rebbe was less impressive than mine back home," she said. I laughed lightly. 

 

"What do you mean, zeeskeit?" 

 

"I did not think his commentary on the Parsha was very relevant. I prefer to think of it the other way. You know the Gersonides commentary?" I shook my head.

 

"Am I supposed to?" I asked. 

 

"No." 

 

"Well, then, tell me. What does the Gersonides commentary say about Chayei Sarah?" I asked. Even in the darkness, I could almost see Giti's eyes start to sparkle. She turned slightly on the bed to face me more fully and started to explain exactly what she meant. Her face, even veiled in shadow, was covered in happiness. 

 

She talked nonstop for what seemed like forever. It wasn't boring, though. She somehow made it all seem interesting, seem relevant and something that everyone could get into. I was in awe of her. But she stopped herself mid-sentence as the realization hit her.

 

"Michal, we're late for dinner," she said, and I listened for sounds of other girls in the dorm building. Nothing. I pursed my lips and widened my eyes. 

 

“We have to run. I'm starving." I stared into her eyes with mock seriousness, and she laughed. 

 

“Yes, come on!" And so, we ran. The skirt of her dress fluttered behind her as her shoes clipped the pavement. I took one stride for every two of hers, smiling at how petite she was. I wanted to go back to the dorm and talk with her for hours, but it would look bad for us to miss the very first Shabbos dinner here, I figured. 

 

We arrived out of breath with red-faced, but just managed to catch up with the last few stragglers entering the dining hall. Sitting, once again, at the end of a table at the back, we ate our food through giggles and shared looks at one another. The other girls did not notice us, probably for lack of caring. Giti kept pointing out the intricately braided breads, noting with pride that she’d braided them herself. The loaves ranged from a simple three-strand to a complex seven strand with curls of dough adorning the top. I smiled at her enthusiasm. 

 

"Will you show me how to do that next week?" I asked. 

 

"I will try. No promises," she said, sticking the tip of her tongue through her teeth. 

 

Just after we'd all recited the Birkat Hamazon, Maya made her presence known from behind us. I jumped, not knowing that she was there. I twisted around in my seat to face her, and her eyes locked onto mine. I looked away, and she began to speak.

 

"I was very impressed with how you conducted yourselves tonight," she said in a shrill voice, holding her head high despite her short stature. "I was expecting," she said, looking at me once more, "worse." I held my gaze steady, not allowing my expression to show any weakness, smiling pleasantly. "You are dismissed," Maya said. I jumped out of my seat as fast as I could, grabbing Giti's hand to pull her along with me.

 

"Hey!" she yelled in protest. 

 

"Come on," I hissed through my teeth, maneuvering through a throng of girls. As soon as we were outside, I let go. 

 

"What?" Giti asked aggravatedly. I leaned against a wall, putting my hands on my head. 

 

"It felt like I was home again in there. The way Maya was looking at me, I mean," I said in a strained voice. Giti leaned up against the wall beside me, coming up to my chin. She looked up at me earnestly. 

 

"Can I help?" she asked. I shook my head vigorously. 

 

"No, I'm okay. I will be okay." I took a shuddering breath in and slid down the wall to sit down on the dirt. Giti stuck out her hand to me.

 

"Get up," she said. I buried my head in my knees. 

 

"No." 

 

"Get up now," she said, waving her hand in my face. I groaned. 

 

"I don't want to." 

 

"And I do not want to grab you by the ear and drag you." I exhaled heavily and grabbed her hand. She pulled, hard. I stood to avoid falling on my face and stumbled a few steps forward. 

 

"You're strong," I said, still grasping her hand. 

 

"I know," she replied. "Come on, we need to go," she said, pulling me along with her as she walked towards the dorms. 

​

~

​

We felt our way into the dark room, and I flopped dramatically down onto a bed. 

 

"That's my bed," Giti said. 

 

"Too bad," I called back. "I'm not moving." Giti let out a frustrated sound. 

 

"Out of all the girls here and I had to be in a room with you?" 

 

"You get to be in a room with me," I said playfully. 

 

"Oy, please," said Giti. 

 

"Please what?" I asked. 

 

"Please move over," she said. "I want to lay down."

 

"I already told you, I'm not getting out of this bed. I'm too far gone," I said. 

 

"I did not ask you to get out, I asked you to move over. I want to lay down and to be honest, I do not care if you're here or not." I obliged, scooting my back against the wall. She laid down on the other side of the bed, her face facing mine. I felt her breath on my cheeks and I smelled her shampoo as her loose hair sprawled across the comforter. 

 

"I think you do care," I whispered. 

 

"I don't," she whispered back. I reached my fingers out towards her face, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She didn't stop me. 

 

"Your hair is soft," I said in a warm undertone. She didn't respond, and I kept my hand behind her ear. Silence prevailed for a few moments. "Have you ever thought about what life will be like when you're married?" I asked. She nodded against my fingers. "Are you ready for a shidduch?" She shook her head. 

​

"Are you?" she asked. I laughed softly.

 

"I never will be."

 

"What do you mean?"

 

"I do not want to have a husband," I admitted quietly, not meeting her eyes. She sat with that admission for a moment. 

 

"Well, that's okay. It is okay to be afraid." The corner of my mouth lifted.

 

"No, Giti, that's not what I mean," I said. Her eyebrows knitted. 

 

"Then what?" 

 

"I mean I don't want to have a husband because I will not love him," I said. 

 

"You'll grow to know him very well, to be very close with him. You do not need to love him before you get married," she said. It sounded like a well-rehearsed line that she's said to herself many times. 

 

"No, Giti, I won't. I won't because I can't because however close we will grow to be he is a man," I burst out. Giti's eyes opened wide, her mouth slightly open. I looked at my fingers, tangled in her hair. She almost pulled away from me, but stopped herself. She closed her mouth and gulped, looking nervous. My face felt hot and my eyes stung with tears that had yet to form. I looked away, wanting to escape the crushing silence in the room. I felt Giti shift on the comforter. I turned my gaze back to her and braced myself for the worst. But, instead of denouncing my name on the spot, she slowly nodded. 

 

“Okay,” she said. I took a shaky breath in.

 

"What, are you serious?" I asked.

 

"Yes," she said, not meeting my gaze. I gaped at her. 

 

"Thank you," I said. "I mean it." She nodded once more. “A sheynem dank.” Thank you very much. She smiled.

 

"I’m going to get kicked out of Hasidism," I said through a smile. 

 

"Perhaps you are.” she said. I laughed quietly, blushing. 

 

“Don’t forget about yourself, you little yeshiva boy wanna-be.” She peered at me over the wire rims of her glasses. 

 

“How could I? We’ll be kicked out together, how about that?” she asked. I could barely see the corners of her mouth turning up in the shadows. 

 

We stayed like that, my hand in her hair and her hand on my wrist, laying in her bed, until the morning.