yiddenheroes

[yiddenheroes]

Miaomiao and Israel: Cookies for Friends!

Miaomiao has recently moved to Jerusalem from Kaifeng. Back in Kaifeng, Miaomiao knew all of her neighbors, but here, in apartment 1-Aleph, she doesn’t know anyone.

“I have an idea!” Says Mama. “Let’s make cookies and bring them to all of the neighbors.”

But Miaomiao is worried. “What if they don’t like our cookies?

Mama is confident. “I’ll use the secret ingredient.”

“What’s the secret ingredient?” 

Mama winks. “You’ll see.”

So they go to the kitchen, and bake many cookies. Chocolate chip, cinnamon, oatmeal, snickerdoodles, and Miaomiao’s favorite, peanut butter. Then they put them into boxes and go out into the hall.

“Which one should we start with?” Asks Mama.

“Let’s go in order,” says Miaomiao. So they start with 1-Bet, since they are 1-Aleph. 

“Shalom!” Miaomiao says when the door opens. “Do you want a cookie?”

The person answering the door was an older gentleman with his sleeves rolled up; Miaomiao could read numbers on his arm. 

“What’s this?” He asks. “Who are you?”

“We’re the new residents of 1-Aleph,” says Mama. “And we baked cookies to introduce ourselves.”

“They have a secret ingredient,” said Miaomiao.

The gentleman smiles. “I could do with a cookie.” 

A cat appears, winding around his legs, and Miaomiao squeals.

“I’m Mr. Levis, and this is Kalanit. You can pet her if you want.” 

Miaomiao reaches down and pets Kanlanit’s soft fur while her mom and Mr. Levis talk.

Finally, it is time to move on to the next apartment, and Miaomiao says goodbye.

“Kalos orisate,” says Mr. Levis. “That’s welcome in Greek. And shalom!”

They move on to the next door, which says 1-Gimel. After knocking, a young boy about Miaomiao’s age opens the door. 

“Shalom!” Says Miaomiao. “Do you want a cookie?”

The boy is excited. “Mom, cookies!” He calls, and his mom comes over. Mama explains the situation.

“Ah,” says the boy’s mama. “I’m Mrs. Elbaz, and this is Avi. It’s very nice to meet you.”

Mrs. Elbaz and Mama exchange numbers and plan for a play date. Soon enough, though, it is time to move on to the next door. 

“Tfdel!” Says Mrs. Elbaz. “That’s welcome in Darija. And Shalom!”

Mama and Miaomiao move on to the next door, which is 1-Daled. 

They knock on the door, and a kind looking woman answers. “Hello!” She says. “You must be the new neighbors, the Zhangs! I was about to come over.”

“Really?” Asks Mama. “We baked some cookies for all of the neighbors.”

“I cooked some ghavans - crepes made with rice flour - to bring over. I’m Mrs. Jiradkar, by the way.” Mrs. Jiradkar takes two chocolate chip cookies and brings out a plate of crepes. “B’tayavon,” she says. 

The crepes are delicious, and Miaomiao is very happy. But soon it is time to go. 

“Swagat,” says Mrs. Jiradkar. “That’s welcome in Marathi. And shalom!”

Miaomiao and Mama move on to the next door, which is 1-Heh. A young woman with lots of curly red hair answers. 

“Oh hello!” She says. “And who might you be?”

“We’re your new neighbors!” Says Miaomiao. “We made cookies.”

“Well, don’t mind if I do. I’m Ms. Lattes,” says Ms. Lattes. “Do you want some rugelach?”

So Miaomiao had rugelach, cookies, AND crepes. Soon enough, though, it is time to go.

“Vinido bueno,” says Ms. Lattes. “That’s welcome in Ladino. And shalom!”

Finally, Miaomiao and Mama come to the final door, marked 1-Vav. When they knock, a little girl shyly opens the door. 

“Hello?” She asks.

Miaomiao takes the lead on this one.

“Hello! We made cookies. Do you want some?” 

An adult man appears behind the little girl. They say something to each other in a language that Miaomiao does not understand.

Slowly, the girl’s shyness fades, and she smiles. “I would love a cookie!” She says. “One for me and one for Papa and one for Mama.” 

The papa invites them inside. Miaomiao and Mama learn that the girl’s name is Lana, and her parents are Mr. and Mrs. Slutsky. They, like Miaomiao and her mother, came recently to Israel, but from Ukraine. 

Mama talks while Miaomiao and Lana play. 

Soon, it is time to go. 

“Spasiba,” says Lana. “For the cookies. That means thank you in Russian. And shalom!”

Miaomiao and Mama go home. Miaomiao turns to her mother. “Why did everyone like the cookies? What’s the secret ingredient?”

“Love,” said Mama. “It’s love.”

And, full on ghavans and rugelach and leftover cookies, they fall asleep together on the couch. 

[yiddenheroes]

TAKEN

By the time Lavi left her dorm room, it was already too late. 

Skirt swishing around her ankles, she hurried across the Mount Scopus campus from the Student Village to where her first class of the day was. Dressed in a short sleeved light blue shirt and a long midnight blue skirt and sandals, she hefted her satchel and climbed the steps leading to the building housing the folklore department. 

That was what her degree was going to be in. Jewish and Comparative Folklore.

It all started with her first semester, when she took a folklore class with Professor Reuven Tzan’ani. She had had no idea at the time that it was going to become her major, or that her professor’s presence in her life would change it completely. 

Since that first semester, she had been made aware of a world behind the curtain of normal, a glimpse beyond the veil of the usual. She learned that there was more to the world than most people knew - and more to herself than she ever could have imagined. 

“Are you sure you’re not a para?” Professor Tzan’ani had asked. 

“A para?”

“Paranormal. Supernatural. A Creature. The fact that you can see these things are…strange, to say the least.”

He himself was a Changeling, a fairy child swapped at birth. He hadn’t learned until he was a teenager, when the fairy courts had ordered for the return of all Changelings to the fairy realm, and he was given a choice: live as a human with slight quirks, or come back to the fairy realm. He chose to remain in the human realm and focus on teaching folklore, which most students didn’t realize weren’t so much just stories but were actual, real life occurrences. 

As she walked, she felt a buzz in her pocket; it was Levy, trying to talk to her. But she didn’t want to talk to him. Not after their last encounter and what had happened. 

Namely, him trying to drink her blood. 

How was she to know that her boyfriend was also a vampire? 

As she tucked her phone back into her pocket, she felt a cold wind blowing. The hair on the back of her neck stood up - she froze. Something felt very wrong. 

The bracelet around her wrist began to hum, the purple crystal vibrating. That meant that somewhere near, something supernatural was going on. 

Lavi bound up the stairs, running all the way to the classroom. 

When she got there, she noticed a ring of students around the door, a security guard desperately trying to hold them and their cell phones off. 

“That’s her,” a redheaded student named Shlomit Elbaz said. “That’s the TA.”

Everyone turned towards her, and Lavi started. “What’s going on?” She asked.

“We ask all students to return to their dorms,” said the security guard in a gruff voice. She recognized him as Milton, an older security guard on the grounds of Hebrew U. They had chatted a little once - he was the son of Holocaust survivors, former paratrooper. Usually he had a bright smile on his face. Now, though, he just looked mad. 

“Now!” He barked. 

The students scattered, and Lavi moved to the side to let them pass. When they were all gone, Milton turned to her and said, “You too, Kehimkar.”

“Is Professor Tzan’ani alright?” She asked, alarmed. 

Milton sighed, and his face lost the deep scowl, replaced by a certain bewilderment and desperation. Lavi had a feeling he was out of his depth, at least in terms of more recent years. 

“Listen, Kehimkar. I’ll tell you this - it looks bad in there. I can’t let you in to see. You better return to your dorms.”

Lavi hesitated. “But Professor Tzan’ani-”

“Kehimkar. Don’t make me say it again.” 

She nodded and turned around reluctantly. 

As she walked back, she took a detour - to Tzan’ani’s office. 

She strode in with a purpose - as his TA, it wasn’t crazy for her to be in here, though a little less usual for her to be there without Professor Tzan’ani - as striding somewhere with purpose meant less people stopped you. As soon as she was inside, she closed the door, and rushed around to the front of his desk.

She made her way through the drawers, forgetting where what she was looking for was, until she found it in the second right drawer: a Magic 8 Ball. 

She heard a noise, and looked up - but it was just a pigeon outside landing on the windowsill. 

She crouched down and looked the Magic 8 Ball square in the circle. 

“Is Professor Tzan’ani in danger?”

She shook it.

Without a doubt

She sucked a breath in. Okay, Lavi, relax. The 8 Ball got agitated sometimes if you got too upset. She had to remain calm. 

“Do I know the place where he is?”

Reply hazy

Which could mean anything, from him being on the move to it being a place she knew of but had never been before.

She wasn’t sure how many questions she had left. The Magic 8 Ball got a little…moody, if you asked it too many questions at a time. Lavi also had a feeling it liked Professor Tzan’ani more than her, but she had no way of proving it. 

Lavi desperately thought of another question. Suddenly, something struck her.

“Is this a terror attack?”

She shook the ball almost frantically, hands shaking.

My reply is no

A definitive answer. That was good. 

And, though she knew already, she had to confirm.

“Is the person - or thing - who… is hurting Tzan’ani supernatural related?”

It is certain

Okay. One last question. 

“If he’s in danger, that means he’s alive, right?”

The blue triangle hovered in the murky water. 

Concentrate and ask again

She growled in frustration. She remembered the test questions Tzan’ani told her to use in case the 8 Ball started acting out.

“Is the sky blue today? Do pink unicorns exist? Is my major Jewish and Comparative Folklore?”

Concentrate and ask again

Concentrate and ask again

Concentrate and ask again

Lavi sighed, and sat back on her haunches. 

The pigeon behind her pecked the glass, and she jumped. She turned around - wait a second, that wasn’t a pigeon…

She opened the window - it got stuck, and she had to tug - and the hooded crow flew in. 

No matter how many times she watched it happen, she was always amazed by transformation magic. She watched as the body of the crow expanded, claws changed into sneakered feet, wings into sleeved arms and gloved hands, and beak retracted into a humanoid face. Suddenly, she was looking at an olive skinned young man with raven black hair shot through with gray wearing jeans and a Goo Goo Dolls concert shirt. 

“Ori,” she said in relief, though it was quickly replaced by urgency. “Something’s happened to the professor.”

“I know,” Ori said. “He was taken by a portal hopper named Ren.”

“Right, he was - wait, what?” Lavi stared at Ori. 

“No time, I’ll explain on the way.” He reached into his pocket and brought out a small stoppered bottle that said ‘Drink Me’ in large pink letters. 

“No way,” she said. 

“It’s either that or a giant crow flies over Jerusalem.”

She sighed and took the bottle. “Fine.”

“Grab something of the professor’s - we’re going to need it.”

The professor had a small saddle to be tied to Ori, complete with a seatbelt. It was for rare occasions, as Ori didn’t like to be ridden as an animal, so the fact that he was urging Lavi to set it up showed the urgency of the situation. 

“So what happened?” She shouted against the wind as they flew over the campus. 

“A few years ago, Tzan’ani was a visiting professor in Japan. He had this one student, Ren Kawamura, who was infatuated with him. I remember him very clearly, because he continuously stalked the professor and I had to knock him out once.

“Ren was obsessed with the occult and the supernatural. He somehow found out about the professor’s history, and threatened to expose him - though I’m not sure how he planned to do so - but we thwarted him and got him expelled.”

“So how’d he get to the professor now?” Lavi asked. 

“He made a deal with Crossroads.”

“Fuck.” Lavi didn’t curse much, but this seemed an appropriate time. 

Crossroads was a demon with a bone to pick with Professor Tzan’ani. Last semester, Professor Tzan’ani, Lavi, and Ori had stood together against him after he made a deal with a student, and had not only destroyed the contract, but had banished Crossroads and landed a major hit to his power. If Crossroads was back, that was bad news.

“Careful, Gulab. We need your head in the game.” Ori’s feathers ruffled in the wind. “He gave Ren access to portals.”

“Since he can’t come after the professor himself, he’s sending someone else,” she realized. 

“Exactly. I don’t know who sought whom out, but somehow Ren and Crossroads have teamed up against the professor.”

“So where is he now?” 

“That’s the problem. Ren used the Crossroads to travel all over the world - it’s hard to track him.” So any crossroads where someone had summoned a demon for a deal would be fair game.

“Then where are we going?” She shouted. 

“To a witch who owes us a favor.”

With dawning horror, she realized who he was talking about. “No way, Ori. She’s way too dangerous.”

“She also owes him, and is incredibly powerful. We need her.”

“So that means-”

“Yup. Hold on.” 

Ori tucked his wings in and settled into a dive. Lavi tried not to scream as he plummeted towards the earth. At the last second, just before impact, there was a crack like thunder, and Ori and Lavi were swallowed up by a portal of their own.

Warsaw, Poland

The witch ushered them in with a cup of coffee in her hand. She was in a red bathrobe and her feet were slippered - it was, after all, around eight-thirty on a Wednesday morning, and she had nowhere to be. 

“So,” Pani Agnieszka Dvorkina said with a wide grin. “You’ve come to me for help. How far you’ve fallen.” 

“Enough, Dvorkina,” Ori said gruffly. “This is serious.” 

“A former student made a deal with a crossroads demon with a grudge against Professor Tzan’ani,” Lavi explained. “And he was taken.”

“You’re one of the most portal savvy witches there is,” Ori said. Agnieszka waved her hand with a pleased expression. “And one of the most powerful ones out there. And,” he added. “Reuven saved your life.” 

Agnieszka’s expression soured. “Ugh, why must you bring that up?” She sighed. “I assume you’ve brought me something of his?”

“So you’ll help us?” Lavi said, surprised.

“Don’t look so surprised, Gulableh. I never forget a debt. Now, what did you bring me?” 

Lavi brought out what she had brought - the professor’s blue pen, which he used to grade (and occasionally doodle) on tests and papers. 

“A pen? You couldn’t have grabbed a brush with hair, or a vial of blood?” 

“Sorry, I totally forgot about all the spare vials of professor blood lying around,” Lavi said sarcastically.

“We were in a hurry,” Ori muttered. 

“Follow me,” Agnieszka said. She led them further into her house, where a giant map hung on the wall. She muttered something - Lavi was about to ask her to repeat herself, until she realized that she was chanting a spell.

A wind blew the witch’s blonde hair around, and her eyes, when they opened, glowed a light blue. She continued chanting, and opened her hand, which held the pen. The pen lifted from her hand, and began to float towards the map. It spun around lazily a few times, laying horizontally in the air, until it suddenly stood up straight and moved across the map. It landed on Havana, Cuba - then flew over to Cardiff, Wales. It moved around a bit - Thessaloniki to Cairo to Harbin - before finally settling in Liberdade, Sao Paulo. Ori cursed.

“Ren has relatives in Brazil. I should have thought of that.”

Agnieszka’s eyes lost their glow, and she focused her gaze on Lavi. “Well, there you go. You found him. Good luck.”

“Dvorkina!” Ori said.

“That’s Pani Dvorkina to you, sheyd.” Agnieszka sneered.

“He saved your life, witch,” Ori sneered right back. 

Agnieszka sighed. “Fine.” She grabbed the pen and muttered something else. Her eyes glowed briefly. “Take this. Bring it to the city - it’ll be your compass. The tip of the pen will lead you - click it closed when you find him.”

“Why?” Lavi asked.

“So that you don’t dry the ink,” Agniezska said. “No, it will let me know where you are.”

“Why not just come with us?” Lavi asked. 

Agnieszka shook her head. “If your demon’s there, he’ll sense me coming.”

“We banished him, though,” Lavi explained. “He can’t return to Earth - at least, not until the seal fades.”

“You sealed the crossroads demon?” Agnieszka said. “Like, Crossroads himself?”

“Uh, yeah.”

She digested that for a bit. “No wonder he’s so mad. But the seal couldn't have been so strong in the first place, if he was able to extend his influence and find this student.”

“It happened so fast,” Lavi explained. “I didn’t even see what the professor did.”

“I did,” said Ori. “He used a blood seal.”

“Fairy blood,” the witch said. “Powerful stuff. But not powerful enough.” She sighed. “I can help strengthen the seal. But…”

“But what?”

“Well, I’d be a fool to put myself against such a powerful demon. I’d need something in return.”

“Name it,” said Lavi. 

Agnieszka put a finger to her lips. “So eager. I could ask for anything, and you’d probably give it to save your poor professor.” She sighed. “I’m feeling unimaginative right now, so let’s just say you owe me, hmm?” 

“Gulab…” Ori said in a warning voice. “Let me make the deal.”

“You’ve made enough deals, Ori,” Lavi said. She turned to the witch. “Fine, I agree to your terms.”

She felt a tingle, and her bracelet shuddered, like even it knew how bad of an ideal this was. 

“Perfect. Now, I expect you want a portal to Liberdade?” Agnieszka asked. 

“Yeah,” said Ori. 

She went to an old computer and typed in a picture of it - witches needed to be able to see where they were going in order to create a portal, or else you could end up anywhere - and brought up a map of Sao Paulo. 

Agnieszka waved her arms, and slowly, a blue portal expanded in the room. 

“Remember to click,” she warned. 

“Thank you, Pani Dvorkina,” Lavi said. 

And with that, Lavi and Ori dove through the portal. 

Liberdade, São Paulo, Brazil

A giant torii gate welcomed visitors and residents into the city. Signs in Portuguese and Japanese, and occasionally Chinese as well, boasted sales of food and clothing and gift shops. The streets were paved with red brick, and red streetlamps, mimicking the torii gate, lit the early morning way. It was around five A.M. in Brazil, and the early birds of the district of Liberdade were just waking up. 

So the streets were mostly clear as Ori and Lavi made their way around, following an conspicuously floating pen that pointed them to their due north, where they’d find the professor. 

They followed it through the streets, the sun rising with every step, until it led them to an apartment building. 

Ori craned his neck up. “I can fly up to one of the windows, see which apartment it is.”

Lavi waited while he transformed and flew up with the pen in his beak. He came back down soon after.

“Door is locked, the curtains are drawn. I can bust in, but I don’t know how much attention we want to draw.” 

“I have another idea,” Lavi said, and placed her finger on the first ringer, then drew it down until it hit all of them, letting out a droning buzz all the while.

“You’re going to wake the whole building,” Ori said. 

“Yeah, but…” She waited. Some of the intercoms buzzed with questions, tired and grouchy voices probably asking who was waking them up at such an hour, until finally someone buzzed to let them in without asking and Lavi opened the now-unlocked door.

Over the intercom, one man’s voice came back on and shouted something at them. Ori cringed. 

“Well that wasn’t very nice,” he said. 

“You know Portuguese?” Lavi asked.

“You’re around as long as I’ve been, you pick up some things. Especially curses.” 

Ori, short for Orev, was a sheyd who had been around since the times of the Second Temple of Jerusalem, maybe longer. Lavi wasn’t exactly sure about who he was, only that he had become indebted to the professor and had decided to work with him in exploring the occult. Lavi wondered, sometimes, but she never asked. He seemed touchy about his past. 

As they walked, a thought occurred to her. 

“Hey, Ori. Have you ever interacted with a vampire?”

He scrutinized her. “A vampire? You haven’t been hanging around any, have you?”

“Well, see, here’s the thing. I was almost…bitten by one?”

Ori stopped and grabbed her arm. “When?” He asked, alarmed. “On campus?”

“Yeah. But don’t worry, I’m not a vampire.”

He sighed. “Being bitten doesn’t turn you into a vampire. That’s a myth - vampires are a race. They procreate like everyone else. But some vampires have special powers that can be activated when they drink your blood - reading your memories, control over you, etc..” 

“Oh.” Lavi said quietly. 

“Listen, not to put this vampire thing away forever, because I can see it’s important to you, but we have to focus on the professor right now.”

“Right, of course.”

They continued on through the winding halls of the building, following the pen, until they eventually arrived at a door marked 3D. 

“You ready?” She asked. 

“Click the pen,” Ori confirmed. 

Lavi clicked the pen. For a second, nothing happened. Then, a swirling blue portal appeared and expanded next to them, until Agnieszka appeared. 

“You haven't unlocked the door yet? He probably sensed me coming! Hurry!”

Ori rolled his shoulders, and positioned himself to kick the door in. 

With a fierce yet precise strike of super strength, the door cracked open, ripped off its hinges. Ori swiftly moved in, followed by Lavi and Agnieszka. 

“What the hell?” Came a sleepy voice from one of the rooms, and then a young man with stubble on his chin in a grey t-shirt and blue pajamas pants emerged. When he saw them, especially Ori, his eyes narrowed. 

“You,” he hissed in accented English. “I won’t let you take him away from me! Not again!”

“It’s over, Ren,” Ori responded in English. Lavi was thankful that she had spent the first few years of her life in Mumbai, raised in a dual language school, so that she was able to understand the, honestly, movie-like dialogue. 

“No! No way!” He shouted, and dashed back into the room he had come from. 

When Lavi and the others followed, they came across a terrifying sight - the professor lying unconscious on the bed in the arms of Ren, who held a glowing knife to his throat. 

“Ren, put that down. You don’t want to do this.” Ori said. 

“You took him from me once. So I found someone who hated you as much as I did, and we worked together to bring my professor home. He’s safe, with me, once you leave!”

“Ren,” Lavi tried. She noticed Agnieszka had moved behind her, and heard her muttering something under her breath. 

“Oh, I know you. Gulab Kehimkar, my professor’s new TA. I know everything about you - where you come from, what type of coffee you drink. You’re just another one who tried to steal him away from me.” 

Lavi didn’t know what to say. Nothing could have prepared her for this moment, for a knife held to the throat of Professor Tzan’ani, for a madman to be holding someone she held dear captive right in front of her. 

“Ren,” Ori began. 

“You shut up. If I can’t have him in life, I’ll have him in death!” 

He moved his arm, and a line of red appeared on the professor’s neck. 

“Wait!” Ori said. “You made a deal with a demon. That means, before you can be together, you’ll have to go through Gehenom - Crossroads won’t let you be together for a long, long time.”

Ren paused. “How do I know you’re not just lying to me?”

“Oh, I’m not. Dvorkina, now!”

Suddenly, the air around Ren began to fizzle and pop. Suddenly, Lavi was looking at Agnieszka holding the professor. Ori moved, faster than she could see, and tackled something behind her. Lavi spun around - there, wrestling on the floor, was Ren and Ori. 

The knife had swiveled across the floor. 

“Grab it!” Ori said, pinning Ren down. Ren hissed at him, but Ori wouldn’t budge. 

Lavi grabbed the knife - and hissed, as a tingle ran through her.

“Kill him,” she heard. “Kill Tzan’ani.”

“Here,” suddenly Agnieszka was there with a sheet. She plucked the knife from Lavi’s hands and wrapped it up. “That’s some dark magic. You don’t want to be touching it.” 

Lavi looked around - at the professor, still unconscious on the bed; at Ori, who held Ren down; at Agnieszka, who had moved again to the professor to check his vitals.

“What now?” She asked. 

“I’ll kill you! I’ll kill all of you-”

Ori placed his hand over Ren’s eyes, and Ren immediately fell asleep. 

“Now, we bring the professor back.”

“What about Ren?” She asked. Agnieszka and Ori exchanged a look. Lavi knew what that meant. “We can’t kill him.”

“Well, we can’t just leave him here,” Ori said. 

“The professor will never forgive us if we do something to him,” she said. 

Ori sighed. “We’ll give him to the Council for judgement.” He’d probably get a demonic lawyer who would try to work out his contract with Crossroads, and then have his memories of the whole thing wiped. 

“How’s the professor doing?” Lavi asked. 

“His vitals are stable,” Agnieszka answered. “He just has a head wound. I’m not exactly a healer, though.”

“So what do we do?” Lavi asked.

“It’s Brazil - there’s a feiticeira or a bruxa somewhere,” Agnieszka said. “But magic on head wounds is tricky. Or, we can take him to a hospital. Or wait till he wakes up.” 

“I’m up,” came a weak voice. 

Lavi squealed. “Professor!”

“Ow,” he said. “Too loud.”

“Oh, sorry.” She sat down next to him. “Do you remember what happened?”

“I was…” his gaze hardened. “Ren Kawamura. He’s an old student of mine. He showed up in class with a glowing knife…threatened the other students if I didn’t come with him.” 

Of course the professor had given himself up to protect his students. “We got him, professor. And we got you.” 

Reuven Tzan’ani looked around. “Pani Dvorkina?” He asked, surprised. “And Ori. Thank you.” He focused on Lavi, and frowned. “Aren’t you missing class?”

Lavi laughed, though there were some tears too. “I’ll be running a little late today, professor.”

He nodded. “So will I.” 

The four of them, plus an unconscious Ren, were together. And that, to Lavi, was all that mattered. 

[yiddenheroes]

THE UNEXPECTED BRIDE

Zhang Meng was sick. 

It wasn’t unusual. She had been sick ever since she had stepped on this cursed boat, with its cursed waves and winds. She understood why she was on the boat - it was taking her to a new land, and a new life. But she longed for home, for the familiarity of her house and her parents and cakes and sweets. Though, sometimes thinking of the sweets made her more nauseous. 

Her maid, Xiao-li, tried to cheer her up. She provided her with mint, and told her of the great things they would see in their new home, but Meng knew that she was sad to leave as well. 

Though, she could be happier.

After all, Meng was getting married. 

That’s why she was on this boat in the first place - she was headed to Malata to marry young Habib, whose family had groves of mangoes and who was a learned young man. 

She was excited, she told herself. Happy. Her marriage would represent a union between the Zhang and the Kehimkar family. They would unify two lands. 

But this was hard to remember as she cried herself to sleep, sometimes.

Chaviva Kehimkar paced back and forth. She had been doing so for a while, back and forth across the colorful rug in the family’s main room. 

“You’re going to wear a hole in the floor,” said her mother. 

Chaviva stopped, and sat down on a low couch with a thud. “Forgive me, Mother. You just informed me that my groom is on his way, and I am to be married as soon as he arrives! How should I act?”

Her mother looked apologetic. “Beta, this marriage is critical. It unifies two houses across the oceans, and will improve trade.”

Chaviva ground her teeth. She had heard this before. She understood the importance of the marriage - but why did it have to be her? She didn’t want to get married yet. And besides, she didn’t appreciate her parents using her as a pawn in their politics. 

“Mother, please,” she begged. 

“Your groom is already on his way,” her mother sighed. She walked over and brushed a strand of hair that had fallen out of Chaviva’s braid behind her ear. “I’m sorry. But it’s for the good of the family.”

When Meng wasn’t sick, she practiced her pipa. 

She drew her fingers across the strings, manipulating the vibrations into a beautiful sound, sometimes playing songs she knew and sometimes just playing whatever came into her mind. 

Sometimes she would practice on the deck of the ship - and the sailors would stop what they were doing and sit and listen.

These were her favorite times, being able to bring joy through her music. She had always hoped that her music would take her somewhere - in her dreams, she imagined herself in the royal palace, playing. But alas - her fate was to be married off in a new land to improve business. 

One day, several weeks into their journey, she heard clambering and shouting from belowdecks. 

The sailors had spotted land - they were excited. But Meng’s trepidation only grew. She had a horrible feeling that things were going to go horribly wrong - after all, she was going to meet her fiance at the docks and be married soon after. 

So she sat and played, and tried to get her anxieties out by doing so. 

She had been born into a well off merchant family, and lived a life of relaxation and education, including education in music. Meng had taken to the pipa like a bird to flight - with a  few falls in the beginning, but eventually a beautiful, natural kind of connection. 

Xiao-li listened as she packed up their stuff, placing their extra bits and bobs into their chests and sacks. 

“We’re docking soon,” said a sailor, poking his head into the room in an inappropriate manner. His eyes focused on Meng’s pipa. 

“You play beautifully,” he said. “Your husband is very lucky to have you.”

Meng’s breath caught, and her hands ceased. “Thank you,” she managed. 

The sailor grinned. “You’re welcome, milady.” Then he disappeared. 

“We should head out, my lady,” Xiao-li said. 

Meng nodded, and placed her lute down. “You’re right, Xiao-li,” she said. She grasped her maid’s hands in her own, and met Xiao-li’s eyes. “Thank you for coming on this journey with me.”

“It’s an honor, my lady,” said Xiao-li. 

“You’ve said that before. But you upended everything for me. And for that, I am forever thankful.” She sighed. “Now, let’s go meet my groom.” 

Chaviva was in her family’s main room when the carriage arrived. She watched from the window, waiting for her groom. Carts followed with chests. She waited for a young man to step out of the first cart, and was confused when two young women emerged instead. 

She heard a commotion from downstairs. Her mother’s voice, confused - her father’s, angry. 

“Is this a joke?” She heard, followed by a quiet translation into a language she didn’t speak. 

She made her way downstairs sneakily, and looked around the corner. 

There was a beautiful young woman who looked confused, another woman behind her, and attendants, including a translator, and Chaviva’s parents. 

She emerged. 

“Mother, Father?” She asked. 

Chaviva’s father gestured at the woman. “It would appear that there was a mistranslation,” he said angrily. “You have not a groom, but a bride.”

Chaviva stared at him. 

“I beg your pardon, father?”

This had to be a mistake. 

The young woman - she assumed, her bride - spoke to the translator quietly. The translator looked at them.

“Miss Zhang would like to know where her groom is,” the translator said. He spoke with a heavy accent - Chaviva wondered where he had learned Marathi, how similar it was to his natural language. 

“Right here,” said her father, gesturing at Chaviva.

Though working through the translator was hard, Meng eventually got the story - there had been a mix up in the translation, and her groom to be was actually a bride to be. They had thought that she herself was a man - she laughed inwardly, for if she was a man no one would have forced her across the sea into a brand new land with a brand new language and culture that she wasn’t familiar with. 

But in the end, the Kehimkar family made the most peculiar decision - the wedding would go on. 

Meng stared at them. Then she turned to the translator.

“Tell them I can’t possibly marry a woman. I myself am a woman.” The translator, supposedly, relayed this information. The man - who Meng assumed was Habib’s father, though she wasn’t sure if his - her - name was even Habib anymore - responded with certainty, and the translator told Meng that the union would go on. 

Of course, why would she have thought that she had any choice in this. 

Chaviva watched her fiance’s face go through several emotions, twisting in a way that made Chaviva want to reach over and smooth her fiance’s face with her fingers. 

She imagined being in a brand new place, with this kind of information suddenly tossed into her lap, that she was not to be married to who she thought she was going to be married to. 

She bemoaned that this was how they met, amid confusion and sudden reveals. 

The next few days were a whirlwind of activities. 

There were marriage preparations to be had, rites and rituals to be performed. Chaviva knew her bride was going through the same things as her - both the formalities and the feelings. 

Chaviva wasn’t sure how she felt about this. She was attracted to women as well as men, that was true, but she had never seen herself marrying a woman. It had just never seemed like an option. She wasn’t sure how she felt about this - about the change, though really was it any different? Either way she was being forced to marry someone she didn’t know, who spoke a language she didn’t speak. They would have to have a translator with them at almost all times if they hoped to speak - what kind of relationship was that?

In between customs, she thought about this. When her uncle arrived with sweets and fruits and her wedding nauvari, she thought about it. While having her fingers hennaed, elegant and elaborate loops of reddish-brown squeezed and pasted onto her hands and armed, she thought about it. 

She didn’t know her bride. She hadn’t known she was getting married until not too long before, and hadn’t realized the gender of her spouse until a week ago. 

What was Meng - for that was her name, and also Asnat, but she preferred to go by Meng - thinking about?

Meng didn’t know what to think. She didn’t understand what was happening. It was a whirlwind of traditions and rituals that she wasn’t familiar with. The night before the ceremony, they smeared lotion onto her to make her “glow”, then they had her sit and have a strangely smelling material placed on her hands and arms and feet, and provided her with jewelry. They called this the mehndi ceremony.

They also provided her with fresh fruits and flowers, decorating her hair - she didn’t have the heart to have the translator tell them that she already had her bridal phoenix crown to decorate her hair. After all of this, she was tired. She retired to her rooms, claiming that she wanted enough sleep before the big night. 

In reality, she wanted to play her pipa. She hadn’t had an opportunity to play since she had arrived, with everything going on. She had been too tired, too busy - but now, she was able to claim this moment for herself.

Trying to ignore the cranberry brown lines decorating her hands, yet another unfamiliar part of all of this, she began to play. 

Chaviva had been shifty all night, barely able to sit through the mehndi ceremony and wait for the henna to dry. Soon after, her fiance had claimed exhaustion and made her way back to her rooms. Chaviva did the same - she was tired, she thought, trying not to feel guilty at the way her guests’ faces fell when they heard the night was over. 

She sat in her rooms, and stared at the swirls on her arms. Somewhere, Meng’s Hebrew name was inscribed in the henna - just like her name was inscribed in Meng’s. She barely knew Hebrew - had grown up with the mixture of languages that the Jewish community spoke, learned from there - but tomorrow, she would sing to her fiance in Hebrew and they would be unified by the ancient script on paper. 

She wished she had had a chance to get to know Meng more. She wished she had had knowledge of the wedding beforehand. She wished-

A breeze blew in, bringing with it the sound of an instrument unfamiliar to her. She listened as someone plucked strings in a foreign tune, a different kind of scale than the svaras she was used to. 

She listened to the tune - a melancholy, lonely tune - for a while, before it struck her - was this her fiance playing? She had heard that Meng could play music, and had seen her with a lute. This must be her. 

Maybe they couldn’t communicate through speech, but they could communicate through this. 

Chaviva stood up and strode across the room, suddenly with a newfound purpose. She reached into her dresser and picked up an old flute that she hadn’t had an opportunity to play for a while. 

She blew into it - wrinkling her nose at the dust that came out - then went to the window, and began to play. 

Meng played, letting her emotions out into the pipa’s music. She felt alone, and homesick, and sad, so that was the kind of music she played. 

In a pause, though, she heard something - a flute?

The flute’s tone was jovial, welcoming, comforting and kind. She paused her music to listen. Then, the flute stopped, like it was waiting for a response. 

So, she responded.

They went back and forth like this, her and the flutist, for a long time. Eventually, she began to feel better. Meng felt better than she had since she had stepped on that boat - for once, she was actually able to accept the welcoming that they had given her since she’d arrived (once they got past the fact that she was a woman). 

She moved, during one of her pauses, to the window, and looked out - in the lamplight, she saw her fiance moving her fingers, her eyes closed, playing a side blown flute. 

Meng started - this entire time, she had been playing back and forth with her fiance?

After Chaviva - for that was actually her name - stopped playing, and Meng didn’t respond, she looked up. 

Their eyes met. 

Meng’s filled with tears. She picked up her pipa, and played what she hoped was a thankful tune. 

Of course, Chaviva’s flute seemed to say.

It was late, the moon high in the sky, and they really needed to get to sleep.

Good night, Meng played.

Good night, she heard back, and made her way into her room. 

The next day, Chaviva felt better. After that music session with her fiance, she felt that they understood each other a little, even without the translator. 

She felt…happier. More secure in the marriage. Though she still wanted to ask Meng what she thought of all of this, if it was different from back home, how she was doing. 

So many questions. Yet not enough time. 

With two brides, there was a question of who would walk down first. Eventually, it had been decided that Chaviva would walk first, and then sing to Meng as she walked down. 

“You’re going to look so beautiful,” her mother whispered, combing her hair. 

Despite the fact that it was her parents who had gotten her into this in the first place, Chaviva found herself tearing up. Today was the day she’d become a true woman - the day she’d become a part of something bigger than herself. 

She tried not to cry as her hair was pinned up and wrapped with flowers, or as she was given the bangles and the nath, the choker and the arm bands. She tried, she really did. 

But she cried anyway.

“Oh, beta,” said her mother, holding her. “You do look beautiful.”

Soon she would tie the mangalsutra around her bride’s neck - and her bride would do the same to her. And they would no longer be two, but one. 

Meng stared at her reflection in the mirror. Things worked a little differently around here - there would be no getting out of a carriage, no bowing three times. No retrieval from her parent’s house - for she was already here.

She was dressed in a lovely gown of red and green, with gold-embroidered robes. Xiao-li helped tie up her hair and place her crown on her head - when she looked in the mirror, she thought she looked like royalty. And wasn’t that what a bride on her wedding day was? Royalty.

Meng bit onto the red paper that they had brought, staining her lips. 

“Oh, my lady,” said Xiao-li. She started tearing up. 

“Xiao-li, don’t cry. Then I’ll cry,” Meng said. 

“I’m sorry. It’s just so-so-so emotional!” Xiao-li wiped her eyes. “You look beautiful, my lady,” she said in a whisper. 

“Xiao-li,” Meng said. “You have been with me through thick and thin. Literally across the ocean. How can I ever repay you?”

“How about finding me a husband?” Xiao-li offered in a hopeful, yet still teary, tone. 

They both laughed. 

It was time. 

First, Chaviva walked down the aisle with her uncle. Everyone stood up when they saw her, and there were more than a few gasps. 

“You’re going to be amazing,” her mother said, when they reached the end, and her uncle moved to the side.

Chaviva inhaled. Now for the tricky part. 

Ever since she was young, Chaviva loved to sing. She loved music of all kinds, and was enamored with the flute, but had a particular talent with her voice. Now, she would use that talent to welcome her bride. 

Her bride.

She saw Meng take the first step towards her. The first step towards their new life together. 

Chaviva began the tune of “Yonati Ziv.”

“Yonati ziv yifatech dama lichsil,” Chaviva sang. She sang straight from her heart, to let her bride know, even without words in Chinese, how much she loved her and was ready to spend the rest of their lives together. 

When finally Meng reached her, Chaviva stopped, finishing the last lines. She looked at Meng; Meng looked at her. 

When Chaviva tied a necklace around Meng’s neck, she felt secure. Not trapped. Secure. And she hoped that Chaviva felt the same when she tied a necklace around her neck as well. 

Being led to the yichud room was strange - no one really expected them to do anything, being that they were both women. Chaviva knew that there were things to do - there were always things to do - but figured that for now, she’d sit with her bride. 

Meng stared at Chaviva.

Chaviva stared at Meng.

And then slowly, yet surely, they each leaned in for a kiss.

[yiddenheroes]

PAREVE WITH YOU

Amidst a sea of green grass, people of all ages relaxed and played. At Henwood Park, in addition to a large green field that drew in players of soccer, tag, and more, there was a playground with a swingset, which children climbed and ran around as parents and guardians watched on from benches. 

It was one of those Sundays where the sun was out but it wasn’t too hot, a crisp spring day with cherry-and-crabapple-blossom-snow and the occasional breeze that warranted a light jacket. 

This was the place that Basya and Caleb first met. 

Basya was playing soccer on the grassy field. A  young girl with dark brown hair, dressed in a colorful striped long sleeved shirt and blue skirt, she chased the ball around with her brothers, two twin twelve year olds four years older than she was, and some other children who had joined. She was known for being a spunky and curious kid who sometimes didn’t realize when something was appropriate to say or not. Or, rather, she didn’t care. She had lived in Henwood her entire life, in the same house just a few blocks away from the park. 

Knees covered in dirt from falling down a few times, she kicked the ball towards the two trees that had been designated as the barriers of the opposite team’s goal - and missed, by a large margin. 

Instead of sailing through as she had hoped, the ball flew left, landing just shy of a couple walking their dog, who started to bark, and rolled to the edge of a blue picnic blanket. 

Apologizing profusely to the couple who was very kind despite the fact that they had almost been bludgeoned with a soccer ball - though admittedly and understandably a little annoyed - Basya then went to get the ball. 

It had ended up at the blanket of a family of four - a father, a mother, a young boy, and a baby girl with chubby cheeks and a bow. Caleb, who was wearing a blue kippah with a firetruck on it, had gotten up and kicked the ball back to Basya as she approached. Caleb and his family had just moved to Henwood from Canada. The picnic in the park was their first real family outing. His mother - Basya was assuming she was his mother, based on the fact that they looked very similar with their wavy black hair and dark skin - smiled softly at her, then at her son.

“Caleb, why don’t you go play with her?” The woman asked the boy. Though, it was in French, so Basya didn’t actually know what she said.  

Caleb shyly looked down and shuffled his feet. Seeing his unusual behavior, Basya deduced that he wanted something - and what would he want, other than to join the game?

“You want to play?” She asked him. 

He looked up and nodded. She got the feeling he was a boy of few words. 

“Alright, let’s go then!”

She waved him over and then kicked the ball back to where her brothers and the other children were waiting. She heard the scuffle of the boy’s sneakers on the grass as he joined her. 

For the next hour, they kicked the ball back and forth. The teams switched a few times, and Basya landed in the dirt a few more times as well. Soon, though, it was time for Basya and her brothers to walk home. 

Eitan, one of the twins, nudged Basya before they left and thrust his chin in the direction of Caleb. 

Ah, right.

“Thank you for playing with me!” Basya said.

Caleb just looked down and nodded. 

Neither of them knew it, but this wasn’t the only time they would meet. Far from it. 

Basya Schechter came from a long line of, well, shohets, or religious butchers. Back in Eastern Europe, her family had been the provider for the village in terms of meat. Once they came to America, they continued the profession, until Basya’s grandfather decided to open up a delicatessen in the city. Over the years, it grew in business, and chain stores appeared; one of them in Henwood. Basya’s father had been assigned to manage the Henwood chain, and thus she had grown up in the restaurant business as the daughter of a deli owner. Schechter’s was a beloved staple in the community, the true epitome of a kosher deli. Located on Central Avenue in Henwood, it was thriving with several regulars. 

Caleb Halevi came from short line of chefs. His father’s family had moved from Morocco to Paris, where his father had grown up. Inspired by the French chefs and the masterful foods they made, Calev’s father had resolved to be a world renowned chef with his own cafe. Years later, after marrying his wife and moving to Canada and then America, he finally achieved his dream, opening up the dairy French styled cafe Oui Cafe. Also located on Central Avenue in Henwood, it quickly gained business and was thriving as one of the dairy options in the area. 

Quickly, the two families became aware of each other. How could they not, when their restaurants were right next to each other? Or, rather, one store down - separated by Super Sushi, a sushi place. But they went to different shuls, and their children to different schools and camps - and though they each ate at the other’s place sometimes, they weren’t overly familiar. The parents knew each other. The children did not. 

Along a sea of green grass, there was a walkway in the park. Oftentimes on Shabbat people would walk in the park, children playing on the playground or running around. Only a few blocks away from Henwood Park, fourteen year old Basya decided to go for a Shabbat walk. Usually she’d walk with friends, but today she wanted to be alone. A little moody after a fight she had gotten into with her brother Aaron, she’d rather be by herself to stew.

Dressed in a dark blue dress with a light blue puffer jacket, Basya walked along the winding pathways of the park, face stormy. The sky was similarly overcast - it wasn’t long until it started to drizzle. Families left the park, but Basya looped around and started walking the paths again. She wasn’t quite ready to go home. 

Quickly, though, the drizzle turned into a downpour. Grumbling about the weather that was definitely not dressed for, Basya sped-walked toward the gazebo in the middle of the park. There were benches in the gazebo one of which she plopped down on, deciding to wait out the downpour. Reluctantly, of course. She was still in a mood. 

“Ah, shoot,” she heard someone say. 

A young man with a head full of curls ran into the gazebo. Caleb hadn’t been prepared for the rain either - his light jacket wasn’t even waterproof, and he was a little soaked just from the short walk across the park to the gazebo. Basya recognized him - he was in Oui Cafe sometimes. She was pretty sure he was related to the owners somehow.

“Good Shabbos,” Basya greeted.

“Shabbat shalom,” Caleb responded. 

It was just the two of them in the semi-enclosed space, rain beating down on the room and pouring around them. It was nice. Peaceful.

Unfortunately, Basya wasn’t the kind of person who could go too long without some kind of noise. She felt it was a little inappropriate, talking to a random boy she had just met, but her frustration had been overshadowed by her awareness of another human being in close proximity also aware of her, when it was just the two of them there. 

“You got caught in the rain, too, huh?” 

Caleb looked at her. He looked down. Basya felt like she recognized him from somewhere else, like she knew this looking away move. 

“Yeah,” he said, slightly muffled from where his chin was tucked into his collar. 

Internally, Caleb was panicking. Why did she insist on talking? He wasn’t very good at talking. He hoped that she would notice his discomfort and cease trying to make conversation. 

Basya, however, took his response as a good sign and pressed onward. After all, if he was responding, maybe they could pass the time talking instead of just sitting there in awkward silence. 

A thought occurred to her, that he may be a creep. But in this case, she really seemed like more of the creep, trying to talk to him - it was probably fine. 

“I was walking in the park,” she explained. He hadn’t asked. “The rain caught me by surprise.”

“...Me too.” 

Right. Basya bit her tongue, trying to think of more things to say. It would probably be better not to say anything else - the poor boy seemed awkward enough. But she really did feel incapable of just being quiet. 

“You work at Oui, right? I’ve seen you there a few times.” 

This got Caleb to look at her in shock and slight wariness. He squinted, then his eyes widened. “It was your brothers’ birthday the other day,” he said. “They got a cake.”

“Yeah!” Basya confirmed. “That was us.”

“Ah,” said Caleb. He relaxed a little. “I work there sort-of. My parents run the restaurant, so sometimes I help out.”

Basya’s eyes widened. “Really? My parents own Schechter’s, right next door.”

“Really? I’ve never been there.” His shoulders shrugged up as soon as he said that. “But I know it!”

Great going, Caleb, he thought. 

That was a little awkward to admit, especially since Basya had said she’d gone to his family’s restaurant. But she also appreciated the honesty. 

To be honest, the boy was kind of cute. He had curly black hair and brown eyes, and seemed a little shy. He also had on a blue kippah…it ticked her memory a little but she wasn’t sure why. 

They chatted a little bit more. After a few minutes, the rain let up.

“Hey, what’s your name, by the way?” Basya asked as the boy stood up to leave. 

“I’m Caleb,” the boy - Caleb - said. 

She smiled. “Basya.” 

Caleb left the gazebo, leaving Basya alone. She contemplated waiting for the rain to let up a little more but figured it would take too long and decided to walk in the light drizzle.

It was as she walked past the green field that she remembered a little boy in a blue kippah with a firetruck, with curly dark hair and a shy demeanor. 

What were the chances?

 Apparently quite high. Not a few weeks later, it turned out that both of their families had been invited to the same meal on Pesach.

The Wines were good family friends of the Halevis, and had been since shortly after they had moved from Canada. Malkie Wine’s daughter was in the same class as Rebecca, the Halevi’s little girl, and the two became fast friends. Recently, Malkie Wine the mother had become close friends with Basya’s mother after attending the same Chabad challah-making event and acquiring each others’ numbers. Thus, the Schechters too were invited. 

The Wines’ house was beautiful, a colonial style house in old Henwood painted yellow. Reached after trekking across several back streets, it had a variety of tulips already planted and blooming. Pinks, yellows, oranges, and reds swayed in the slight breeze and stretched towards the shining sun overhead. The walk itself had been a little hot, and everyone walking was relieved to come inside and have a drink of water. 

The Schechters arrived before the Halevis. Basya’s father liked to be early - not too much, because that was rude - but just enough that left time for if something happened on the way that would take a few extra minutes. The five of them - Basya’s mother and father, Aaron, Eitan, and Basya - were sweating. Basya was in a dark blue dress - in fact, it was the same one she had worn in the park a few weeks back in the rain when she had met Caleb for the second time.

She still couldn’t get over that meeting. What a strange thing, to run into someone in the same place again after so many years. 

Imagine her shock when it was announced that the Halevis had arrived - a little late - a group of five as well, the parents, an eight year old girl named Rebecca, a younger girl named Shani, and Caleb. 

Basya was surprised to see Caleb again, but also pleased. Part of her had been hoping to somehow run into the cute boy from the park that she had shared that half hour with. 

Caleb probably thought she was stalking him, though, she thought. That put a bit of a damper on her mood, but not enough to completely douse it. 

Caleb, meanwhile, was hoping Basya wasn’t thinking the same thing about him. 

“Hi!” She said when she saw him. 

His eyes widened with shock. “Oh. Hi.”

His mother looked between the two of them curiously. “Do you know each other?” 

Malkie tuned in, “Oh, the two of you are already friends? That’s so great!”

“Not really,” Caleb said. 

“We got stuck in a gazebo together,” Basya explained. 

Caleb’s mother had a knowing look on her face. “Ah.” 

“I don’t know the story,” Caleb’s father said.

“How about we talk about it over lunch?” Offered Malkie. 

At some point, it came up that Oui Cafe was having a post Pesach event. Caleb’s father explained that it was for mimouna, a Maghrebi Jewish dinner tradition for the return to chametz. It was the first year that the cafe was doing it.

“How do you plan to pull that off, getting stuff so soon after Pesach?” Basya asked. 

“Well, it takes a while,” Caleb’s father explained. “But you know how people are. Until one o’clock they’re willing to stay up to get chametz. The pizza stores are always open late.”

“That’s how he got the idea,” Caleb’s mother chimed in. “You should come,” she added. 

Basya did not end up going. She caught a stomach bug from a friend and could barely get up, nonetheless attend a special celebration at a restaurant. 

Like ocean waves rearing back and forth, shelves of books loomed overhead, stacks at various heights. One could be swallowed by the stacks, if they weren’t careful, but there was a beauty to them. And, though many didn’t know it, an order as well. But that was a secret the owner of the shop liked to keep to himself. 

What were the chances indeed of these two running into each other? Yet here they were, in the same bookstore. Caleb was there as a customer; meanwhile, Basya’s seminary had set her up with a job working there. It had been a few months since they had last run into each other. Despite this, there was no awkwardness. 

“Hi!” She greeted, just like she had four years prior. 

“Oh, it’s you,” Caleb said. He then stammered, “I mean, this is a surprise.”

It wasn’t too odd for them to run into each other anymore. Every year since she was fourteen, Basya had been attending meals at the Wines’ house, and Caleb and his family were often there. Plus, going to high school in the same area, they sometimes ran into each other when out for lunch. But this was the first time they ran into each other in a few months.

This particular bookstore was often frequented by Americans, and thus the owner preferred having English-speaking workers. Basya enjoyed working there, though she could do without some of the customers. 

“Here for something in particular, or just browsing?” Basya asked. 

Caleb hesitated. Sort of to the first option, also sort of to the second option, he was there looking for a gift. He knew the genre that the person liked, but he mostly read non-fiction. He told Basya as such. 

“What kind of genre do they like?”

“Uh, sci-fi mostly.” 

What he didn’t tell her was that it was for Ayelet, a girl he had been dating recently. It was her birthday soon. He had no idea what to get her, and had been agonizing over it for a while, when he remembered that she had declared she loved science fiction when they were first getting to know each other. 

Basya hummed in thought. Slowly, she had begun to understand the organization of the book store as well, to a certain degree. 

“Have they read Ender’s Game?”

“Yeah. That was one of the first things she mentioned.” He blushed, realizing he had let the pronoun slip. He was very private about these kinds of things. And for some reason, it felt weird talking about it with Basya. 

Basya felt the urge to rib him a little, maybe ask when they had first gotten together, but even she knew that there were certain limits on things, and her and Caleb weren’t actually that close. Despite the teeny, tiny crush she may have had on him for a few years…

“Well, we also have these options!” 

She led him over to where many of the science fiction novels were. In the end, he couldn’t choose between two books.

“Just get her both,” Basya said with a smile, hoping the slight pangs she was feeling didn’t show through. 

Caleb didn’t understand why he felt so awkward talking about this with Basya. She was a friend - not quite a good friend, but someone he had known for a while. 

“Thank you,” he said, and then again after purchasing the books.

“I hope she likes them!” Basya exclaimed. 

Caleb, like he always did, left first. 

A nice cafe in the city. 

Caleb had always thought that cafes were perfect first dates. Light meals, easygoing atmosphere. In the time you spent drinking coffee and having a cinnamon bun you know if you wanted the date to continue or not. At least, that was how he felt. He had only dated two people, and both of them had started out with cafe dates - so maybe he was doing something wrong. 

But here he was again, doing the cafe thing. With a girl who should have been there half an hour ago. 

Just then, his phone binged. 

Hi, I’m sorry. I’m not really ready to start dating yet? I shouldn’t have agreed to this. I hope I didn’t cause too much trouble.

Ah. 

Well.

He was disappointed, but there wasn’t really anything he could do. In that case, it was about time he finished the coffee he had  been slowly sipping for the past half hour. The baristas had been giving him weird looks anyway. 

He was just about done - the coffee had gone cold long before - when he heard a familiar voice. 

“Fancy meeting you here.”

He looked up. Standing there in a brown shirt and cream-colored skirt was Basya. Today she had glasses on instead of contact lenses, and was looking at him bemused. 

“We need to stop running into each other like this.” 

Caleb smiled softly. “I don’t know, it’s kind of fun. I never know when we’re going to run into each other.”

Basya laughed. It was a beautiful sound. “I guess there is something to random meetings.” She gestured at his coffee cup. “Drinking alone?” 

Caleb remembered that he had been ditched, and his happiness deflated. “I wasn’t supposed to be. It was going to be a date but she, uh, couldn’t make it.”

Basya nodded sympathetically. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well. What are you going to do?” Hoping to change the direction of the conversation, he asked, “What are you doing here?” 

Basya cringed. “Funny you mention dates abandoning you. I was supposed to meet this guy here, but he texted me that he couldn’t make it either. I didn’t see the message until after I got off the subway, so I figured I may as well get lunch and make something of the day, you know?” 

“Well,” Caleb said. “You can have this table. I was just leaving.” 

“Wait,” said Basya. Caleb paused. She had a strange look on her face. “Have you had lunch yet?” 

“Uh, no.”

And then, in her usual manner, masking any discomfort or awkwardness that she was feeling, Basya said, “Do you want to eat first then?” 

“I mean. You mean here?” 

“Sure. I meant. Sorry, I shouldn’t have butted in. I can get another table-”

And then, very much against his usual shy, quiet manner, Caleb spoke up. “Why don’t you eat here? I mean, why don’t we eat together?”

Basya raised her eyebrows. “Together?”

Caleb blushed. “Well, it doesn’t have to be together. I just figured since you’re here, and I’m here..” his voice trailed off. He wasn’t quite sure what else to say. 

Luckily, Basya smiled softly. “Sure. I’d love to.” 

Amidst a sea of flowers and white cloth sat a bride. Dressed in a gorgeous white gown with hennaed fingers, she wore a tiara like a princess. Sitting patiently, awaiting her prince to come and bring the veil over her face. 

The bride’s name was Basya. She came from a long line of shohets, or religious butchers. Her family ran a kosher deli called Schechters in Henwood. 

Soon, the groom would be escorted to his bride, surrounded by his friends. At the moment, he was focusing on signing the marriage contract. 

The groom’s name was Caleb. He came from a short line of chefs. His family ran a kosher dairy restaurant called Oui Cafe, also in Henwood. 

The families, the Schechters and the Halevis, knew each other, and got along well. Basya and Caleb had known each other, well, technically since they were eight years old. 

In a short time, hands in matching rings would clasp each other.

What were the chances?

[yiddenheroes]

SAND DOLLAR MILLIONAIRE

The water has no right being that pretty. 

This wasn’t the first time the thought ran through Hodaya’s head, and it most probably would not be the last. The clear green-blue ocean was mesmerizing, and her gaze kept straying back to it. The waves were rougher here than they had been in the area where she had started her walk, but that didn’t diminish the alluring sparkle of sunlight in the water. 

The night before, Safta had asked if she was okay with going to the beach the next day, and no sooner was the question out of her mouth that Hodaya said yes. Although she had had a rocky relationship with the beach - or, rather, all of the exposed skin and how people would perceive her - it was still one of her favorite places, and she wanted to get in as much time there before having to return to New York. 

As she walked, the white sand hot but not quite burning under her feet, her eye caught on a small scallop shell half-buried in the sand. Scooping it up before a wave could sweep it away, she brushed off the sand and looked it over. The shell was practically complete, with no holes or cracks, with orange-and-red coloring reminiscent of early sunset. Pleased, she placed it in the pocket of her hoodie vest, and decided that this was as good a time as ever to turn around and start walking back. 

She passed a few other beachgoers also on walks, couples and friends and lone walkers like her, and also found a few more shells. One in particular, the long spiral kind that she didn’t know the name of, lay excruciatingly close to an oncoming wave, with no sand holding it down to keep it in place. Hodaya darted forward, hoping to snatch it up before the wave got there.

A heavy weight slammed into her, knocking her into the wave, which swept the spiral shell away, and down to the hard sand beneath. “

I’m so sorry,” blubbered the guy who had run into her. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m…fine,” Hodaya said, though she wobbled a little while standing up, and both of her sides were aching - one from the impact, and one from smacking into the wave and then hard sand. What was the guy even doing, going that fast? 

“My little brother and I were racing to the water,” the guy explained, as if he had read the question from her mind, and gestured to what was essentially a younger version of himself - both of them had dark curly hair, big brown eyes, and tanned skin - standing a few feet away in the water watching them. 

“I didn’t see you. I’m really really sorry.” His face was so rife with guilt it seemed more appropriate to believe he had just accidentally run over an animal or something.

Hodaya rubbed her side and shook her head. “It’s fine. I was looking down at this shell, I didn’t see you either.” 

She saw his eyes zero in on where her hands were rubbing, and dropped them. “I’m fine. I just hit the sand a little hard.” She waved her hands in an exaggerated ‘no problem’ gesture, but he still looked upset. 

“I’m really sorry.”

“Really, it’s fine. I’m okay. Go back to your brother.”

Right on cue, the guy’s brother seemed to have finally had enough. 

“Jacob!” He shouted. “Come on!”

“Yeah, one minute!” The guy - presumably named Jacob, which was a much nicer name than ‘the guy’ - called back. He turned back to her. 

“Wait, you were collecting shells?” His face got excited. “Wait here!” 

He scrambled back up the sand to a collection of brightly colored blankets and beach chairs, where an older man and woman sat chatting. They looked up and smiled at him, and he said something and knelt down by a striped beach bag, rummaging around before his hand emerged with something. He jogged back over to her and, with a small smile, handed her a whole, perfect sand dollar. 

“I know it’s not the same, but here.”

Hodaya took it. It really was perfect, unmarred and circular. 

“Where did you find this one?” She looked up, but he had already run into the water. “Or, not.” 

She watched Jacob catch up to his brother, who splashed water at him. Jacob just laughed and splashed him back, and soon they were swimming farther out into the green-blue waters.

She took another look at the sand dollar - seriously, where had he found it, when she had only been able to find bits and pieces? She placed the sand dollar in her pocket, next to the other shells. Unwittingly, a smile tugged at the edges of her mouth, though it turned into a wince when she took a step. She had hit the ground kind of hard. 

Hodaya and her grandmother spent most of the drive home from Delray Beach figuring out what they would do for Saturday lunch. The week before, her grandmother had knocked on her door and informed her that one of her mahjong buddies had invited them over for Shabbat dinner the next week.

“It will be you and me, Judy and her husband and their two grandsons. I want you to know that you are under no obligation to say yes,” Safta had said firmly. 

She was always trying to take her granddaughter’s feelings into consideration for things, and was one of Hodaya’s main pillars of support in life. It was one of the reasons that coming out to her had been simultaneously so sure yet terrifying. When Hodaya had told her, heart beating so fast she was sure it was going to burst and breath lodged in her throat, Safta had softly cupped her face and looked in her in the eyes, and determinedly told her that she loved her very much, and would help in any way she could to make sure that Hodaya felt safe and comfortable, not just as a girl but in every part of life. 

“Judy’s the new one, who all of your friends dread because she keeps winning?” 

Safta huffed. “I’ll have you know I beat her on Tuesday. Won myself five dollars off of that game. But yes, that’s her. You can think about it, if you want. It’s no hurry.”

Hodaya hesitated. A few years ago, she wouldn’t have said yes. She hadn’t been comfortable in her body - high school insecurities teaming up with dysphoria to turn her into a socially anxious mess - and there were times that she still wasn’t, but she was at a place now that she felt much more comfortable in her own skin. And from what Safta had told her, this Judy was quite the character. 

“We should go,” she said confidently. “I want to meet the woman who robbed my grandmother of so many winnings.”

“Yeah, yeah,” her grandmother had grumbled. “I’ll go let her know.” 

Shopping was much easier with only lunch to think about, and in the end, they decided on chicken for Saturday. The rest of the day had passed by in a whir of showers and shopping and cooking, and the night and following day just as quickly, until it was nearly time to light. 

Hodaya was in the guest bathroom of her grandmother’s apartment - a second-floor, two bedroom place in one of Boca Raton’s many gated communities - finishing applying a light layer of eye makeup. The temperature outside had permitted her to wear one of her favorite dresses - light pink fabric with a flared bottom and a tie around the neck. It lay on her body just right, in a way that made everything proportional and perfect, and made her feel like a boss princess whenever she wore it. Her hair was still a little damp from the shower when she brushed it out after finishing up her eyes, but it still had a few minutes to finish drying. 

Safta popped her head in the doorway, fixing in the backing of an earring. 

“Did you want to borrow any jewelry?” She asked. 

Hodaya looked at herself in the mirror and smiled. 

“I’m good.” 

“You look beautiful. You know, I used to have a dress in that color. I actually wore it on one of my first dates with your Saba.” Safta said. 

“The time when he took you out to that fancy restaurant in the city and spilled wine all over you and the tablecloth?” 

Safta laughed. “You remember all of my stories. The dress was ruined, but he was so sweet and apologetic it didn’t really matter.” 

Her gaze drifted off the way it did whenever she thought about her husband. Even after over fifty years of marriage and despite spending a lot of time apart - Hodaya’s grandfather staying in New York for work - they were still as sweet on each other as the day they first fell in love. 

They were probably also part of why Hodaya set the bar so high for relationships, but that was a thought for another time. 

“Are you all ready to light?” Hodaya asked. 

“Yes, let’s go. I don’t want to be late.”

Because they would be leaving for Judy’s apartment soon after, the two welcomed Shabbat with tea lights set in a pan instead of the bigger candles at the window, murmuring the prayer quietly and covering their eyes. After a few silent moments, her grandmother went to retrieve the small cake that she had gotten for dessert (“You always bring something when you go to someone’s house, Hodaya”) from the fridge and Hodaya went to grab her small handbag from her room. Before she left, her eye caught on the sand dollar, laid out on the night table, and the corners of her lips quirked up. What a weird encounter.

The walk to Judy’s wasn’t that long, and soon enough they were standing in front of a first-floor apartment with candles in the window and a beautifully decorated mezuzah on the door frame. The woman who opened the door had silver hair pulled back into a bun and a twinkle in her eye that made Hodaya like her immediately. Her face was also slightly familiar, though Hodaya couldn’t place where from. Maybe she had seen her walking around the area.

“Good Shabbos!” She welcomed, pulling Safta in for a quick hug. She turned to Hodaya. 

“Do you hug, dear? I always try to ask first.”

“Oh,” Hodaya said, a little caught off guard. “Yeah.” But Judy’s embrace was warm and firm, and she was happy that she had said yes. 

“It’s so nice to finally meet you. Oh, did you bring something? I told you you didn’t have to. Please, please, come in. Oh, this is my husband, Cecil -” the man in question waved at them from the kitchen. “-and Jacob and Elijah are just finishing getting ready. Please, sit down, make yourselves comfortable.” 

Judy directed the both of them to a blue couch that was as comfortable as it looked, with white pillows printed with different birds as an extra comfort. Hodaya wanted to lean back into the cushions, but figured that it would be more polite to sit up straight. 

“The food is just about heated up,” Judy continued in a nonstop stream. “And look! Here are the boys!” 

She turned toward the small hallway, where two boys, nearly identical except for height and that one of them was wearing glasses, emerged. 

Oh. 

Oh.

That’s why Judy was so familiar. 

The taller boy stood in a light blue button down shirt, slacks, and a dark blue kippah, brown eyes wide behind glasses that he hadn’t been wearing the day before at the beach.

“This is Jacob, the oldest,” Judy said, not noticing their shock. “And this is Elijah. Boys, this is Rachel and her granddaughter Hodaya.” 

“We’ve actually met,” Jacob said.

“Oh!” Judy exclaimed. “What?”

“We ran into each other at the beach yesterday,” Hodaya said, trying to hide the amusement from her voice. 

“Literally,” Elijah added. “Jacob, like, slammed into her.”

“Jacob!” His grandmother admonished.

“It’s fine,” Hodaya said. “He already paid me back. Where did you find a whole sand dollar like that? I’ve only found bits and pieces, but barely even that.” 

“That’s something we still want to know too,” Cecil said, coming in from the kitchen. “He just finds them all over the place. If you could use them as money, he’d be a sand dollar millionaire.” He kissed his wife’s cheek. “Food’s ready.” 

Soon enough they were into the meal, which was a wide selection of meat, soup, vegetables, and homemade challah, which Hodaya especially loved. When she told Judy as much, the woman smiled and thanked her, and said that she would be happy to share the recipe. 

“What are you doing now?” Cecil asked Hodaya after a few minutes of chatter. “Are you a student?”

“Yeah. I’m actually at Barnard.”

“Oh! What are you studying?” Judy asked.

“Environmental science,” Hodaya explained. 

She then paused. She always felt awkward explaining her school career. She loved what she was studying - though some of the classes took much more effort to get through than others - but putting it into words was always hard. 

Thankfully, Jacob swooped in. 

“That’s so cool. I could never really do science stuff. Just doesn’t click in my brain.”

Hodaya internally sighed in relief. “Where are you studying?”

“I’m at Hunter College. I’m majoring in psych, and minoring in history. I actually prefer my history classes more, but I think that’s just because of the professors.” 

Elijah leaned forward. 

“Do you spend all of your time talking about climate change?” He abruptly asked Hodaya. 

“Please no talk of climate change, it scares your grandfather,” Judy said.

“It should scare him,” Elijah muttered. “May I be excused, then?”

“Just come back for dessert,” Judy said. “He’s not good with strangers,” she told them after Elijah had disappeared into the other room.

Hodaya completely understood, and almost wished she herself could disappear back into her guest room to read or finish a puzzle. Unlike her grandmother, who was one of the most sociable people she knew, Hodaya’s social battery ran out relatively quickly, especially around people that she didn’t know. But the atmosphere at the table was comfortable, and although she would definitely need some time alone when they got back, she would be fine for the rest of the night. 

Dessert was the chocolate cake that Safta had brought over and a homemade fruit salad. 

“Your grandmother told me you’re allergic to strawberries,” Judy informed Hodaya. “So I put them in a separate bowl from the fruit salad.”

“Oh, thank you so much.”

Elijah emerged for a slice of the cake and to help cleanup, but after everything was finished, he muttered a quick “nice to meet you” to Hodaya and her grandmother and disappeared again. By the time Hodaya and her grandmother were ready to leave, Hodaya’s stomach was full but her battery empty, but she felt the kind of pleasantness one could only find after time spent in good company. 

After lunch the next day, Judy stopped by to walk with her grandmother to the pool, where residents would gather every Saturday to chat. Elijah surprisingly hung a few feet behind, with half of his face covered by a large pair of sunglasses and a book in hand. 

“Where’s Jacob?” Hodaya found herself asking. 

“He’s sleeping right now. But I can let him know if you want to hang out.”

Hodaya felt her face heat up. 

“I wouldn’t want to bother him. I was just…wondering.” Not to mention, a nap sounded pretty good herself. 

But after a half an hour passed and she wasn’t able to fall asleep, Hodaya pulled herself up and decided to take advantage of the warmer Florida weather and go for a walk. She stopped by the pool area to let her grandmother know, avoiding the eyes of all of the other residents who she could tell were looking at her - some of whom she had known, and who had known her, since she had been little, and who always acted differently around her once she started growing her hair out and going by a different name, and whose smiles were just a little too plastic and tight around the edges - and hurried back out to begin her walk. 

Closing the gate behind her, she stepped out into the parking lot - and bumped into something very tall and solid feeling. 

She looked up. “This is a little ridiculous, I have to say.”

Jacob’s cheeks were red, but he was smiling when he shrugged. 

“Maybe it’s fate. I don’t have another sand dollar on me, though.” His hair was slightly rumpled, like he hadn’t managed it after waking up, and his shirt had shorter sleeves, which allowed him to show off his arms…

“Right…” She blew out a breath. “Are you here for the pool group?” 

Jacob shook his head. “As much gossip as they could probably give me, I’m just letting my safta know I’m going on a walk. Did you get your fill of time with them?”

She smiled. “I was actually doing the same thing as you.”

“Huh.” Jacob bit his lip. It was a very nice lip.

Shut up, mind, Hodaya hissed to her mind. 

But he’s cute, her mind simpered back.  

“I know we just met - I mean, met again, but basically officially met - last night…do you want to walk together?” Jacob asked her. 

The morning had been quiet, and she and Safta didn’t have any big plans for later…so why not?

“Yeah, sure. I’d love to.” 

“Great, just let me let my safta know.” 

Over the course of the next half hour, Hodaya learned several things about Jacob, including that he loved Star Trek but was afraid of space, that he had tried going vegetarian several times but failed (“It’s my safta’s chicken,” he explained. “That’s how they get you.”), that he talked a lot, and that he had grown up in the same town as her, only a few blocks away. 

“Wait, that’s crazy. We totally could have crossed paths before,” Jacob said. “What school did you go to?”

“I, ah, switched into public school after sixth grade.” 

“I get that. Switching, I mean. I used to go to this place in Brooklyn - I had to get up at like five in the morning every day - but I switched out in the middle of high school.” He scratched the back of his neck. “It…wasn’t pretty.” 

“I’m sorry.” Hodaya felt awkward. Was this one of the times that you expressed sympathy and then moved on? Or was she supposed to ask what had happened? 

“Do you want to talk about it?” She asked tentatively. 

“They…weren’t exactly accepting of certain things,” Jacob said. He suddenly seemed like he wasn’t sure what to say next. “Not that the people at my new school were super great, but it was better, and I found some good friends, you know?” 

“That’s good,” Hodaya said, but her mind was racing. He couldn’t possibly be talking about what she thought he was talking about. 

“Why did you switch? If you don’t mind me asking.” 

The question drew her out of her thoughts. 

“The same thing,” Hodaya said. “I think.” 

She thought that he would push, and wondered what she would tell him (she didn’t care how he felt about her, even if he was funny and cute, but there was always the forefront thought of if it would be safe, even if he wasn’t likely to do anything and there was a chance that he was in a similar boat to her), but he didn’t. Instead, he changed the subject, and the moment passed. 

“How are your sides feeling, by the way?”

“What?” She didn’t understand for a moment, but then it clicked. “They’re fine. I don’t even feel it anymore. To be honest, I’m more interested in how you keep finding so many sand dollars, Mr. Sand Dollar Millionaire.” 

Jacob grinned. 

“A sand dollar finder never reveals his secrets. But,” he leaned in conspiratorially. “I’ll make a special case this time.” 

“Is that so?” Hodaya asked, half amused and half genuinely curious.

 “The secret is… I really don’t know.” 

“Oh.” Well, that was kind of a letdown. “Come on. If you find as many as I’ve heard you do, you must have some way to look for them.”

Jacob shrugged. 

“I genuinely don’t know. And I don’t actually have that many. The tales of my adventures have been greatly exaggerated. Plus, if I did have that many, they wouldn’t actually mean a lot. Like if you print too many dollars.” He cleared his throat. “But, I wouldn’t mind looking for some of them together, if you’re interested.” 

“What?” She asked.

“Not, as like, a date,” he said, holding his hands up. “That came out sounding like me asking for a date, didn’t it?”

“Not at all.” It totally had though. She smiled. “I would love to look for them with you.”

“At some hypothetical time after Shabbat,” he added jokingly. Hodaya laughed. One wasn’t supposed to plan for events after Shabbat on Shabbat, but it was a cute little workaround. 

“Hypothetically,” she responded. 

And when they both went back to their respective apartments, she laid down on the bed in the guest room. The first shades of sunset were showing in the sky - her grandmother would probably be back soon. 

What had she been thinking, agreeing to meet with this guy she barely knew? To find sand dollars? It didn’t feel real. 

But it was, and as she stared at the ceiling, her thoughts took over. He was cute - a little talkative, but cute. And he was funny. A nice Jewish boy who lived close to her that she could hang out with and maybe pursue a relationship with, in this fantasy future. 

But he also had the potential to be on the spectrum of awful, from visible uncomfort or staring to harsh words and jeers when he found out she was trans. Because she wasn’t going to hide that part of herself from him, if they were going to be friends. And if he didn’t like it, that was his problem.

But it was also an issue of if she would be safe. 

She heard the front door open, and Safta calling out to her. She sat up, giving herself a moment so that she wouldn’t feel dizzy when she stood up. Like the night before, her eye caught on the sand dollar, flat and pretty against the dark wood of the night table. She imagined a beach full of sand dollars, and thought that maybe Jacob had been wrong - you couldn’t have too many. 

Hodaya smiled to herself in the darkening room, and then got up to join her grandmother.