“It sounds like school is going great!” Mom said, during our call the next weekend. “I’m so pleased to hear it!”
I’d managed to avoid talking to them the week before, but this week Mom had adopted the strategy of calling every fifteen minutes until I picked up. She was relentless.
“It’s fine,” I said. “I’d still rather be home.” I told her about classes and joining clubs but not about making friends. I wasn’t about to make this easy for them.
“Well, you can come home for the holidays. We’ll pay for the bus.” Rosh Hashanah was my favorite holiday—we celebrated at my house, where my mom made brisket and kugel and tsimmes and my aunt baked apple cakes with honey to ensure a sweet new year for everyone. We’d go to services in the morning and then my sister and I would help my mother set up the big buffet table so everyone could pile food onto the fancy paper plates my dad insisted on (“Silver and gold is festive!” he’d say, when we complained the plates were tacky). We’d stuff ourselves the first day and do it all again with the leftovers on the second, and my grandmother would always stay until after everyone else left so she and my mom had time to gossip.
But this year wouldn’t be the same. The temple renovation wasn’t done yet, and the shared temple was too full to let us in for the holiday, so services would be held at a Unitarian church that had volunteered its space, which I found both lovely and depressing. I’d only just started getting the nightmares under control, and as badly as I wanted to go home, I worried that going to a church for the High Holidays would send me into panic mode.
“They’re having services here,” I said. “A dinner, too. With brisket.”
“Not as good as mine,” Mom said. “I trust you plan to fast for Yom Kippur as well.” She didn’t even pretend it was a question. “Is the school closed?”
“It’s not closed, but I don’t have to go to class. And yes, I’m fasting.” I was skipping services, but I had no intention of telling her that.
Skipping meetings with Chloe was not optional, as I soon discovered. We didn’t have long to campaign; the election was in mid-October, and it was already three weeks into September. Our first mission, Chloe informed Hunter and me at our initial strategy session, was to get on the ballot. It wouldn’t be difficult, given that we only needed twenty-five classmates’ signatures, but they were due the following week, so we had to get started. Hunter had it easier than I did; between his popularity in our shared classes and his access to the entire soccer team he’d practically be done.
I, on the other hand, would have to work a little harder. We tag-teamed our classmates, at Chloe’s direction—“We want people thinking of you two as a set so you both win,” she told us—but we still needed a dozen signatures apiece. “Go hit up your Hillel people,” she said. “And do more than just get them to sign—find out what they want. You’re looking to represent them, after all.”
She had a point, though I wasn’t excited at the idea of talking to the whole group. Attendance hadn’t dropped off at all in the first few weeks, to my surprise, but I hadn’t done any better at getting to know people. Now was my chance.
At that Friday’s dinner, I tapped on my water glass to get the group’s attention before services started. There were about fifteen of us arranged around a long makeshift dining room table in the back of the chapel; we’d finished our usual dinner of roast chicken, potatoes, and challah. The room went quiet. “Um, hi, everyone, my name’s Amina, and I’m running for student council as a first-year rep.” There was a little whispering as a couple of girls I knew to be third years resumed their conversation quietly, uninterested in newbie politics. I powered ahead anyway. “I was hoping some of the first years might be willing to sign my petition to get on the ballot. I can come find you later if you don’t want to write on Shabbat.” Some giggling now; this wasn’t a very observant group. “And also, if there’s anything you want me to know, you know, about what you’d want. If I won.” It felt presumptuous to even say it.
The silence was palpable now, which was unusual for this crowd, at least so far; I was usually the quietest person here. But then, as if the silence had just been a dam for all the water gathering behind it, there was a flood of everyone talking at once. I couldn’t hear anything other than the occasional word breaking through—“church,” “kosher,” “unfair.” This had been a terrible idea.
“QUIET!” A voice broke through the cacophony. I saw a girl stand up at the other end of the table, someone who’d been at the previous two dinners, though I’d never spoken to her. “One at a time, okay? It’s obvious you all have a lot to say, so give Amina a chance to hear you.”
I gave the girl a grateful smile and listened to the more orderly list of demands that followed. There was little consensus: some of the kids wanted a dedicated synagogue space that wasn’t part of the chapel, complete with security, while others didn’t care; some wanted kosher meals offered in the dining hall, while others argued there was plenty to eat if you went pescatarian or just ate kosher-style, and there were so few of us it wasn’t worth fighting. The only thing everyone seemed to agree on was how unfair it was that we had extended breaks for Christmas and Easter but no days off for the High Holidays and Passover, and it didn’t seem to be a good time to point out that we were excused from classes and Christmas was a national holiday anyway.
But everyone seemed thankful to have had a chance to speak, and I was thrilled that I’d made it through the evening without passing out. It felt good to listen, to express genuine concern for what people wanted and to feel like maybe there was something I could do to help, even if in this case I might not accomplish much. I couldn’t have done it without the girl who’d stood up and yelled at everyone, so I went over to thank her after dinner was over.
“Oh, it’s no big deal.” The girl waved her hand, and I saw that her nails were perfectly manicured, painted sky blue with clouds, a sun peeking out on each thumb. She saw my eyes widen. “Not bad, huh? I’d say it’s not as hard as it looks, but it’s probably even harder.”
My own nails were clipped as far down as I could stand it, in part so I didn’t get annoyed hearing them click on the keyboard and in part to keep me from biting them. I’d given up the habit years ago but it could come back in a second, I knew. “They’re incredible. You must be ambidextrous.”
“Nah, I’m Tamara, but it’s nice to meet you.” She held out her hand to shake mine.
I gawked at her. I had a feeling I’d met another member of Team Dad Jokes. “Anyway, nice to meet you. Thanks again for helping me out.”
“No problem,” she said. “Glad you decided to speak up at one of these things. It was getting a little boring hearing about what’s on sale at Bergdorf’s this week, you know?”
It had never occurred to me that anyone would want me to talk. Tamara had struck me as one of the girls who would care about what was on sale at Bergdorf’s. Perhaps I’d read her wrong. “Maybe we can sit together at services? Or at dinner next week?”