“She thought we could study Megillat Rut together. Is that okay with you, Milla-babe?”

I try not to let my face fall. “Rut” again.

I sigh. I guess since I was born on the eve of Shavuot—the festival that the Book of Ruth is connected to—it does make sense to study it for my bat mitzvah.

“Sure,” I say with a shrug. It is fall already, and the dark night has a crisp chill to it. As we approach the path that leads to Honey’s street, the wind rushes through the bushes. It is exciting to be out, just me and Aunty Steph. She links her arm through mine.

“We’re …” she begins, looking at me and holding one leg out.

I kick mine into a skip-hop like Aunty Steph taught me. “Off to see the wizard, the wonderful Wizard of Oz!” we sing together, our legs kicking in time.

“Because, because, because, because of the wonderful things he does!” we belt. It feels like a good way to get to the Wines’.

Honey greets us at the door before I even have a chance to knock. “Naomi Dayan just got here. She and her husband went to a different shul that ended already. But Shmuel Yosef is at our shul with Abba,” she adds. “They’ll be back soon.”

“Chag Sameach, Sugaree,” Aunty Steph says to Honey, wishing her a happy holiday and enveloping her in a characteristically long hug. Honey loves Aunty Steph’s nickname for her, but I can sense her starting to squirm to be let out of the embrace.

“Aunty Steph,” I say. “Naomi Dayan is the speaker I was telling you about.”

“Right on,” Aunty Steph says, releasing Honey. “And who’s Shmuel Yosef?” she asks her with a smile.

“Shmuel Yosef is a photographer—like, that’s his job. He says photography is all about light,” Honey says.

“I agree.” Aunty Steph smiles, unbuttoning her sweater coat and shaking out her hair, the smell of lavender floating over us. I remember that she studied photography as part of her thesis back when she was getting her masters in history.

Mrs. Wine looks up with her warm smile when we come into the living room, and she introduces everyone. I smile shyly at Naomi Dayan and her husband. I want Aunty Steph to talk to Naomi, but Susie is occupying her by trying to speak in baby-word Hebrew. Aaron comes in with Abbie, his therapist, who works with him three times a week no matter what, even on holidays. She asks him to look at each of us and say “Hello.”

“Hello,” he says to each person he walks up to, looking slightly past them.

“Hello, Aaron,” I say when it’s my turn, hoping he’ll respond “Hello, Aaron” or even “Hello, Milla,” because other than the Wines here, he knows me best. But he’s moved on to Naomi Dayan.

“Pleased to meet you,” she tells him elegantly, as if the Wines’ living room was Buckingham Palace, and I see Honey giving her an appraising look of approval.