In this heartfelt debut novel, it takes a lifetime for a profoundly flawed Hasidic woman to learn that there is beauty in even the most mundane of lives.
Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from The Very Unremarkable Life of Mrs. Etty Bloom by Talya Jankovits, which is out now.
In the insulated Hasidic community of Williamsburg, Brooklyn, tradition and cultural norms are as sacred as religion. Childhood friendships are cultivated to climb social ladders, matchmakers dictate futures, and young girls are primed for marriage and motherhood.
So, when Etty Greenberger, a headstrong redhead and the only child of Holocaust survivors, commits one ugly and thoughtless act, she believes she has sabotaged her opportunity to secure a desirable match. Reluctantly, she agrees to marry Benji Bloom, a fishmonger’s son far below her marital aspirations, becoming Mrs. Etty Bloom.
With each passing year, Etty grows further from the life she had hoped for, filled with disappointment and delusions of grandeur. As she grapples with loss, grief, and the challenges of motherhood, she also discovers friendship, love, and joy in the most unexpected places. It may take a lifetime, but Etty Bloom finally learns that an unremarkable life can be remarkable after all.
EXCERPT
“From now on Etty, you will make the challah for Shabbas.”
Etty stared wide eyed at her mother. She never made anything for Shabbas. Once, her mother let her peel the hard-boiled eggs for the Shabbas lunch egg salad, but they all crunched what was supposed to be a soft and creamy salad, looking around the table at each other with shells in the grooves of their teeth. Etty was never asked to peel the eggs again. Another time, Etty was allowed to make lemonade before a hot summer Shabbas. It was thick with pulp and seeds and so sour it made their eyes water and their lips pucker. Etty watched with disappointment as her mother poured the entirety of it down the kitchen sink. And on one exciting occasion, Etty was allowed to prepare the batter of a chocolate cake, but she mixed up the salt and the sugar, putting only a teaspoon of sugar and one and a half cups of salt. Yet here she was, being assigned one of the most important tasks of Shabbas – baking the challah.
“Mama! I am not even allowed to turn on the oven.”
“Well, now you are.”
“But Mama! I have never made challah before.”
“No, you haven’t. Yet you have a lot of opinions about how it should be done. Let’s see how the squirrels like your challah next week.”
Shaindel walked back to the couch, sat down and continued to recite her tehillim. Etty stood dumbfounded in front of their closed door, the dead squirrel only twenty feet away or so and wondered with great anger how she ever thought her mother could have been Sarah Emainu.
“Nu? Are you going to the Weingartens or not? I’m not having you lose a shidduch proposal because you stood up the Weingartens one Shabbas afternoon just because of a dead squirrel.”
Etty headed out the door without a gut Shabbas.
The following Shabbas, Etty’s father recited Hamotzi, lifted the velvet challah cover and found two beautifully golden braided challahs beneath. He cut slowly, the bread slicing easily, the crust giving a bit of a crunch against the knife. He passed around the doughy soft pieces to Etty and her mother. Together, they chewed, eliciting mmms’ and ahhs, all three pairs of eyes lighting up as they darted back and forth among one another. The challah was delicious.
“Etty, this Challah is wonderful.”
Shaindel spoke slowly, over enunciating her words, a sign that it was difficult for her to say what she was saying. But Shaindel gave credit where credit was due. Etty beamed at her mother’s compliment. She couldn’t help but smile with a bit of smugness and pride. Her mother not only praising her, but admitting defeat, such a rarity that Etty wanted to freeze the moment and bask in her mother’s nachas.
“Etty, this is gevaltik! The best challah I have ever tasted!” Beryl chewed happily, passing around more challah to his wife and daughter. “From now on, Etty makes the challah every week! I bet Haimish doesn’t even make a challah this good.”
Etty continued to smile, eating the challah with careful bites, chewing slowly. It was so soft, so sweet, exactly as she imagined Sarah Emainu made the challah. She thought of Sarah Emainu the whole time as she pounded at that dough with furious little fists. She waited and waited for the dough to rise and with wonder could not understand why it stayed small and heavy as a rock at the bottom of the bowl. Panic set in. She could not allow her mother the satisfaction of confirming that Etty was no better at challah making than she. And the squirrel, what if they did get to Etty’s challah? What if Etty’s challah also proved to be lethal? The possibility of failure and humiliation was too great.
So that Friday afternoon while everyone was busy with their allotted chores for Shabbas preparation, Etty snuck out and went down to Lee Ave and into Haimish Bakery. She bought three loaves of challah. She spoke to nobody on the way home, returning with the challahs concealed under her coat. She buried the baker’s plastic deep in the garbage. She turned the oven on and stuck her purchased challahs inside on baking trays, the whole house filled with the aroma of the bakery, a scent Etty convinced her parents was her creation alone. Yes, it was dishonest. And of course, Etty knew she wasn’t supposed to lie. But the combined euphoria of both outwitting her mother and being the recipient of her parents’ pride, was too tantalizing to give up. She wasn’t sure when such a moment might present itself again. At thirteen she was already taking inventory of herself. In a few years she would be ready to date, yet she didn’t feel like she was anything special. She wasn’t regarded at school or at home for any talents or particular wit. No matter what she did, she wasn’t bad at it, but she was never very good at it either. But now, she could pretend for a moment that she baked a perfect challah. She could pretend, almost believe, that she was remarkable.
