filling her mouth with pins, which she hurriedly started sticking into the dress, hemming it, picking up the shoulders.
“It looks like you’re dressing up in Ima ’s old clothes.”
Dina looked at herself in the mirror. The dress was definitely, embarrassingly awful. It didn’t even approximately fit. In Israel there were only a few sizes, going from size eight to fourteen. There was no such thing as clothes for misses, or petites, or women. Each dress had the same size no matter what its dimensions, and you had no choice but to try it on and hope for a lucky fit. All stores had seamstresses who did the alterations that were almost always necessary to make a dress fit the buyer.
Dina looked at herself in dismay, then began to giggle.
Dvorah made a face at her, but then was hopelessly caught up as well. They laughed in loud, hiccuping sobs of laughter.
“Well, if I knew you weren’t serious,” the store owner said, deeply offended. “We aren’t used to such behavior from religious girls. To waste a person’s time,” she went on, getting angrier and angrier.
The sisters caught themselves. “We are serious,” Dvorah managed with some degree of dignity. “But it’s just as big a sin to try to sell someone goods that aren’t appropriate.”
“Are you saying there is something wrong with my merchandise? That I am, G-d forbid, not being a thousand percent honest?”
Dina dove out of the dress and into her old one, grabbing Dvorah by the arm and heading out the door. “We’re so sorry. It was just too …” She felt the giggle rise up inside her again, irresistible. “Too … big,” she managed to say just before the laughter exploded once again inside her, making her helpless with weakness.
The owner stood at the door, glaring, as the two girls hurried down the street.
“So, you see. It was a blessing all these years, not having to buy new clothes. Remember how much we wanted them, how angry we were that our clothes always came in boxes, washed and starched, smelling of other people’s closets!” Dina mused, her heart still beating rapidly from the whole experience. “Let’s go home. I’m sure I can find something in the last batch …”
Dvorah grabbed her arm. “It’s out of the question. You must have a new dress. You’re a kallah moid , not a little girl anymore. You must have your own dress. A few dresses!”
“A few?” The thought had never even occurred to her. More than one new dress! “Dvorah, who will pay?”
“Never mind. It’s all taken care of.”
“It’s a gemach , isn’t it?”
A gemach , or a free loan fund, was the unofficial bank of the haredi world. It was a religious obligation to give ten percent of one’s income to charity every year. Part of that could, if desired, be distributed in the form of interest-free loans to any corner Thus there were gemachs that made housing loans, that loaned medical equipment like wheelchairs and breast pumps, that lent wedding clothes for brides and grooms or gave out used refrigerators and stoves. There were gemachs housed in people’s homes that provided medicines on Friday night and holidays when the pharmacies were closed. There was even a gemach that specialized in returning lost pencils and pens.
“I hate to take charity,” Dina said.
“It’s not charity. It’s a loan that has to be repaid.”
“And who will repay it? Aba and Ima ? You know how much they’re still paying off for your wedding.” She stopped. “Oh, I didn’t mean—”
“I know what you meant. But, believe me, Ima and Aba got off cheap with me. Yaakov’s parents paid for almost everything else. Anyway, this is the way things are done. I’m not happy that Aba has all these extra debts because of me. But what would be better, for me not to get married at all? This is the way our world works. The parents break their backs their whole lives supporting their children. We will do the same for our children.”
“But, it doesn’t seem fair! I
“It looks like you’re dressing up in Ima ’s old clothes.”
Dina looked at herself in the mirror. The dress was definitely, embarrassingly awful. It didn’t even approximately fit. In Israel there were only a few sizes, going from size eight to fourteen. There was no such thing as clothes for misses, or petites, or women. Each dress had the same size no matter what its dimensions, and you had no choice but to try it on and hope for a lucky fit. All stores had seamstresses who did the alterations that were almost always necessary to make a dress fit the buyer.
Dina looked at herself in dismay, then began to giggle.
Dvorah made a face at her, but then was hopelessly caught up as well. They laughed in loud, hiccuping sobs of laughter.
“Well, if I knew you weren’t serious,” the store owner said, deeply offended. “We aren’t used to such behavior from religious girls. To waste a person’s time,” she went on, getting angrier and angrier.
The sisters caught themselves. “We are serious,” Dvorah managed with some degree of dignity. “But it’s just as big a sin to try to sell someone goods that aren’t appropriate.”
“Are you saying there is something wrong with my merchandise? That I am, G-d forbid, not being a thousand percent honest?”
Dina dove out of the dress and into her old one, grabbing Dvorah by the arm and heading out the door. “We’re so sorry. It was just too …” She felt the giggle rise up inside her again, irresistible. “Too … big,” she managed to say just before the laughter exploded once again inside her, making her helpless with weakness.
The owner stood at the door, glaring, as the two girls hurried down the street.
“So, you see. It was a blessing all these years, not having to buy new clothes. Remember how much we wanted them, how angry we were that our clothes always came in boxes, washed and starched, smelling of other people’s closets!” Dina mused, her heart still beating rapidly from the whole experience. “Let’s go home. I’m sure I can find something in the last batch …”
Dvorah grabbed her arm. “It’s out of the question. You must have a new dress. You’re a kallah moid , not a little girl anymore. You must have your own dress. A few dresses!”
“A few?” The thought had never even occurred to her. More than one new dress! “Dvorah, who will pay?”
“Never mind. It’s all taken care of.”
“It’s a gemach , isn’t it?”
A gemach , or a free loan fund, was the unofficial bank of the haredi world. It was a religious obligation to give ten percent of one’s income to charity every year. Part of that could, if desired, be distributed in the form of interest-free loans to any corner Thus there were gemachs that made housing loans, that loaned medical equipment like wheelchairs and breast pumps, that lent wedding clothes for brides and grooms or gave out used refrigerators and stoves. There were gemachs housed in people’s homes that provided medicines on Friday night and holidays when the pharmacies were closed. There was even a gemach that specialized in returning lost pencils and pens.
“I hate to take charity,” Dina said.
“It’s not charity. It’s a loan that has to be repaid.”
“And who will repay it? Aba and Ima ? You know how much they’re still paying off for your wedding.” She stopped. “Oh, I didn’t mean—”
“I know what you meant. But, believe me, Ima and Aba got off cheap with me. Yaakov’s parents paid for almost everything else. Anyway, this is the way things are done. I’m not happy that Aba has all these extra debts because of me. But what would be better, for me not to get married at all? This is the way our world works. The parents break their backs their whole lives supporting their children. We will do the same for our children.”
“But, it doesn’t seem fair! I
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