The Glow of the Spotlight: My Journey with Rebecca

Mrs. Rubin is busy with lots of housework, even though it’s a small apartment. There’s not a dishwasher or washing machine, so she has to do the laundry for such a big family in a huge metal tub with an old-fashioned washboard. But it seems today isn’t laundry day. As we put away the butter and milk, I discover the refrigerator is a small square box at the bottom of a tall cabinet with a thick block of ice to keep things cool.

Mrs. Rubin asks me to play with Benny while she does the dishes and cleans. Benny tugs me into the living room. I sit on the sofa, and realize there’s not much to do. There’s no television, radio, or video games.

Finally, Benny asks for a game of hide-and-seek. I count to 100 with my eyes shut while he scurries off to find a place to hide. I call out that I’m coming and pretend to check a few silly spots before homing in on the real ones. I try the wardrobe, then a wicker trunk at the foot of Rebecca’s bed, before I finally lift the edge of the quilt and catch him squirming underneath Rebecca’s bed, squealing with laughter.

Round after round, I’m always the one counting and Benny is always the one hiding, until he trades the game for a box of jacks and a small red rubber ball, and we toss and scoop across the smooth kitchen floor. I haven’t played games like this in ages, but it’s actually a lot of fun.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Rubin mixes dough at the table. She covers it with a cloth in a bowl. After lunch, Benny settles down for a nap, and since I don’t see any picture books, I invent a story about Tom Thumb to ease him toward sleep.

After Benny falls asleep, I head back to the kitchen table. I’m surprised to see the dough has risen into a rounded mound. Mrs. Rubin kneads it once more, then shows me how she rolls it into three even strands and braids them together. She explains it’s hallah, and they have it every Friday. It’s sweeter than the bread they eat on other days because of the eggs worked into it. I ask if I can try, and I like the give of the dough under my fingers and wonder whether a recipe like this exists anywhere back in my own time.

Mrs. Rubin asks if I help my mother make bread at home, although she must be pretty busy with the performances. I nod and say she stays busy with work. Speaking of which… I glance at the clock. It’s nearly 2:30 PM! I didn’t even get a chance to practice my routine, and I don’t want to be late!