"Take Her to Saks."

If I hadn't been rejected by the girls at school, I might never have decided to enter a Bible Contest and spend hours, weeks, months and years studying selected books of the Bible. The grand prize was a trip to Israel. Each year there were different books to study. One year it was Genesis, Deuteronomy, Judges, Kings I, and Ezra.  The next it was  Exodus, Numbers, Samuel I, Jonah, and Hosea. I entered  three years in a row and eventually made it to the finals in New York.

With four little kids running around at home, it was impossible to concentrate, so I'd often trudge over to the temple to study. Temple Sinai was a private mansion which had been converted into a House of Worship. I'd found an attic room where I could be alone. In winter, I'd pull on my boots. Gazing up at the icy branches and  the forlorn sky, I'd wend my way over there. In spring, I'd practically skip along the sidewalks past the house with the velvet lawn and onward to the Temple gates. It became my refuge.

I felt the Bible stories deeply. There was Joseph who'd been thrown into a pit out of sheer jealousy. His brothers hated him because he was their father's favorite.  At the last minute, instead of leaving him to die, they sold him into slavery.  They dipped his Coat of Many Colors into the blood of a goat, so that their father would believe that Joseph had been killed by wild animals. Who could imagine?

Having won at the State level, my mom, and I flew off to New York for the Nationals along with Pauline Ostroff, the principal of our religious school. Pauline was a small parrot-like woman with an auburn beehive hairdo, very fluttery and self-important. She wore expensive suits and shoes. Sometimes she quizzed me in my attic cove, but she never took much interest in me. Basically, she didn't know me from borscht. She was a perfectionist and could be very picky. Maybe I shouldn't have blamed her. Her husband was suffering from Parkinson's and she was his sole caregiver.

That evening, the three of us went down to dinner at the hotel restaurant. When the waiter placed the bill on the table, it lay there like an unwanted baby in a basket. It was obvious to me that Pauline expected my mom to pick up the tab.
"Pauline probably thinks we're loaded," my mother told me back in our room. "She probably expects me to treat her all weekend. But I told her right away, 'Look Pauline, I want you to know that Jake has to work hard for every penny and we have a house full of little kids.'"

Our wealth or lack of it was unclear to me. We lived in a white brick house, "the only newly built house on the block," my mother was always quick to point out. My grandfather had built it. He lived in one half with his new wife and their children, and we lived in the other half. My dad was in business for himself because no one could work with my tyrannical grandfather. My dad worked hard and was extremely frugal.  I didn't know if we were rich or poor. I knew my parents acted as if we were poor.

The morning of the contest I woke up early; my right foot was shaking uncontrollably.  I simply could not comprehend why my foot would not stop shaking. It was impossible to eat a thing. Finally, we made it out the door and grabbed a cab to the building on Park Avenue. I calmed down a bit during the written exam; the orals would be that afternoon.

Blanche Bauman, my mom's second cousin, happened to be visiting New York from Beverley Hills at  the time and offered to come by to lend her support. My parents had met her when my dad was stationed in California during the war and my mom had tagged along as his new bride.  When Blanche arrived, all heads turned.  Blanche strolled in, crossed her long legs and gave the judges her full attention. That day, I managed to come in Third - no trip to Israel, no second place cash prize. I was disheartened, but at least the pressure was off.

After the contest, Blanche said to my Mom, "Jean, why didn't you dress her up more?"  I was wearing a black cotton suit with a little white blouse.  "If you'd dressed her up more, the judges may have taken more notice of her."

The next day, my mom confessed to Blanche that we'd traipsed around all afternoon, but couldn't find a thing for my upcoming Confirmation party. "What's the problem, Jean?" Blanche replied, "Take her to Saks."

For whatever reason, Blanche's words touched a chord in me. Blanche, in her silk dress and patent heels, was a woman who showed me something.  I never saw Blanche again, but she had advocated for me and had opened a certain door.