She came to her one wintry Friday evening, and after her coming, Mirel was never the same. Mirel had been raised to live in the present - or better yet, in the future; to weigh her every action and thought in light of its effect on her reward in the World to Come. But when her young daughter-in-law, Leah, appealed to her for help, Mirel was forced back to pathways of the heart she had vowed never again to cross.

"You must help me, Shviger!" pleaded Leah tearfully. "I've asked him, I've begged him, but he refuses! He insists that he can't!"

Leah nervously fingered the pages of the worn prayer book resting on the gleaming, transparent plastic protecting Mirel's best embroidered tablecloth. The candles burning in the ornate, silver candelabra cast a warm glow on the girl's long-sleeved, high-necked dress of blue polyester crepe. In her white lace collar and cuffs, Leah appeared no more than a schoolgirl. But although her blond wig was youthfully styled, it proclaimed her true status to anyone familiar with the lifestyle of Orthodox Jews. Leah was a married woman, and try as she might to recreate the way she had so recently worn her own hair, it was impossible to disguise the wig's innate lifelessness.

But there was nothing lifeless about her flashing eyes or the intensity of her voice. "Talk to him. You're his mother. He has to listen to you."

"Listen to me when he didn't listen to you? Why should he, Leah? What is so important that you left little Brachaleh with a babysitter for the first time and came to talk to me?" asked Mirel in the hushed tones that had lingered in her voice since she'd pronounced the blessing over the Sabbath candles. "You know I prefer not to come between you and Tzvi. You call me 'Shviger' and although some cringe at the word, I don't mind because that's what I am, your shviger, your mother-in-law. But to tell you the truth, Leah, I'm surprised that you want me to act like one."

"Then don't! Act like a mother for me! Help me as if you were my own mother. Take my side for a change."

"What in the world are you talking about, Leah?"

The girl knit her brow and seemed to be gathering her thoughts, arranging her words.

"It's no secret that I just finished writing my life story as a gift to my baby daughter, is it?"

"Of course not. That's all you've talked about these past few months."

"You sound disapproving."

"Well...not exactly disapproving, but…now that you've mentioned it, the truth is, neither I nor your shver understand why you felt compelled to spend so much time writing your autobiography, especially as you can't ever consider publishing it."

Leah blanched, and then her eyes narrowed. "Does everything I do have to make money? I...I wrote it for Brachah. When she grows up, she deserves to know about my life and about why I became religious. It's not as if she'll have loving grandparents on my side to fill her in on the little family details that give a child a sense of who she is, a sense of security."

Brachah. Tzvi's infant daughter had been named in honor of a martyr, their friend Baruch. Who but Leah could have dreamt up such a nontraditional idea? The fact that Brachah had been named for a boy was difficult enough to swallow, but that was the least of Mirel's misgivings. To name a child for someone who died so tragically and so young - not to mention someone other than a blood relative or a revered Torah sage - seemed to Mirel to be playing with fire. By their boldness, Tzvi and Leah had instantly set little Brachaleh apart from the rest of the family. Yet now, her mother worried that the child would not grow up with a strong sense of belonging. Should Mirel express her feelings? She thought not. Leah seemed genuinely agitated. It would be more kindly to respond to her concerns and leave discussions of family traditions - and what one risked by ignoring them - for another time.

"What makes you so sure that your book will give Brachah a deeper sense of security? Maybe it will have the opposite effect, making her feel different…inferior to those around her. Maybe it will destroy any sense of who she really is," ventured Mirel gently, hiding her annoyance at Leah's break with family tradition in naming her child.

But Leah didn't seem to have heard a word Mirel had said. "It was my responsibility to write my story for Brachaleh. It wasn't easy, but I kept at it, and now it's done. But when I asked Tzvi to do the same, he refused."

"Tzvi's not a writer, Leah. He never was."

"I told him I'd help him with the actual writing. All I want is for him to relate his family history, so I can set it down for our child, but he refuses. Am I asking too much?"

Goosebumps ran up Mirel's arms and neck. What did Leah want from her? Was this the generation gap everyone talked about? No, Leah wasn't so much older than Mirel's own daughter Tzippy, and Tzippy would never dream of getting involved in such unnecessary conflicts with her husband's mother.

"Perhaps you are asking too much, Leah."

"Why do you say that, Shviger? When Brachah grows up, I don't want her to feel closer to me than to Tzvi, but he refuses to help me. He brushes me aside, he..." She swiped at an escaping tear and bit her lower lip. "You think I'm foolish, just as Tzvi does, right?"

"Leah! What have I done to make you say that?"

"You just sit there, listening as if I were an overwrought child. But this is very important to me. You can't know how important!"

"Leah, I'm confused. You just said you want Tzvi to write his autobiography because it's important to you. Yet before, you claimed it was for Brachah's sake. Is it really? She's only three months old, Leah. It will be years before she'll be interested in her parents' backgrounds. And she'll have us, her grandparents, and Tzvi's brothers and sisters to fill her in on all the family history you seem to feel is so vital. So why this urgency?"

With a pained expression, Leah gazed into the light of eleven dancing flames, the Sabbath candles Mirel had just blessed. She suspected that their searing heat was somehow singeing the girl's heart as she struggled to make herself understood.

"How can I make you see?" cried Leah. "You...you're so secure, so sure of who you are and what you stand for. You'll...you'll never know how it feels to be a baalas teshuvah!"

"Leah!"

"It's true! You people organize special schools for those of us who are newly religious, and you run outreach groups to help integrate us into the fold. But despite all the fanfare, deep down…I…I still feel like an outsider. Even after five years of living as an Orthodox Jew, even after being showered with love and concern by the Webers and the Hirsches and all my classmates, I...I feel like I don't belong, and...and I'm determined that my child not endure the pain that still makes me cry."

"And...and by knowing Tzvi's life story, little Brachah will be spared this terrible hurt you feel?"

Leah nodded.

Nothing Mirel could say would change poor Leah's mind. Best to humor her and hope that she'd soon settle down and forget this obsession.

"Leah dear, perhaps in time Tzvi will..."

Leah tore her gaze from die candles and faced her mother-in-law. "No," she said sadly. "He told me he doesn't see why I dwell on the past instead of living for today and tomorrow. But I have to know! Don't you see? I have to know!"

"Know what?" demanded Mirel. "What is it you're searching for, Leah?"

"The truth! I need to belong to your family, to feel truly part of Tzvi's life."

"So it's not for Brachah at all that you insist on Tzvi's writing his life story, is it? Perhaps you wrote yours more for yourself than for your child, too," suggested Mirel.

Leah sprang from the plushly cushioned dining room chair and stood opposite her mother-in-law.

"Shviger, you'll never understand the darkness that fills my heart. You'll never experience the pain that washes over me. Perhaps you're right. Perhaps I wrote the story of my search for truth more for myself than for my daughter. Perhaps I want Tzvi to write his story so that I, too, can finally find a measure of peace. Is that a sin?"

"Of course not. Sit down, Leahleh, and try to calm yourself."

Reluctantly, Mirel's daughter-in-law sank back into her chair as though the weight of the world rested on her narrow shoulders.

"Now let's discuss this logically. I'm sure Tzvi told you about himself before you became engaged, and I bet Aunt Nellie filled you in on whatever he might have left out. Am I right?"

Leah smiled.

Mirel began to relax. She would defuse Leah's outburst as she had defused similar scenes over the years with her own children.

"And most probably, since your wedding, Tzvi has shared more missing details in bits and pieces. Right?"

But this time, instead of smiling, the distraught young woman cradled her head in her hands and nodded mutely.

Mirel tensed. Something much deeper was bothering the poor child, but her mother-in-law struggled to retain the reassuring note in her voice.

"See, Leah? You admit it yourself. Tzvi has shared his story with you. He isn't keeping secrets."

"But he only outlined everything. He only sketched his life in broad strokes. What I want, what I need, is more like an elaborate oil painting with rich shades, warm tones, striking contrasts, and subtle highlights."

Mirel's spontaneous laughter filled the room. "Leah, you surely have a way with words! No wonder Tzvi shied away from doing any writing. Who would compete with you?"

"Shviger!"

Mirel smiled, and so did Leah. The tenseness of the moment passed, and the two sat quietly in the reflected warmth of the Sabbath candles. The aroma of simmering chicken soup wafting in from the kitchen comforted Mirel as silence filled the dining room.

Several minutes ticked by while Mirel frantically searched for a safe topic. Watching her daughter-in-law, she wondered if Leah, too, was groping for some way to return to the superficial banter that had been the sum total of their conversations until that night. Then, from behind the door that separated the dining room and the kitchen, came the muffled sounds of girls chanting the Sabbath evening prayers.

"Boee v'shalom ateres baalah..."

"The girls will soon be finished davening and then your shver and the boys will be back from shul," Mirel reminded her guest.

Leah glanced at the wall clock and caught her breath. "I didn't realize how late it's gotten! I promised my babysitter she'd be home in time for Kiddush. Her father doesn't like to be kept waiting, so I'll soon have to leave. And...and here I am, no closer to making my point than when I walked out my front door. I feel like such a failure! When I came over this evening, I was so sure I'd convince you to talk to Tzvi for me."

"Leah, what can I say to him that you haven't already said?"

"I...I don't know."

"So how can I help you?"

Forgetting herself, Leah clutched her mother-in-law's arm. "Do you really want to know what you can do?"

Mirel stroked Leah's hand until it rested calmly on her arm. Gazing at her daughter-in-law, she hoped the girl sensed the kindness and love Mirel felt for her.

"Of course, Leah. What do you want of me?"

Leah inhaled deeply, as if girding herself for battle, and her eyes challenged Mirel's. "You write Tzvi's story for me. You know him better than anyone. You gave him life, you remember his babyhood and boyhood. Write me his story so I'll finally know."

Mirel trembled. Her hand recoiled from Leah's, and the woman's fingers turned to ice. "So you'll know what? What is it you need to know? Aren't you happy? Don't you lead a full life? Aren't you blessed with a devoted husband and a lovely child? What more do you need?"

"I need to know the truth!" Leah cried in anguish.

"What truth?"

"Why Tzvi consented to marry me," the girl whispered hoarsely.

Mirrel hugged herself to stop the shivering that had suddenly overtaken her. "But…but you know how he came to meet you, Leah, how Aunt Nellie thought to propose the match. Everyone knows what happened. It's...it's no mystery."

"You're right, Shviger. What everyone knows, I know, too. But why did you and my shver consent? Why did you give our engagement your blessing?"

"Leah!"

"I'm serious! As I wrote my story, as I reviewed and relived my life, I realized for the first time how strange a choice I must have seemed to you and your family. Why did you allow Tzvi to marry me, a baalas teshuvah?"

"Leah, don't be absurd! Everyone knew about the terrible tragedy, everyone sympathized...and anyway, you're a wonderful wife to Tzvi. Do you doubt that I love and accept you as my daughter-in-law?"

"No, I know you're happy with me. But…but what if the tragedy hadn't happened? What if a shadchan had called and said, 'Listen, Mrs. Avner, I know a very nice girl, a perfect match for your son, Tzvi. But I want you to know that she wasn't born or raised religious. She became Orthodox when she was fifteen. She was mixed up in an international kidnapping scandal. And not only are her parents irreligious, they're anti-religious. In fact, her father is the infamous Jeffrey Schonfeld.' What would you have answered?"

"Leah -"

"No...please don't stop me. I'll tell you what you would have said. You'd have told the shadchan how much you admire baalei teshuvah. You'd have mentioned that some of your best friends weren't always Orthodox. But then, either you would have said that you were in the middle of a shidduch for Tzvi and you'd get back to the shadchan if nothing came of it, or you'd have told the truth."

"The truth?"

"Yes! The truth that no one in your family has ever married beneath him; that you come from a long line of devout Jews, among them famous rabbis; and that your family is too exclusive to admit a newcomer to the fold."

"But Leah, you know we gave our blessings to your marriage. Why, your shver and I brought you here to America and paid for the entire wedding. We bought you a diamond ring, a solid-gold watch and pearls. I even went shopping with you for clothing and chose the best wigmaker for your shaitlach. Now that more than a year has gone by, why do you still question our love?"

"That's just it! Don't you see? This past year has been so hectic that until now I haven't had a chance to think properly. First there was the engagement, then the move from Israel to America, then the wedding, and finally Brachaleh's birth. And...and...I was so happy, so pleased to be part of your family, that I blocked the question out of my mind. I so wanted to believe in the miracle of being fully accepted that…that I did."

"Good! I'm so happy to hear that, Leah. See? The rest is all just -"

"No, it isn't! Now that Brachaleh is three months old...now that I've spent so many weeks putting the story of my life on paper, so many weeks thinking things through, the very facts you're recalling to try and calm me — your blessing our engagement, your showering me with gifts — disturb me. I need to understand why you acted so out of character.

"So if Tzvi won't share his past with me, you must. How can I build my life with him on anything less than the truth?"

Leah's mother-in-law felt like slapping the girl. Mirel had spent her entire married life trying to heal her own childhood hurts, to conceal adversity, to weave a fabric of happiness for her children, even when the threads at hand were nothing more than illusion. And now Leah insisted on ripping apart that lovingly woven tapestry.

"And what if 'the truth' causes pain?" Mirel cried.

"I'm sorry, but it can't be helped! I've suffered, I've made tremendous sacrifices for the sake of truth! I gave up my parents and a very comfortable life because I wanted to live a life of truth! Doesn't my pain count?"

Mirel laughed inwardly. Like most youngsters, Leah thought she had a monopoly on pain, a monopoly on feelings. If only she knew... Eventually she would, of course. But until then, Mirel reasoned, better to agree with her and end this disturbing conversation.

"Of course your pain counts, Leah. Listen, I hear the men coming home from shul already. It's Shabbos — we shouldn't be so serious, so sad. We'll talk of this another time. I'm not hiding any deep, dark secrets, believe me. Please, take me...take us as we are, Leahleh. Don't look for trouble."

"Trouble? I'm looking for peace of mind, for understanding!" Pushing herself away from the table, Leah stood and faced her mother-in-law, who had also risen. "Don't force me to look to others for the answers I need. Please! I...I can't rest until I know!"

Mirel reached out to her trembling daughter-in-law and pulled her close. Leah buried her face in the shoulder straps of Mirel's white, satin Sabbath apron, and the older woman's arm instinctively encircled the girl's slim waist. They paused in the glow cast by the Sabbath candies, each imprisoned by her own thoughts. For a moment, their hearts beat together…but only for a moment. Then their reverie was shattered by the swish of the kitchen door as it swung open, heralding the arrival of Mirel's husband and their three young sons.

"Gut Shabbos! Gut Shabbos!" intoned Mirel's husband in his special Sabbath voice.

"Gut Shabbos," chorused the boys as they took their places around the dining room table.

Stepping cautiously, Mirel's three daughters followed the men into the room, aware that they had intruded on a private interlude between their mother and sister-in-law. Mirel smiled at them reassuringly, and then they, too, seated themselves around the table.

Leah blinked rapidly and displayed a cheerful countenance to her husband's family. Mirel hoped the girl hadn't mistaken her embrace for a promise. She also hoped, seeing Leah's smile, that merely voicing her inner turmoil had left her more hopeful of true understanding, of genuine acceptance.

Leah faced her mother-in-law and attempted a warm smile. "Enjoy your Shabbos meal. Gut Shabbos, Shver. Gut Shabbos, kids. I'm so late I bet my babysitter will never come again!"

"So you'll call us instead," offered Frummie.

Mirel's husband nodded approvingly at his daughter's suggestion before addressing his son's wife. "Don't worry, Leah," he soothed, "I'm sure Tzvi already came home from shul and sent the sitter back in time to hear her father's Kiddush. If you don't mind, tell him the Goldbergs are making a shalom zachor tonight. We'll meet him there after we finish eating."

"How nice! Mazel tov! Of course I'll tell him. But…but tell me, who are the Goldbergs?"

"Oh, old friends of ours from Crown Heights. Tzvi will remember. It's their first boy after five girls, so you can imagine their joy. Everyone's going to their house tonight to help them celebrate," explained Leah's father-in-law.

Mirel watched Leah's face turn death white. What had her husband said to hurt the poor girl? All he had done was give her an innocent message for Tzvi.

"Leah, are you feeling all right?" asked Mirel with concern.

"Yes...yes, of course. I'm fine. The Goldbergs. Friends of yours...from Crown Heights." She pecked Mirel on the cheek and lamely waved to the family. "Gut Shabbos!"

"Kiss little Brachaleh for me!"

"Regards to Tzvi," they called after her.

Mirel served the Shabbos meal mechanically, only half-aware of the traditional zemiros being sung and barely cognizant of her husband expounding the Torah portion to be read in the synagogue the next day. Leah was such a sensitive child! In the future, would Mirel have to watch her every word and gesture in order not to offend her? And why should she be the one who always had to be on guard? Was life a one-way street?

Mirel realized she had a problem on her hands. Their disturbing conversation had stirred memories and thoughts that lay buried beneath layers of regret. Would she be able to convince her daughter-in-law to abandon her probing? Could she persuade Leah that her search for truth posed a greater threat to her happiness than her not knowing?

So many questions, doubts, and worries whirled about in Mirel's head that she didn't even notice that the Friday night meal was more hurried than usual as her husband and sons rushed off to help the Goldbergs welcome their long-awaited newborn son. And when Mirel's three daughters, exhausted from a busy week filled with schoolwork, homework, and housework, pecked her on the cheek and retired to their rooms, Mirel absentmindedly bade them goodnight, uncharacteristically forgetting to remind them to say their bedtime prayers.

The table was cleared, and the dishes were neatly stacked in the sink for washing after the Sabbath was over. A timer had extinguished the baroque, crystal chandelier. At last, sitting at the foot of the long dining room table in the flickering light of the dying Sabbath candles, Mirel could think.

Hers was not a generation comfortable with introspection and arm-chair psychology. So now that Leah was demanding to know, to examine her in-laws' motives, to understand exactly what had led them to accept her as their daughter-in-law, Mirel trembled with apprehension.

But Leah was a determined young woman. If Mirel wouldn't satisfy her hunger to know, she might turn to others. Mirel shuddered at the thought. Tzvi's life was so interwoven with her own; he was her oldest child, her oldest son, a reflection of her successes and failures.

Oh Leah, she thought in anguish, how will I survive the reliving of it? I've carefully built up so many layers of protective scar tissue over all the old hurts. Don't force me to rip open my wounds!

Nine of the candles had already burnt out, leaving only two tiny, flickering flames. As Mirel gazed at the pair of valiant little survivors, hot tears coursed down her still-smooth cheeks.

Suddenly, she was overcome by a strange feeling. She had lived this moment before. Mirel could hardly breathe. Once again, she was a girl of ten, sitting before two dying Sabbath candles, tears streaming down her tender cheeks.

And then, there was no holding back the remembering.

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