The Glow of the Spotlight: My Journey with Rebecca

Back at the apartment, Mrs. Rubin is already setting a metal washtub next to the sink and a pot of water on the stove to boil for baths. She shoos Rebecca and me out of the kitchen while Victor and Benny prepare for their bath time. Rebecca leads me to her room instead, explaining that we’ll bathe upstairs at Bubbie’s. I can’t imagine bathing right there in the kitchen, and when I ask why baths come before dinner at all, Rebecca explains that Shabbos begins at sundown, so the whole family washes and dresses in something clean before the special meal. It’s her favorite night of the week, she admits, when the house looks its nicest and everything slows down for a while.

Upstairs, Bubbie already has the washtub filled with warm water in a corner of her kitchen. I scrunch myself into the metal tub, and Rebecca shows me how to dunk my head to wash my hair properly. I can’t help wondering what Rebecca would think if she knew I took a shower every day back home.

Dressed again in one of Rebecca’s prettier dresses, I help set the table with polished silver, embroidered napkins, and a pair of candlesticks, my stomach rumbling at the smell of dinner. We all stand behind our chairs while Sadie and Sophie say the blessing, then pass around bowls of chicken noodle soup that Bubbie ladles from a big pot.

That’s when Mr. Rubin notices the fresh scratch across the back of Benny’s hand. When he asks what happened, Benny explains, matter-of-factly, that Pasta was supposed to help him get away from Baba Yaga, so he went to the cellar to find her, only to be scratched instead of helped.

Rebecca’s jaw and mine both fall open. Mrs. Rubin sets down her spoon and turns to her daughter, asking whether Benny was really down in the cellar while the two of us were playing on the roof. Her voice has gone quiet in a way that feels worse than shouting.

Rebecca insists Benny was only playing a part in our play, and that he’d run off on his own when we turned away for one second. Mrs. Rubin’s expression doesn’t soften. Mrs. Rubin scolds that we were responsible for Benny. Which is more important—a play, or taking care of Benny?

Rebecca and I steal a guilty glance at each other. We’re in trouble now.