Shabbos Blues

The first week at LATS passed quickly, and before the dorm girls had time to fully settle in, it was Shabbos.

“Kiddush right now in the sitting room,” Menucha Kaplan, the dorm counselor, announced.

The dorm was split into two levels. Each floor contained six bedrooms and one recreational room. The upper floor had a kitchen, where the dorm girls ate breakfast and supper during the week. The lower floor had a sitting room furnished with threadbare couches of various colors. During the week, girls liked to relax there, and now, in honor of Shabbos, a large table had been moved in so that the girls could all eat together.

Mrs. Markowitz, the dorm mother, and her family were the “Shabbos guests.” Her husband, in his assumed role of “Tatty,” made Kiddush and hamotzi for everyone. Listening to Rabbi Markowitz recite Kiddush in his loud, clear voice, brought tears to Shayna’s eyes. And as the Markowitz boys, together with their father, sang a hearty rendition of Azamer BiShvachin, she couldn’t help but compare this meal to the Shabbos meals in her own home. Her father and four brothers would always sing together, with Rabbi Tessler attempting to keep his sons on key. Around the table, the many guests would hum along, the ones who were not yet religious either listening respectfully or trying to follow along. Almost always, baby Leah would interrupt the singing with her own rendition of the Shabbos songs.

Shayna was so completely wrapped up in her thoughts of home that she hardly noticed when a twelfth grader turned to talk to her. “The first Shabbos away from home is always hard,” the veteran dorm girl said softly.

Shayna blinked. Was that meant to be comforting? This girl didn’t have any idea how wonderful the Tesslers’ Shabbosos were. Shayna could almost taste her mother’s delicious lokshen kugel, and if she closed her eyes tightly enough, she could even see her family eating it. The girl was waiting for Shayna to say something, so she muttered, “I guess so,” and lapsed back into silence.

Shayna looked toward the other end of the table. Her roommates, Iris Morciano and Raquel Biton, were engrossed in conversation. They had offered her a seat near them, but she was happy that she hadn’t accepted. All the two girls ever seemed to do was chatter together in Portuguese. At least she had Esty sitting next to her. Shayna turned to her left. “Esty,” she said quietly. Only a sister could truly commiserate with her now. “Esty,” she repeated.

Esty turned to her. “What, Shayna?”

What, indeed? “Can you pass the croutons, please?”

Esty wordlessly handed her the croutons and turned her head the other way, eager to return to her conversation with the girl sitting on the other side of her. Shayna sighed. So much for enjoying her sister’s company. There was no solace to be found there.

Shayna poured some croutons into her bowl of imitation split-pea soup. She pushed away visions of piping hot chicken broth, and lifted a spoonful of the soup to her lips. Shayna grimaced. Somehow she would have to survive this Shabbos.

Shayna glanced at Esty again. She would have to survive - on her own.

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