It is not exactly weird to be sitting in shul with only women, because the women always sit together—but it is really weird that there is no men’s section. Looking around the room, bathed in unflattering basement fluorescent lighting, there are rows and rows of ladies and girls. Some are dressed up in full costumes, and some are wearing funny accessories, like silly hats or headbands with antennae. Aunty Steph has drawn me a rainbow next to one eye and a peace sign next to my other eye with face paint. A few relatives told Mr. and Mrs. Wine that they would never attend a women’s megillah reading, under any circumstances, because they didn’t think it was really Orthodox. But there are still a bunch of them sitting at the back, with thick orangey cover-up and rouged cheeks, the brims of their extravagantly decorated felt hats overlapping as they bend their heads to one another to whisper. I hope it’s not about Honey.

Naomi raps the table lightly for silence. The woman standing next to her begins with the special blessings for reading the megillah and then starts to chant the first chapter from the scroll in a high and melodic voice. I keep my head down toward my booklet and follow along.

Crash.

Aginéni’s cane has fallen down with a crack against the stone floor, and the woman reading from the megillah pauses. I scratch at something on my cheek and catch the top of Josh Wine’s face peering through the high square window in the top of the metal door and then Micah’s face pressed against the bottom window. I stifle a laugh. Mr. Wine and Honey’s brothers, and actually Shmuel Yosef too, are hanging around outside in the hallway so they can hear Honey through the door when it’s her turn. Miriam leans down to pick up the cane for Aginéni. The reading resumes.

Finally, Honey approaches the bima quietly, Dan-Dan’s pink plastic tiara perched at a deliberately jaunty angle on her golden hair, a purple cape over her shoulders. Even I, her best friend, do a double take and big shshshshs erupt from all directions. Honey looks like a queen about to address her subjects. She takes her spot in front of the scroll, and the room falls silent. Naomi Dayan points to the spot where the chapter begins. Then Honey launches into her leining the same way she plays basketball, baseball, or anything she wants to win: fast, graceful, steady, and strong. I glance over at my mother. Instead of looking in her book, she is looking at Honey, her face rapt.

Honey is leining the third chapter, which is the first time Haman’s name is mentioned, and when she gets to it, the room goes wild with everyone’s noisemakers drowning out the evil Haman’s name. Mrs. Wine holds Aaron’s head in her lap, covering his ear with one arm while silently shaking a castanet with the other. My mother stomps her feet, and Aunty Steph rings a cowbell. The Wine men blow a horn from outside the door. I make my noisy gragger go crackling round and round. I might be trying to boo Haman, but all I can think of is that I am cheering for Honey. It feels like everyone here is doing the same.