Innocence

The Sunflower

The first time I noticed Esti was at her Bat Chayil; truly noticed her, I mean. I'd always been aware of her, because our community was small, and everyone knew everyone. She was the Halper's only daughter, a quiet mouse who only ever made a peep when teachers addressed her directly and even then, she didn't say much. Even when we played games or sports at school, her participation was marked simply by her presence and nothing more. I think her solitary nature came from having lethargic, older parents; they were both so dreadfully pious and boring.  

I remember her father would often visit mine. He'd come to our house to discuss things I neither cared about nor wanted to hear. He would always bring Esti with him, and she would dawdle awkwardly in the hallway or wait obediently outside the room they were speaking in.  

'Take Esti to the garden.' My father commanded on a recent occasion, as he sat Mr Halper down in the living room.

'I'm busy.' I said, although I was twelve years old and I wasn't busy.

'Take her, Ronit. Show her the sunflower you have grown.'

I rolled my eyes and trudged towards the back door, I heard Esti's faint footfall behind me. I yanked the door open and stepped onto the broken patio slabs of our dilapidated garden. A forest of dry, brown, crispy stalks poked out of the parched soil of about twenty plant pots. I'd often been told my mother was an avid gardener, but when she died, all of her flowers shortly followed. Only one adolescent sunflower gave our bleak garden colour now, it stood almost as tall as me in the deepest terracotta pot we had.

'This is my sunflower.' I muttered, gesturing to the plant.

'It's... nice.' Esti offered, she touched one of the light green leaves.

'It's stupid. He made me grow it, I don't care about it.'

'Why did he make you grow it?'

I shrugged.

'I like it.' She raised her fingers, so they brushed against the petals gently. That was the first time I noticed her hands. They looked soft, dusted with pale freckles and I couldn't help but note how cautious her fingers were.

Her Bat Chayil was hosted on the evening of her twelfth birthday, and it was during her d'var Torah when my ears perked up, and I sat forward. Normally I tuned out of the entire service; I would count the number of coughs or grunts I could hear from the men sitting below me, I would slouch forward and poke my fingers through the small holes of the railings, or if I was sitting at the back I would just close my eyes and imagine I was somewhere else.

This service was much the same until Esti stood in the centre of the synagogue with her parents. She was facing the viewing gallery because girls weren't allowed to stand at the bimah. I heard her voice shake before I saw her; her father rested a wrinkled hand in between her slim shoulders. She giggled anxiously when she stammered a few times; no one else in the synagogue laughed but I smiled naturally. I was leaning over the bench; my chin resting on the back of my hands as I watched her.

I realised this was the most I'd ever heard her voice; it sounded richer than I remembered, and I suppose I'd also never noticed that her mouth twitched when she was nervous. I detected an oddly enticing sound she made in her throat whenever she read an odd word of Hebrew. It was when she started quoting Anne Frank and talking about the forgotten women in Judaism that I saw some of the elder men in the pews glancing around, as if they were agitated, and I felt a defensive heat burn the tip of my ears.

Afterwards I descended from the gallery with the other women, I saw a pink-cheeked Esti receiving blessings and congratulations from a crowd of younger men. I approached her, and I just smiled; I must have looked so stupid. I just wanted to tell her that I enjoyed her speech, that I thought it was funny when she started laughing and to say mazel tov for her birthday, but I didn't have time. I think she smiled back at me, but she was hurried away by her parents, to another function to celebrate her coming of age, her adulthood, her oath to the Jewish community.