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Home page -> Targum Authors -> Gebber, Leah -> Dare to Dream
Dare to Dream
An Abrams Family LegacyPublished by Zahav Press
Leah Gebber
Dare to Dream
Enter the turbulent world of Nomi Abrams.
Nomi Abrams had no illusions. She knew that coming from Detroit to study medicine in the quiet English town of Fencely wouldn’t be simple. She knew that juggling her demanding school schedule and trying to be a good wife, mother, and neighbor would be no small feat. But she was determined to make it work.
eYet the challenges and pitfalls that lay ahead turned out to be far more daunting than anything she imagined. There are hostile professors and overly friendly classmates. There’s her critical mother-in-law and friendless daughter. And above all, there are her endless inner doubts.
When Nomi begins mentoring a group of teenage girls, she becomes an easy target for Mrs. Goodman, mother of the troubled Shifra. As things start spiraling out of control, Nomi feels like her dream is quickly slipping away. Will she be able to hold on? And does she even want to?
Dare to Dream, the second book in the stirring Legacy series, is a compelling novel about judging and giving — and having the courage to stand behind your dreams.
Book Excerpt from Dare to Dream
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Dare to Dream:
The newest Jewish novel paperback series from Zahav Press: book 2 of Legacy Jewish novels is a compelling, contemporary tale of judging & giving - as a young mother, wife & medical student struggles to stand behind her dreams.
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Two
It’s not their fault, Nomi said to herself as she stepped out of the cold into the overheated hall. All of these women here — it’s not their fault that I’m jet lagged and exhausted and having a hard time settling in and having a hard time with my own decision, with my own life. It’s not their fault that I’m in a plain ol’ bad mood.
The awkwardness of her smile matched the way she felt in this awful suit. It had been thrust in the cupboard as soon as her mother-in-law had presented it to her, put away to give to a gemach, or for that one occasion when Lena would come for a visit.
Nomi tugged at the bottom of the jacket. The gold buttons of the tailored, double-breasted navy jacket glinted. Why had she worn it? To please Rose? Her mother-in-law? To pass herself off as someone she wasn’t? Was she scared of not fitting in?
Nomi slipped into a seat at the back of the hall. Up in front, a blond-sheiteled woman was gesticulating as she gave step-by-step instructions. “So, the perfect schnitzel has to be soaked in egg white for at least three hours before frying, so that it will be absolutely tender. Some add a teaspoon of cornflour to the egg mixture...”
“Hi there,” whispered Nomi to the woman sitting next to her. “I thought this was a N’shei.”
“It is. But before the rest of the activities start, we’re being treated to a rendition of The Secret of The Perfect Schnitzel. Fun, heh?” She winked.
Nomi warmed to her. “I thought the point of these things is to get away from the kitchen.” “If they insist on talking food, how about giving us some tasters.”
The schnitzel woman was nervous; she was talking too fast. “The wonderful thing about schnitzel is that it takes such a short time to fry — about eight minutes per side, depending on the thickness of the cut. So, have it all ready and breaded in the fridge, and ten minutes before your husband steps in the door, you can pop it in the pot and have a crispy schnitzel on his plate just as you sit down to supper. Serve it with mashed potatoes and boiled peas and carrots.” The woman continued on. Was it the subject matter or the tone of the woman’s voice that grated her nerves raw? Truth be told, they were pretty raw already.
Nomi jumped as the women around her burst into applause. The schnitzel expert blushed modestly and took her place. Another woman approached the dais.
“Thank you very much to Mrs. Fuchterman for her tips and expertise. Fencely’s schnitzels will be the best in England.”
Another polite round of applause.
“Now, some of us have already met the new people in town. To welcome our new friends and break the ice — which can be there even though it’s only September — we’ve planned a good old game of Actionary.”
Nomi turned to her neighbor quizzically.
“This is what they do when they’re trying to be really daring,” she whispered to Nomi. “But I must admit, it’s lots of fun. By the way, I’m Rivky. Rivky Neiman.”
“Nomi Abrams. I just moved into Riverdell Street.”
“Really? So we’re neighbors. I’m at number 47. Let me think...29, you’re in 29, no? Riverdell’s a completely Yiddishe street, and everyone knows everyone. So you took the Hackermans’ house. They moved out only a few weeks ago. They moved to Manchester, but I see that they decided to hold on to the property and just rent it out. A good idea, really. It helps them keep their options open if they decide to come back.”
Nomi nodded, a little taken aback.
“I’ll bet you’re enjoying the kitchen — I went along with Suri Hackerman to the showroom to decide on the colors and the designs. That was pretty bad for my shalom bayis, though. I came home and begged my husband for a beautiful new kitchen and he wasn’t impressed. It was hard, but I just about found it in myself to forgive him.” She gave Nomi another wink. “I really must ask Mrs. Schnitzel about getting the fried oil smell out of sheitels. I’m sure she could give me a few tips.”
There was something about Rivky’s tone that Nomi couldn’t resist. As a blanket of silence descended over the packed hall, Nomi burst out in peals of laughter. When the bubbles of laughter had floated up to the ceiling and slowly dissipated, Nomi suddenly felt fifty pairs of eyes glaring at her. Mrs. N’shei Head clapped her hands for attention.
“Well, we’re glad to see that we’re all getting into the spirit of things.” Her voice had the same jovial tone that it wore in all seasons. “Let’s divide into two groups and start the game.”
Actionary, it seemed, was a version of Pictionary, that quintessential British game played at every women’s melaveh malkah. The groups were divided, and a volunteer was handed a card with a word on it. She mimed the word until the people of the group guessed what it was.
Nomi felt bad for the first volunteer. She was obviously embarrassed strutting round the dais blowing on imaginary bagpipes, and then pretending to sample a l’chaim or two.
“Scotland!” someone called out even before the rendition was over. The performer smiled, sighed, and practically ran off the dais.
The second group’s volunteer went up and began silently shouting at some invisible victim in front of her. The suggestions came flying in from the audience.
“Shouting!”
“Bad temper.”
“Anger.”
The woman shook her head and mimed ever more frantically. A few more suggestions were rejected, and in frustration, the woman ran over to the light switch and banged it on and off.
“Lightning.”
The woman nodded, signaling with her hands for the audience to keep guessing.
“Thunder!”
“That’s right!” she called out, and everyone burst out into applause.
Nomi poked Rivky in the side. “I don’t mean to be cynical, but exactly how old are we all?”
Rivky opened her mouth to respond, but Mrs. N’shei Head got there first. “Now I’m going to call on one of our new faces in town to join in the fun. Nomi Abrams, will you please come up to the dais?”
Scattered applause. Nomi ran up to the dais and gave a mock bow. “Hi there, women of Fencely. I’m glad to be a part of your community.”
Mrs. Nshei Head showed her the card, and Nomi got straight to it.
First she stretched her hands in front of her, and felt something smooth and long in the air. She took the “mirror” and placed it on the side of the room.
“Mirror,” someone called out.
Nomi signaled to them to wait. Nomi swayed her skirt and started to play with her sheitel, twirling it into the latest exaggerated styles. She snatched a lipstick from the air next to her, and began applying it.
“Teenagers!”
“Makeover.”
“Bais Yaakov Ner l’Ragli.”
“Gashmius.”
The women fell silent, staring at Nomi, fascinated by her movements. Nomi took an imaginary iPod and stuck it into her ear, and dialed a number on a cell phone. She walked up and down the dais, laughing and gesturing with her hands.
“Modern.”
“Off the derech.”
“Bum!”
Nomi stopped midstride and let go of her skirt. The strands of her sheitel fell delicately around her face and her cheeks tinged pink. She held her right hand up, waiting for silence. When quiet fell, she lifted her voice and for all the hall to hear, said one word.
“Insecurity.” When Nomi left the hall a little while later, no one wished her good night.