Enjoy a sampling of my shorter work:
“My UFOs” – The Jewish Book Council Blog
“Master of Miracles” – Tablet
“The Orthodox Jew and the Atheist” – Tablet
“The Benefits Of Waiting” – The Wisdom Daily
“What Happened When I Conquered My Fear Of Swimming In The Pacific” – The Wisdom Daily
“The Perfect Replacement” – Hevria
“Our Unexpected Passover Guest” – Tablet
“Mick Revises a Love Story” – JewishFiction.net
Scroll down for a complete short story which originally appeared in The Layers Project Magazine in January 2018 or press the button below to return to the main page.
“Taking the Plunge”
By Rebecca Klempner
Collecting my still-wet hair in one hand, I tuck it all into my fuzzy magenta cap and grab my bag. I’m grateful that it’s wintertime; I’ll be home from the mikvah in time to read the next chapter of Dealing with Dragons to my kids.
I walk through the ivory-painted hallway and head for the door, which is tucked discreetly in the back of the facility and watched by a closed-circuit camera and a security guard. I’ve got my cover story planned out for the kids—I delivered a meal to a friend with a new baby. This month’s explanation of my absence smack in the middle of the bedtime slog has the bonus of being true. I only hope my kids don’t notice I smell distinctly of swimming pool.
I’m only a few strides from my exit when I hear a whimper behind me. Half a second later, it is followed by a splutter. Someone is crying—not the usual experience at the mikvah.
Turning around, I spot an old classmate of mine from high school, Yocheved Levon. I think she’s Gurevitz now.
“Something wrong?” I ask.
“The attendant…” She trails off. Big tears cling to her eyelashes and trickle down her cheeks.
“You mean the new one?” I suggest.
Yocheved nods. “On the way out, she suggested that I have besoros tovos.”
Besoros tovos translates as “good news,” but in our community, within the confines of a mikvah, it refers to a specific kind of good news: a pregnancy.
I slap my cheek. That new attendant had been pretty good to me, politely asking if I wanted her to check my nails for grime and my back for loose hairs, and offering me a washcloth to cover my head for the blessing rather than demanding I use it. But she was clearly under the assumption that every woman immersing wanted a baby, and that was simply not true. “She said it to me, too. Maybe we should make a complaint.”
Yocheved shakes her head. “Maybe that will help for next time. But prayers are powerful! And…”
“You don’t want a baby.”
Sniffle. “I’ve had eight. And they are blessings, all of them.” With the back of her hand, she rubs her nose. “I’m just tired.”
I nod. Even back when we attended high school, Yocheved was more strictly observant than me, and I had heard she now identified as Haredi. In the Haredi world, it’s pretty common to have eight children. But it’s never easy.
“Two of my kids have special needs,” Yocheved adds. “There are appointments, struggles at home, calls from the teachers…”
Putting an arm around her shoulders, I say, “You’ve got a lot on your plate.” After a moment, I whisper, “You’re on birth control, right?”
“Yeah…but it’s not perfect. I’ve gotten pregnant while on birth control.”
No wonder she’s nervous, I think.
Yocheved looks at me. “What about you? You’re not hoping for another?”
“I just don’t want more.” It’s not the kids. It’s the expense of having them. I don’t think we can afford day school tuition for more than two, or a larger home. To Yocheved, that wouldn’t be enough reason to go on birth control, but my husband and I are modern, and our rabbi allows us to consider finances as part of our decision.
Eagerly, she licks her lips. “How about this: you pray that I don’t get pregnant, and I pray that you don’t get pregnant. What do you think?”
It’s funny, really. There’s an idea that when we pray for someone else to receive a blessing we want for ourselves, both prayers will be answered. But usually an infertile woman prays for her infertile friend. “I’ll do it.”
“When you get home, drop charity in the tzedakah box and pray for me. And I’ll do the same for you.”
I squeeze my old classmate one more time, then withdraw my arm from her shoulders. “You’ve got it.”
Rebecca Klempner 