atarahsofer - Tumblr blog

[atarahsofer]

Activity Check - 32

"If it could only be like this always — always summer, always alone, the fruit always ripe."

“Mamme,” the bright eyed girl sighed, her small hands tugging on the itchy hand-me-down pantyhose she wore beneath a long skirt. “It’s so hot and I’m so uncomfortable.”

“Atarele,” a sigh escaped the older woman, who, despite being in her early thirties, wore an exhaustion that aged her. “We’ve had this conversation already.”

Her head bowed, and the fight fell from her lips. The small girl let her lips fall into a frown, knowing better than to say another word on the matter.

God commanded them to cover themselves and, once she was married, she could no longer show her hair. Almost every woman in their community wore a sheitel or a wig, though some wore other kinds of head covering. Hair like a woman’s body was seem as sexual and was required to be hidden. Just the same, women were mostly hidden within the walls of their home.

She couldn’t run after the ice cream truck, begging her parents or older siblings to buy her one. She couldn’t savor the relief against the Israeli sun in a pool or on the beach. She didn’t go to summer camp where she could explore her passions or hobbies or have fun with other people her age.

No, she belonged in their house, being trained to become her mother and find her worth in cooking, cleaning and being a dutiful wife.

“Atarah,” her mother paused, wiping sweat from her brow as she paused over the sink where she was washing blood off of the chicken they’d picked up from the butcher. “Everything we do is what is commanded of us and God sees everything.” She sighed, plucking some feathers from the drumstick. “Now focus, your father and brothers will be home in an hour and we need to have dinner ready. They’ll be tired after studying all day.”

“Yes, mamme.” Atarah resigned, moving to grab a pan from the meat section of their kitchen.

—x—

“Atarah!” A giggle spilled from her counterpart’s lips. “It’s okay. Come out of the dressing room.”

“I can’t…” Her voice was muffled from the dressing room. “Not in this.”

Chaya sighed, raising her iced coffee to her lips. “It can’t be that bad.”

The brunette sighed and glanced at herself in the mirror. It was as if she were in her underwear; only the essentials were covered. Shame coated every exposed inch of her. This was what people wore to the beach? She’d tried to find the swimsuit with the most coverage, but she still felt so naked. When Chaya had suggested they go to the beach on their weekend off duty, it had seemed like a great idea, until she realized the dress code.

“Maybe you should go with someone else. I can take over guard duties from Tali and-.”

The other girl didn’t even knock, she just pushed her way into the dressing room to get a look at her friend. “No, I’m taking you to the beach and we’re going to relax. We deserve it.” Chaya looked her over thoughtfully. “You look amazing. What’s the problem?”

Atarah chewed her lower lip, hands immediately moving to cover herself. Her cheeks were red as she thought about the concept of tznius (modesty) that had governed her upbringing and her dress. She’d left home and God hadn’t punished her. She’d joined the army and God hadn’t punished her. Could she wear a swimsuit? Show off her form more?

“Okay.” She resigned, glancing at her reflection once more.

—x—

“Do we have everything we need?” Hannah glanced at her boss, then at their set up.

Atarah laid back on her beach towel, her sunglasses perched over her green eyes. She grabbed the bottle of tequila and offered a grin. “Sun, sand and tequila? I’m good.”

Her most trusted employee laughed and dug into the cooler and fished out the tupperware of watermelon, followed by the rest of the food Atarah had packed, laying each out as if it was evidence Atarah had been lying. She then pulled out the bottles of what looked like various energy drinks. “And this is?

“I made margarita mixers.”

“Of course you did.” Hannah shook her head. “Atarah, you know you could’ve just brought White Claw or something, right?”

The brunette shrugged her shoulders, placing her hand over her bare stomach. “I figured you’d appreciate the effort.”

“I do, but you know you can just relax sometimes, right? Not everything requires you going all out. I don’t want you to get burnt out.”

“Fair enough.” Atarah resigned, shrugging her shoulders.

[atarahsofer]

Activity Check - 31

"Find a place inside where there's joy, and the joy will burn out the pain."

Exhaustion eclipsed everything else as Atarah closed the door behind her. The sound of soft padding on the hardwood alerted her of Bamba before the small peanut colored pup was excitably jumping all over her. She set her bag down carefully on the entryway table and let out a soft coo to the pup before crossing to the kitchen, where she turned on the faucet. As calmly as she could, she ran her manicured hands underneath, sighing as scarlet painted the sink. A tinge of guilt settled in her stomach as she watched the blood pool in the drain.

Bamba had followed, watching her owner from the doorway as Atarah wiped her hands clean on a dish towel. Remaining as calm as she could, she took a deep inhale and undressed. She slipped off her combat boots, then her black skinny jeans, her top, her undergarments until she stood stark naked. Carefully, she set each item in the washing machine and put in the pod of detergent. Cold water. Delicate cycle.

By the time the washing machine cycle began, she’d already started the bath and put a Turmeric Latte bath bomb into the water. As the water filled, she looked at herself in the mirror. Was this who she’d become? Was this despite or because of what had happened? She could feel the ropes cutting into her wrists, the taunting words, the way her throat burned as she cried out. Her body had been battered and bruised, hanging there like an animal on a meat hook. No one ever tells you what it is like to pray for death, to feel yourself fall deeper and deeper into the darkness until you wish for everything to end.

There was always something that kept her from letting the darkness overpower her. A small flickering flame of hope as she delved deep into her psyche. Atarah could just escape to that moment and push past everything else to the happy place in her mind. She could just return to a place that would never feel be home again and remember what it had been like.

Shabbat dinner.

Their entire house smelled so fragrant from the intoxicating flavors that had been cooking all day. They covered every surface of the counter in salads, vegetables, meats, fish and desserts. It looked like they were catering a dinner for 90 (or 900, depending on the dinner), but it was just for them. Leah set the table, Atarah and possibly Tamar or Batya gathered all the serving utensils, platters, and set out wine and challah. Tatte and her brothers were coming home from synagogue just in time for everything to be ready.

Often and without alerting the women of the Sofer family, others from the community trailed behind after being given an invitation to join, causing the women to have to quickly find another table, set it and grab more wine. It was an honor to host others for Shabbat. God would bless them for sharing their bounty with others. Within minutes, everyone would be seated. Mamme had already lit the candles, but it was Tatte’s turn to say the blessings. He’d bless the wine, the children, his wife and slice the challah, sharing it with all of his guests.

Shabbat dinner was unlike every other dinner of the week. It was holy. It was a time to appreciate all they had, to relax and to assert their belief. God had provided once again though, really, more like the Israeli government, though no one would admit that. Atarah relaxed, filling her plate, listening to her father’s often off key singing and the deep discussions of complex religious text they assumed the women couldn’t understand. She listened with rapt attention, savoring the many dishes she had helped her mother cook all day long.

Dinner lasted hours, filled with many courses and discussions. It always felt so gratifying, so indulgent to share a table with people, especially her family, but Shabbat was the most special. Even now, whenever she needed to recall a time when she’d been truly happy, she thought of those dinners. Before things had gotten so complicated, before she’d been forced to make such a difficult decision. Before her father had disowned her.

The memory still made her chest tighten. If only she could've just been holy enough or understanding enough, maybe she could've accepted it. Maybe she would've been happily married and in love with a man who'd been a stranger. Maybe they would've had four children, maybe more. But she'd made a new life for herself, wasn't that enough? More than that?

Slipping into the tub, she allowed the warm water to soothe her sore muscles as she asked herself if she was truly as happy now as she had been at Shabbat dinner.

[atarahsofer]

Activity Check - 30

“Life is like an ice cream cone, you have to lick it one day at a time.”

Everything in Atarah’s life - if she could help it - was structured and meticulously planned. Despite having finished her military service, she still approaches her day the way she had during then. Everything requires order and succeeding in business requires extra attention. Most members of the Organization assume her life revolves around food and Motek, which, to some extent, it does, but what she does in the shadows is her secret to keep. While there are some changes depending on the day or the situation, Atarah’s daily schedule tends to look something like this:

Morning - בוקר 5:00AM - If she’s slept at all, Atarah wakes up with Bamba, her pup, usually curled against her. After a moment of getting her bearings and reminding herself that the vivid nightmares were just memories, she slips from her bed and pads to the kitchen with Bamba at her feet to make a fresh cup of coffee. 5:05AM-5:30AM - While the coffee brews, she moves to the bathroom for her morning ritual - a multistep skin care routine, flossing, brushing her teeth, mouthwash, followed by brushing her hair and tying it in either a braid or ponytail. Then she changes into her standard uniform for work - a Motek baseball t-shirt, her skinny jeans and Converse. Then, she enjoys her coffee and looks over her schedule for the day in her daily planner, making notes on what awaits her and any last-minute changes in preparation of the day ahead. 5:30AM - With her daily planner, her laptop and Bamba in tow, Atarah heads downstairs. She gives Bamba a walk before she unlocks the front door of Motek Market and Café, turns on the lights, deposits her bag in her office, and lets Bamba trail her to the kitchen. 6:00AM-7:30AM - While she has an entire staff to prep things for the day, she craves the solitude. Atarah turns on her Motek Moves Spotify playlist and begins her day by working on chopping vegetables, checking on marinading meats, prepping sauces and creating what will become an assembly line for her chefs. During this time, she takes a break to prepare a latte in an off menu flavor, and calls the Downtown Seattle location of Motek to verify that everything is ready to go in her first location as well. 7:30AM - Motek staff files in and everyone greets Bamba before the pup makes her way to the office. Atarah prepares a staff meal - a breakfast for everyone to enjoy while they settle in and gets their coffees. 8:00AM-9:00AM - While everyone eats breakfast, which changes daily and can vary from something off the menu or a new item Atarah is experimenting with, they discuss their schedule and goals for the day. This includes any catering orders and when they should be finished by. Atarah gives everyone a pep talk and wishes them a great day before they get to their stations to begin work. 9:00AM-10:00AM - Motek is open to the public and Atarah makes herself another latte. During this time, Lily arrives for coffee. Atarah fusses over her and makes sure she eats something before she works the register, checking out customers, handling all phone calls and orders. 10:00AM-11:00AM- After a quick check in with the kitchen, Atarah leaves Motek to go to a workshop, a group session or a meeting with either Sophia or Maggie. If she can, she tries to spend the majority of her time at The Center with Theia instead. 11:00AM-12:00PM - Atarah heads to her office to return emails and make phone calls. Often this includes to members of the local press who are in her pocket by any means necessary and going over any press coverage Motek will have. This is also when she checks that pre-planned social media campaigns are live or scheduled accordingly.

Afternoon - אחרי הצהריים 12:00PM-2:00PM - During these two hours, Atarah either covers the register or waits on tables, depending on how she’s feeling. It’s also during this time that she contacts friends in the Organization to do her afternoon check-ins which include: asking if they’ve eaten, what they'd like to eat, how they’re doing and whether they’re open to a visit (which she adds to her schedule). 2:00PM-3:00PM - Leaving Motek with packaged lunches, she makes scheduled visits - depending on who has texted back. If they mention stopping by Motek instead, she uses the time for socializing there instead. Sometimes she'll meet others for lunch at a restaurant instead. 3:00PM-4:00PM - After another call to check in on Motek Downtown Seattle, she returns any new email and phone calls, as well as doing some research into her less than savory engagements. This is when Atarah might finally have some kind of lunch, if she hasn't already eaten. If this doesn’t take her up the entire hour, she returns to work in front of house. 4:00PM-5:00PM - Atarah jumps into the kitchen to work on dinner prep, taking the time to work on a staff dinner for everyone to enjoy. If they can, the staff enjoys the meal before dinner service or they eat it in shifts before returning to work.

Evening - ערב 5:00PM-7:45PM - Dinner service at Motek begins. Atarah waits tables and checks on customers before taking Bamba on her evening walk. After dropping Bamba at home, she and her front of house manager, Hannah, change for their exercise class. 7:45PM-9:00PM- Atarah and Hannah make their way to the exercise class, often Krav Maga or Boxing, but sometimes Pilates or Zumba. 9:00PM-10:00PM - Returning to Motek, Atarah makes any final check ins with her staff and makes sure that they are prepared to finish out the night. She changes for the night and finishes logistics for how her night is going to go before heading out. 10:00PM-2:00AM - Atarah makes her way to [redacted for legal reasons]. If she isn't preoccupied during this time, she uses it to blow off some steam, drinks, dancing or just getting a little wild. Somewhere between 12:00AM 3:00AM - Atarah returns home and takes a long bubble bath, relaxing from a long day of work and relaxing. She then curls up with Bamba on the couch to catch up on TV while having a snack or a glass of wine. Then she prepares for bed, winding down with her nighttime routine (same as her morning routine, but potentially with an added face mask,) refills Bamba’s water and food, and gets in bed, praying for sleep but if it comes at all, it is fitful.

[atarahsofer]

Activity Check - 28

“Things change after you die, though, I guess because dying is the loneliest thing you can do.”

The kitchen was relatively silent. Atarah took comfort in the job of locking up. In the quiet of the night and the peacefulness of being alone after each day full of activity. Work kept her busy, kept her mind from straying to the darkness that seemed to cascade over her whenever she couldn’t find a way out of her thoughts. Others had noticed her usual sunny disposition had cracked. Something had happened, but she refused to talk about it. She hadn’t even said much as to why she’d been away for two weeks. Even Hannah, the only person she could entrust to look over Motek while she was away, didn’t know.

She’d shooed the girl away despite Hannah’s repeated attempts to ask questions. Atarah didn’t want to answer anything. How many times could she answer “I’m fine” before people started to believe it? Was she that pitiful of a liar? She barely recognized herself. The pain of loss weighed on her, her sister’s words, her father’s sullen face. Why did Atarah feel like she’d lost herself somewhere between stepping onto the plane and stepping off of it? No matter how she tried, she hadn’t been able to shake off the dark cloud.

Atarah went through each step of locking up, cleaning every inch of the cafe, checking stock, and going through everything else on her list, before she set her focus to the trash. Nightly, she brought the trash out to the dumpster, locked the staff entrance and made her way through the cafe, pausing to lock the front door before heading upstairs to her apartment. Something prickled in her awareness as she made her way towards the dumpster. She couldn’t shake the strange feeling, turning to glance around in the darkness but she saw nothing.

As she reached for another bag to toss into the dumpster, she felt someone’s hands on her. It wasn’t the simple touch of another; it was the burn of their touch. The physical pain felt like she was on fire, the sting so sharp that she struggled to breathe. They were saying something, but she couldn’t hear them. Atarah couldn’t form words. She let go of the garbage bag in her grasp as whoever was behind her shoved her against the dumpster.

The touch had ceased, and she took a moment to get her bearings. With her back pressed against the dumpster, she glanced around for whoever had pushed her into it. She recognized him immediately, even under the cover of darkness. Her throat was tight as he approached, the glint of a blade taunting her.

“What are you doing here?”

“I thought you’d be happy to see me.” He told her, his tone almost too light given the wild look in his eyes.

“Jacob, I’m happy to discuss with you why I’m not interested in selling Motek to you, but now is not the time-.”

“Atarah, I’m done talking.” He cut her off, his eyes leering over her smaller form as she stepped closer.

She stood straighter, trying to call on her bravery as she looked him in the eyes. “Then why are you here?”

“Because, clearly, bitches like you need to be taught a lesson.” There was a pause, like he hadn’t decided what he wanted.

Jacob Silver had never done anything like this before. He wasn’t a violent man, but Atarah Sofer was a thorn in his side. A part of him envied her, another part hated her fiercely. He’d been working in restaurants since high school, he’d paid for college through it and he’d climbed the ladder all the way until he’d been able to build a restaurant group of his own. But this girl with no business experience or culinary experience, who was barely old enough to drink, now owned two restaurants? It made no sense.

“Whose dick did you have to suck to get your-?”

She’d slapped him before he could finish the sentence. “Is that what this is about? You wish it was yours?” The brunette looked at him in disgust. “You can’t believe that I achieved this myself? That I worked hard and I am good at what I do? Please go fuck yourself.”

The rage that overcame him was stronger than he’d ever known. Why had this little bitch gotten under his skin? There were plenty of other successful restaurants, especially female owned ones, but she was the only one who didn’t seem to remotely consider his offer. He reached for her again, slamming her back into the dumpster. For once, she actually looked afraid. She looked like she was in pain and she deserved it, all of it.

“I was very generous, Atarah. This is your fault.” He told her, his tone low and lethal as he raised the blade. “You should have taken my offer.”

--x-- "Twenty-three year old Atarah Sofer, the owner of Motek Market and Cafe, was fatally stabbed around 11pm last night" the local news report announced, showing the outside of the cafe. There was a memorial set up with flowers and signs. "The identity of her attacker is unknown, this is an active case and anyone with any information is urged to call the Richards Island Police Department."

The news wouldn't show the crime scene. She'd been stabbed repeatedly. Her blood had stained the concrete. Her body had been found hours later by a Motek employee and the cafe had promptly closed down in order to make arrangements.

[atarahsofer]

Activity Check - 26

“But if these years have taught me anything it is this: you can never run away. Not ever. The only way out is in.”

A sigh escaped her lips as she wiped down the countertops, intently focused on any little markings that marred the space. Atarah frowned, rubbing in tight circles until they were spotless. Dinner service had ended hours ago and her staff had left, leaving her the breathing room she desperately needed. Something was wrong and had been wrong for a while. Atarah couldn’t figure out what it was. She just knew that it felt like a gaping hole had taken shape inside of her. ”Atarah?”

The strange man who’d sat at the table in the corner for the past two days was back. Each day he’d sat there for hours, waiting for her acknowledgment before he told that he would be able to take her away from this, to give her a new life, from everything that weighed on her. She could go somewhere else, start over and Sanctum could just be a memory in her rearview. He said the same thing each day.

“You’re looking for a place to belong, Atarah. You know this isn’t it. They don’t understand you. They’ll tell you anything to keep you loyal, but you know better.” He’d spoken, his dark gaze challenging her to object.

Tonight, he had entered the kitchen and her body prickled as she straightened. Her stance was combative as her eyes narrowed. “The restaurant is closed. You aren’t allowed back here.”

“I just came for your decision.” His voice was a rumbling baritone.

The first day, it had been tempting. She imagined what a new life might be like. Where would she go? What would she do? Could she bring anything with her? A new life without the scars of her past, without the trauma that had enveloped her, layering on top of what she already carried. She was like a cat and she was on her third life. What would a fourth entail?

The second day, she’d wavered. Sophia had seen something within her. She had promised that Sanctum would fulfill those needs, would help her become the person she was always meant to be. What could he offer her that the Organization hadn’t? After everything, how could she abandon Sophia and her teachings?

“I can’t leave.” Her voice was barely audible.

“Can’t or won’t?” He arched a brow, challenging her. “You aren’t happy here.”

“I have a life here. I have a business.” She motioned around. “And I have a community.”

How could she leave the few people she cared for? Sure, she could count them on one hand, but they had shown her love and understanding. They had accepted her brokenness and found her need to take care of them endearing. How would Lily remember to eat if Atarah wasn’t there to put food in front of her? How could she abandon the few who had stood by her?

So why did she still want to say yes? Atarah had a packed bag ready in her closet. She could start over, turn her back on everything else, and start anew. She could give Motek over to Hannah and build a new life, a better life. Atarah could so easily take Bamba and they could run far away, rebuild from the ashes.

Sanctum was supposed to fill her emptiness. Sophia had promised it would help. So why did it feel like the more she tried to give herself to Sanctum, the wider the hole became? Clearly, she hadn’t given herself over enough; she hadn’t dedicated her enough to seek the fulfillment. Better yet, if she left, the next place might break her even worse. Sophia wouldn’t let her down. Atarah had let her leader down instead. ”And I’d like you to leave now.” Atarah motioned toward the door, wondering if she'd live to regret this.

[atarahsofer]

Activity Check - 25

“Every person is defined by the communities she belongs to.”

All her life, she’d just been looking for a place to belong, but none of the communities felt like the right fit. The one she’d been born in, her religion, her schooling, her friends. The truth was she felt as if she’d outgrown it all, now standing on the edge of the abyss, waiting for something. No matter how she tried, Sadie Jacobson couldn’t shake how alone she’d felt. The invitation to attend a Passover seder at Motek was something she couldn’t turn down. The owner, a sweet Israeli girl named Atarah had personally invited her by name when she’d stopped by on her lunch break last week and asked if she had any allergies to be mindful of. People rarely paid that kind of attention to her. In her office, she was just another number, just another face. But Atarah knew how to make her feel important. With her family back east, she would’ve been spending the holiday alone. With the chef’s invite, not to mention how delicious Motek’s food was, there was no way to turn it down. Besides, she could hear her mother calling on Sunday to ask if she’d met a nice Jewish guy yet. Would Atarah do her a favor and introduce her to someone eligible? Maybe some new friends? Was it normal to feel so unfulfilled?

The moment she walked into Motek, she gazed around. Long tables covered with all the symbolic foods, the haggadah - the special books used for Passover - sat on each plate. Atarah had evidently put care into everything, which, given how much she knew about Atarah, was no surprise. Her brown eyes shifted around the room until she found the petite Israeli fluttering around, greeting people, making last minute checks. The femme paused, making her way towards Sadie.

“Sadie! Thank you for coming!” Atarah’s jade hues danced as she motioned. “Let’s find you a seat.”

“Thank you.” She swallowed, following before she set her jacket and purse on the chair. “Do you have a seat already?”

“Why do you think I brought you to this table?” The femme grinned, motioning to the other across from her. “Are there any family Passover traditions your family does?”

“Um…” She shrugged. “Probably nothing unique, your family?” Atarah was silent for a moment and Sadie wanted to apologize, feeling as if she’d overstepped, but the brunette motioned to the scallions (or spring onions that littered the table). “Not my family, but there’s a tradition my best friend’s family did where you use these like whips and you hit each other with them.”

“What?!?”

“It’s kind of wild, but really fun.” She snickered. “There’s a bunch of other traditions we’ve compiled for tonight. There’s one in Poland where they pour water on the floor and re-enact crossing the Red Sea to freedom.”

“Are you… doing that one?”

The brunette shrugged, twirling the ring on her finger. “You’ll see.”

The tables filled up and Atarah led others through the traditions - lighting candles, washing their hands, saying the blessings before dinner began. It was clear how comfortable she felt in this space and Sadie couldn’t help but wonder if she could learn to be as confident with herself as Atarah seemed to be. She made a note to ask Atarah more about how she came to own two restaurants.

The service wasn’t long, but Sadie found a brochure within the book and pulled it out. What was Sanctum? She read through it thoughtfully, taking in how it proclaimed community and fulfillment. Whatever it was, she wanted to know more and why the brochure was in the haggadah. She could see brochures peeking out of others, her attention turning towards Atarah across from her. ”What’s this about?” Sadie asked, showing the flyer to Atarah. “What’s Sanctum?” ”It’s this… community I found while I was here.” The brunette paused, glancing around the table. “When I came to the States, I knew no one and nothing but Sanctum? I was immediately welcomed in. I had people to help me and to give me the tools I needed to acclimate to this new world.” She offered Sadie a warm smile. “If you’d like, I’ll take you to check them out. They have this social club with a bar and a pool.”

“So it’s like a community center?” She asked, looking over the brochure again.

“Kind of, yeah. They have workshops and events. They’re an international organization.” Atarah glanced around and Sadie did instinctually, seeing many people hanging on the Israeli's every word. “Membership has given me so many opportunities and I’d love it if you came with me to see if it is for you too!”

“What kinds of opportunities?”

“I don’t think I would’ve had the confidence to open this place without the support from the organization.” She spoke almost bashfully, chewing her lower lip. “I really struggled for a long time, but… I own two restaurants now. I would’ve never… thought of that.”

“Do you think I’d be accepted?” Sadie asked.

“Oh Sadie, absolutely. They’d love you!”

“Okay, I’ll come check it out.”

[atarahsofer]

Activity Check - 24

“There are wounds that never show on the body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds.”

How many times did they go through the same thing and they still hadn’t learned? Every time Atarah tried to believe there was a reason, a punishment, a lesson to learn because she needed to have faith in something. Then what had the Leaders done? Blamed the cruise line and assured them that they’d be paid out later in the lawsuit. While the others claimed they adored Maggie, she hadn’t even asked Atarah how she was and she hadn’t approached to confide in her. She would never replace Phoebe and, with Sophia taking a step back, she felt like she had no one to rely on. Now, with the aftermath of their time stranded on the island, Atarah felt unable to confide in anyone, and it left her feeling more alone than ever.

Malnourished, dehydrated and suffering from her lack of sleeping, Atarah knew the doctor would want to keep her in the hospital, imprisoned in a stark white room and attached to an IV. She didn’t want to do that again. So she’d said whatever she needed to, desperate to shorten her stay and to return home to Bamba, to Motek. The nightmare and the dark thoughts that had remained in the forefront of her mind. Every single time the Organization had stranded them - the basement, the rain forest, Kakslauttanen, the Catacombs, and others; not to mention her own trauma from her time as prisoner of war. Each trauma had grown and conflated into something larger, almost enough to annihilate her.

The list of triggers she’d had before was longer now. It confused her staff when she’d taken a coconut dessert off of the menu, at least for the time being. Hannah had tried her hardest to get Atarah to open up, to make sure she was eating instead of just working herself to death. Atarah, who always saw food as the answer, who relished feeding everyone else, had been struggling to eat. As much as she wanted to, nothing enticed her, nothing interested her. She’d rather just work, just lost herself in it until she was lost completely. If she wasn’t sleeping before, now she couldn’t close her eyes without the visions. She ran ragged until her body gave out, working and avoiding anyone who wasn’t a customer or an employee of Motek. She didn’t want to go out; she didn’t want to see anyone, she just wanted to work or hang out with Bamba.

She had felt lost in the aftermath, but she was continuing to lose herself.

[atarahsofer]

Activity Check - 23

“For there is nothing heavier than compassion. Not even one's own pain weighs so heavy as the pain one feels with someone, for someone, a pain intensified by the imagination and prolonged by a hundred echoes.”

“Your heart is too big for your body.” Chaya had once said, her hand caressing Atarah’s cheek as she held her tight. “You feel all of these things, like you are trying to live for everyone around you more than for yourself.”

“I can’t help that I feel for them, I just… do.”

“Atarah, it’s one thing to care for people, to want to help them. It’s another thing to take on their pain.” Her thumb had taken a momentary pause to let her dark gaze focus on the other’s light green one. “You don’t need to be everything to everyone.”

Atarah had just assumed Chaya was being kind. She was concerned and protective, but, now, she’d pondered if the femme had been digging into something bigger than either realized at the time. Sitting in the workshop, she glanced around the room. A lesson in empathy was not what she needed. She needed a lesson in the opposite. How did she learn to care less? How did she learn to put herself first every once in a while?

Maybe it had been being surrounded by such a large family, but Atarah had always been driven by the thoughts and feelings of others. Whenever Batya and Leah fought, their younger sister was the one to smooth things over. When Uri teased Tamar and she got defensive, it was Atarah’s job to talk her down. She might’ve been the baby, but she’d always been the one to play peacemaker, to hear everyone out and comfort them. It had carried over since.

It was a double-edged sword.

It was why a part of her had died with Chaya.

It’s why she wanted to support Lenny, even though the girl kept pushing her away. What had she done to deserve that?

It’s why she made sure everyone had something to eat; that her employees were happy and well taken care of.

And, lastly, why she hardly took care of herself. She would tear herself apart, bend over backwards and give until she couldn’t anymore for others. Isn’t that the funniest part of all? She could care about everyone, and she hardly recognized if anyone cared about her.

[atarahsofer]

Activity Check - 22

“Pain moves us forward, changing us into something else, something we need to be.”

This is the part where you find out who you are.

“Atarah Sofer!” The booming voice called.

She stood immediately, smoothing her long skirt. She stood out in a sea of t-shirts, tank tops and shorts, her shapeless clothes leaving no suggestion of the form beneath lest she be objectified by the male gaze. Unlike all the other Israelis in this room, her appearance didn’t coincide with a draft card appearing in the mail. She had shown up on her own accord, with no identification to her name and a kind woman with a severe chignon at the recruitment center had taken pity on her. She’d signed her in, gave her some forms to sign and explained the process to become a soldier. Each step pulling her further away from her former life. Now on Bakum, the base the recruits were bussed to, this was where her transition into a soldier began.

It started with physical and mental tests to get a grasp of how her body and mind operated. There had been far too many one-on-one interviews, questionnaires, waivers and consent forms soon after but now she was to be given her unit, her assignment and to prepare for basic training. Rumor had it that training was intense both physically and mentally. She would be pushed to her limits and then expected to go beyond them. If she succeeded, she would be a soldier. And, if not, then she gave up her family for nothing.

An older male, stood outside of an office, his large form almost as wide as the door behind him. His face held no sign of emotion, duty taking precedence. Atarah swallowed as she glanced towards the office. She’d never been alone with a man she wasn’t related to before. Her throat tightened as she stood before him, her gaze not meeting his eyes.

His tone grew gentler. “Would you prefer I ask a female colleague to interview you instead, Miss Sofer?”

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she considered the offer. She appreciated it and it would be the preference, but she’d already gotten this far. Shedding her former self, she shook her head. “Thank you, but I’m fine with speaking with you.”

He nodded simply, a big hand gesturing for her to enter the office.

“Who do you think you are?” His tone was ferocious.

Her father had always been a commanding man but he had never regarded his youngest daughter with any form of malice as she heard in this moment.

“Tatte,” Her voice was barely audible, shaking as she considered the best way to speak to him. “I can’t-.”

“No, Atarah. I’ve always turned an eye to your rebellions, I know what it is like to test limits but you…” His facial expression was harsh but the bushiness of his beard softened it slightly.

She knew she should back down, she knew that she was gambling to lose everything. Her throat tightened and she took a moment to close her eyes to not let the tears fall. She couldn’t show weakness or allow her father to talk sense into her. She didn’t belong in this life, she needed to see what else was out there.

The officer motioned for her to take a seat and she did, making sure her back was straight and she was looking right at him. If she was going to be a soldier, the first step was confidence. This was the path she’d chosen and she needed to begin the emotional and psychological transition, not just the physical. She knew he likely had seen soldiers worse off, but she couldn’t imagine many had run away from home towards the army.

“Miss Sofer, I must admit, we don’t often have-“

“I know.” She toyed with the hem of her skirt. “I realize that you likely don’t get any recruits from… where I come from.”

He glanced down at a clipboard. “Mea She’arim, right?”

Atarah nodded. “Yes.”

He didn’t need to tell her how uncommon her appearance was for a multitude of reasons. . Despite the mandatory army service that Israelis are required to serve, men of the community received exemptions in favor of religious seminary studies. Women shunned the service in favor of their duties within the home. Her community had objected to the Israeli army, pride in the Jewish homeland or any mere suggestion that Israel should defend itself; God was the one in control and would provide accordingly.Her father cursed them constantly, furious that soldiers found their way to their community where they were unwelcome. Mea She'arim didn’t take well to outsiders and, particularly not soldiers. Now his daughter had begun the process of committing one of the ultimate acts of betrayal.

“Does your family know you are here?” His voice was gentle, his tone almost paternal.

“Yaakov.” A soft voice called and her mother, a small woman holding a mug of tea approached. She placed a hand on her husband’s shoulder as she set the tea down before she settled beside him. “Atarah, we’ve already made arrangements with Natan’s parents.”



The teenager regarded her parents for a moment. “I can’t marry him. I don’t want to marry anybody! I haven’t had a life of my own-.”



Her father quoted religious text and she had to keep herself from rolling her eyes. Everything was about the text, everything was about how the Nazis exterminated millions of Jews and they were commanded to “be fruitful and multiply” as if they could cover the losses of the dead. Her father had been so angry when her mother couldn’t provide him a child after her as if seven was such a small number of children to have.

“Do you think I wanted to marry your father?” Her mother spoke, her tone underlined with tiredness from the same argument they’d been having all week. “No. I was terrified, I didn’t want to marry a stranger and build a life with him.”



Her father chuckled. “I knew the first time I saw you that I wanted to marry you, Rivka.”

The moment of levity didn’t do anything to lessen the tension in the air at the severity of the conversation.



Her mother touched his shoulder lightly. “The point is, Atarah, we do what we are commanded to do. At first, it wasn’t easy but we built a wonderful life and we’re happy. Hashem (God) only gives us as much as we can handle, even if we don’t realize it.”



“Your six brothers and sisters got married and had children, they’re all very happy. The shadchan (matchmaker) made a perfect arrangement for all of them and you can’t trust that she’s done the same for you? Who are you to turn your nose up at the way this community operates?” Her father’s tone made her want to back down, but she needed to stand up for herself.

“Mamme, Tatte, how do we not know that Hashem is commanding something different from me? Maybe there is something more-.”



“What is more than following His commandments? What is more than having a family?” Her father demanded, his dark eyes set on her.



She sighed, shoulders dropping. “Then He has asked too much of me.”

Clasping her hands together, she shook her head. A swallow as she tried to break free from the thoughts, the words that couldn’t escape her brain no matter how she tried.

“No.”

They wouldn’t know anything else she did from now on. Her father had made it particularly clear that the ultimatum was marrying a boy she’d met once or leaving. Her decision wasn’t one she took lightly but she could not give up on her dreams of freedom when they announced that the matchmaker had matched her with Natan Ehud. She was on the cusp of eighteen and she knew exactly what the arranged marriage meant; that she was to give up her life and give up her body to give herself to him. She would be forced to give him as many children as her body could handle, to resign to a life limited to the kitchen and the bedroom.

He was silent for a moment, thoughtful as he considered. “Does anyone?”

“I promise, Atarah. You’ll learn to love him.” Mamme reached for her hand, closing her grasp around her daughter’s smaller one.


“And if I don’t? If I am a prisoner to what is expected of me rather than living a life I want for myself?”



The older woman sighed and raised her free hand to cup her daughter’s cheek, their green hues meeting. “Your father will never allow that, you know that. He doesn’t understand how you could want anything other than what we are commanded to do. I know it is scary, bubbeleh (sweetie), but it is the highest commandment for us to have families. Can’t you imagine how wonderful it will be once you are wed?”



“No.” The one word escaped her lips and the harshness of it was clear by her mother’s lips pressing into a thin line.



“I love you, Atarah. You know that you are my most… challenging child but, in many ways, you are the one that I am closest to. I only want you to be happy but…” She sighed. “This is our burden to bear. It will get better if you let it. Natan comes from a good family and they will take care of you.”



“Mamme, I will never be his wife. I will never agree to be forced against my will into a marriage.”



“And you’d rather be an outcast? You’d rather the other families look at us and think that we have failed you? That there is something wrong with you because you still live at home? That you aren’t worthy of marriage?”



“No.” She bowed her head. “If you and Tatte won’t let me have the freedom I deserve, I’ll find it elsewhere.”



“What are you saying?!?” Her mother’s voice was a jolt to her heart.



“I’m leaving.”



She could still her her mother’s cries. How she’d begged her to reconsider. How she’d clung to her and promised to help her. She’d begged Atarah to pray on it, to sleep on it, to think about it but her mind was made up. She could almost hear the sound of her mother’s heart breaking. The tears that filled eyes so like her own as she begged Atarah to reconsider, to try to accept what God wanted of her, what was her destiny.

“No.”

He looked perturbed by her few words of response and no doubt was trying to figure out how to get more out of the girl. He was silent for a moment, considering before he spoke. “Why are you here, Atarah? I’ve spoken to many recruits, but none with your… unique background.”

The brunette nodded, teeth digging into her lower lip as she pondered how to answer that.

“To be candid, you’ve come here not by draft, but by your own free will. What makes you want to be a soldier?”

“You have two options, Atarah.” Her father spoke, each word like a dagger, digging deeper. “You either accept what you are commanded to do, what is the right path for you that’s been entrusted to us as your parents.” He paused, the words weighing on him.

Her father was a taciturn man, a very solemn person who showed his affection for his family in non-verbal ways. Atarah understood that she was pushing him to his limits. He looked as if he’d aged twenty years in one week and it was her fault. She was breaking both of their hearts. The guilt weighed on her, the ache in her chest where her heart was supposed to be.

“Or?” Her voice was barely audible, but she already knew the answer.

“Or you are no longer our daughter.”

Atarah could feel the tears pricking in her eyes. She clenched them shut, swallowing as she understood that, no matter how much she didn’t want to do this, it was what she had to do. She just hoped that, someday, her family might understand. Mamme begged her not to go, to suck it up and just marry Natan. That she would help her, that she couldn’t lose her daughter. After all, it was little secret that Atarah was their favorite as the baby. She was the only child who still lived at home and Mamme admitted that she was the one who had taken to the skills of a housewife better than her sisters.

“Then I’m no longer your daughter.” She whispered. “And I’m sorry.”

“Rivka, get the sheets to cover the mirrors.” He didn’t pay her another glance, just reached for a scissor and cut his shirt.

The tear of the cloth was the official sign that she was dead to them. The mirrors would be the next one. Then they’d have seven days of mourning, setting Shiva over their youngest daughter. As she grabbed her packed bag from her bedroom and took one last look at the home she’d grown up in, Atarah couldn’t ignore the shame that settled over her. Closing the door behind her, she finally let the tears fall.

The question shouldn't have bothered her. She couldn't meet his gaze, her thoughts consuming her as she asked herself the question. Letting it roll around in her head, she tried to ignore the tears that pricked in her eyes. She needed this, needed something to settle he ache inside her. Maybe the IDF would give her what she was so sorely missing. No one taught her how to cope with the pain, with the loss. No matter how she tried not to think about it, it never went away. Her family avoided things they didn't want to deal with. She didn't have a coping mechanism, just a hope that she'd made the right decision for herself. Atarah chewed at her lower lip, wishing she had a prepared answer. Why did she want to become a soldier? She had nothing else, nowhere else to go.

"I... need a place to belong, a community, a cause to believe in. I wasn't raised to support the IDF, but I want to. I want to be a soldier, to have a hand in helping Israel flourish." She hesitated. "I want to be proud of myself."

He was silent for a moment, thoughtful as he looked her over. "Miss Sofer, I'm sure there are going to be some... challenges in adjustment for you, but-."

She swallowed again, nodding her head. "I'm ready for it."

No family. No community. No future. She needed to make her own path, to try to push past the ache in her chest and the guilt of what she'd done to those she loved the most. Maybe the answer would be serving a higher cause.

[atarahsofer]

Activity Check - 21

“The most painful thing is losing yourself in the process of loving someone too much, and forgetting that you are special too.”

The girl couldn’t have been more than 5’4”, tension radiating through her lithe form as she sat in the waiting room. It was clear the soothing sounds of the Acoustic Pop Pandora station had no effect on her. Her grip was tight on the pen, though the intake form seemed totally filled out. It wasn’t a terribly unfamiliar sight. There were still far too many taboos about therapy, though most people needed it. She glanced around, light jade eyes taking stock of her surroundings until they landed on me.

“Atarah, right?" My tone was light, as if I were speaking to a scared deer.

A nod. Her lips pressed together before she rose to her feet. She took a step towards me and I felt a maternal need to pull this girl into my arms. What had the world done to her to make her this way? Yet, just as I opened my mouth to speak, she did an about face. It was as if something clicked in her mind, that she needed to play a different role. Suddenly, her shoulders were pushed back and her head turned upwards, her lips settling into a warm smile.

“Thank you so much for meeting with me!” An accent I couldn’t quite decipher spilled from her lips. “I brought you some desserts from my cafe.”

Who was this girl? I was about to find out.

[atarahsofer]

Activity Check - 20

Neighborhood: Downtown Richards Island

Size: Two Bedrooms/One Bathroom

Rent: $2200 per month.

Square Feet: 785 square feet

For Atarah, there had been different concepts of what home was. Her family home in Mea She’arim had been too small for the nine members of her family, boisterous but full of some version of love. In the army, she’d lived in a bunk on base, always surrounded by other soldiers but where she had found her place in the kitchen. Then, there’d been the hospital bed where she’d been resigned to stay for months. The sterile environment where she’d learned English and Sophia had given her a ticket to a new life. None of those places had really been hers, offered privacy and an opportunity to make them her own space. Unlike her former apartment in Downtown Seattle, Atarah had splurged a bit to secure the space. Just as she had in Seattle, she had found an apartment just above her business.

THE BUILDING The yellow brick building, faded exterior showcasing the age of it, belies the total restoration of the inside. Behind the front door is a hallway, walls littered with historic photos of the area, particularly of the building in its former glory on the wall. Each floor painted a cream color with gold accents and royal blue doors. Just outside the building, a few steps to the left is Atarah’s beloved cafe, Motek.

THE ENTRYWAY Before stepping through the royal blue door of the apartment, is a *mezuzah* nailed leaning into the wall. Behind the door, natural light floods the apartment, highlighting restored hardwood floors. There is a birkat habayit (blessing over the home) hanging from the wall beside a wall mounted set of hooks for coats and a console table. Atarah uses it as a catch all, where she slips off her shoes and drops her things after a long day of work.

THE LIVING ROOM A light mustard velvet couch dominates the open space of the living room. With a blue and white rug and throw pillows, the space looks incredibly cozy. The arm of the couch is often where Atarah’s dog, Bamba, can often be found perched. It is also where she tends to watch trashy reality tv shoes, curled under her evil eye throw. The open living space features art from local artists, a bookshelf filled with books divided by language in Yiddish, Hebrew and English and other tchotchkes such as judaica Atarah found in thrift shops.

THE KITCHEN AND PANTRY Off of the living room is a small dining table. Steps away is a breakfast bar, often used as a buffet table. For Atarah, the kitchen is the most important and most often used place in the apartment. It wouldn’t surprise anyone to see the host of kitchen appliances Atarah has collected, as well as the bright yellow cabinets divided for keeping kosher (one side is or meat, one for dairy). Plenty of counter space allows for experimenting and testing recipes. Beside the kitchen is Atarah’s pantry, filled to the brim with ingredients to cook dishes of all kinds of nationalities and, of course, an ever-growing collection of spices.

THE BATHROOM Eye-catching yellow tile brings the same warmth into the bathroom. A shower curtain that with lemons printed on it finishes off the inviting bath. Lastly, a bath tray with candles, lotion and plants ties everything together. A full length medicine cabinet, hooks on the door and the storage under the sink provide space for any bathroom supplies necessary, from makeup and hair supplies to towels to other bath products, including an embarrassing amount of sheet masks. Atarah is very big on skin care, especially growing up in such an arid climate, taking care of her skin is crucial to her. Ahava products are among her favorite.

THE BEDROOM As, with the rest of the apartment, Atarah’s love of color continues into the bedroom. A mezuzah is firmly nailed into the right side of the door, leaning inward as an invitation. The colors of her bedroom are softer than the rest of the apartment. The thrifted teal headboard led her to match the rest of the room to match. Comfy bedding, her electric blanket and a myriad of throw pillows make the bed like sleeping on a cloud, though she doesn’t sleep enough as it is. The closet of the bedroom has a secret section only Atarah knows about,

THE CLOFFICE Inspired by an Instagram post, Atarah developed her “cloffice" - mashup of a walk in closet and office. White shelving makes the colorful clothes stand out, separated by category. There are sections for shoes, jewelry, bags and anything else she might need. Beside it is her desk, featuring a yellow chair with metal accents and colorful office supplies as well as her computer. Beside it is a vision board and a calendar Atarah is extremely dedicated to updating.

THE BALCONY Off of the bedroom, through wooden french doors is Atarah’s balcony. Whether on an early morning, curled up before the rest of the island is awake, reading in the hammock or looking out over the cityscape at night, Atarah’s balcony is a place she finds tranquility. Little planters host herbs that Atarah is trying to grow herbs and other vegetation for her recipes.

THE DECOR Atarah’s home is decorated in a mix of two worlds, showcasing an eclectic mix of middle eastern, bohemian and modern touches. A mix of bright and comforting colors - sunny yellow, porcelain white and royal blue tie the apartment together as well as pops of other colors like pink and teal. Everything is incredibly orderly, as one might expect of the former soldier, and each piece was paintakingly sourced to fit her vision. For the first time, Atarah Sofer has a place of her own and both she and her dog, Bamba, have found it to be a source of comfort in the midst of chaos.

[atarahsofer]

Activity Check - 19

“There were always in me, two women at least, one woman desperate and bewildered, who felt she was drowning and another who would leap into a scene, as upon a stage, conceal her true emotions because they were weaknesses, helplessness, despair, and present to the world only a smile, an eagerness, curiosity, enthusiasm, interest.”

Another swipe of liquid lipstick (Smashbox Disorderly), leaning forward as she gazed at the multiple reflections of herself cast in the cracked mirror. She rubbed her lips together, forcing a smile onto her face. This was who she’d become. No matter how many times she washed her hands, they’d still be covered in blood. If only her family could see her now. They’d already disowned her, mourned her as if she’d died. To them, she had. The dutiful daughter she’d been and the girl with dreams of her own weren’t things that could coincide. The more days passed, she barely saw any memory of the girl she used to be.

Somewhere between where she started and where she was now, she had hoped to find happiness. General contentment seemed impossible. Girls like her were a storm all their own; chaotic, destructive, but beautiful all the same. She struck like thunder and she was unapologetic about it. The consequence didn’t matter, whatever it took to get what she wanted. Like a tornado, once she was finished, she was gone completely, leaving just carnage in her path.

Shifting her form, she inhaled, slipping the lipstick into the pocket of her leather jacket. One final glance at the fragments of her reflection before she made her way back into the bar. With a practiced saunter, her stilettos clicking against the hardwood, she made her way to the bar. He wasn’t here yet, and she wondered if he was coming at all. The last time they’d seen each other hadn’t gone well. How much deeper could she fall into this? Until she lost herself completely? How much worse could it get? Atarah had sold her soul for freedom, had broken herself time and time again.

Two sips into her Old Fashioned, he arrived. Her lips pressed together, shoulders tensing as he approached. Just tonight. The brunette didn’t meet his gaze, but she could feel those dark eyes.

“There she is.” The words sounded like a threat, more than a placation.

“Here I am.” Accented words offered as she glanced at him once. “Get to the point of why I needed to meet you here.”

“Not so fast, Atarah. We’re going to have a drink first and then you’re going to do whatever I say, so no one finds out their sweet little cafe owner is-.”

She cut him off. “Don’t.”

The one word was a warning, though it fell on deaf ears. He just moved closer, callused hand moving to cup her chin. She shirked away, but not fast enough. “Come on, we have fun together, don’t we?”

Atarah leaned against the bar top. She’d known this was coming, she was prepared for it and it still made her blood boil. The femme gazed at him beneath her lashes, playing the reluctant coquette. “You like the fight, though. A man like you loves the power struggle, don’t you?”

A whiskey appeared before him, and she hummed. This was her moment. Atarah leaned in, swallowing the bile that threatened to rise as she pressed her lacquered lips to his, surreptitiously spilling the tablet into his whiskey. He tasted of cigarettes and whiskey, making it clear he’d been drinking before meeting her. She’d planned this whole thing out, knew how long it would take for the tablet to dissolve. Pulling back from him, she winked at him and took a long gulp of her drink to get the taste of him out of her mouth.

“Let’s get this over with. Finish your drink, you’re right. I’m desperate.” She sighed, expression not changing as she watched.

The whiskey was gone swiftly, and cash was laid on the bar. He rose, reaching for her and tugging her against him. Just a few minutes. Atarah awaited a shower where she could scrub his touch off of her until the pain outweighed the shame of what she’d had to do. It was the only option. What else could she do?

He was starting to experience the drug. Unlike in the movies, these things weren’t immediate. They’d entered the apartment and made their way to the bedroom, his dizziness apparent. She urged him to the bed, pulling his shoes off first before she continued to undress him. As time passed, she could tell the effects were growing stronger. Finally, joining him on the bed, it was only a matter of time before he collapsed against the mattress. She waited, checking to make sure he was dead, slipping off of the bed as she grabbed her jacket, standing over his body for a moment.

“Desperate people are the most dangerous.” She paused slipping it on. “Good thing a dead man can’t spill any secrets.”

[atarahsofer]

Activity Check - 18

"It has been said that time heals all wounds. The truth is that time does not heal anything. It merely passes. it is what we do during the passing of time that helps or hinders the healing process."

Smoothing some dark hair behind her ear, Atarah took a deep breath. She didn’t need to stay; the cafe had been cleaned spotless, and she’d gotten a head start of tomorrow’s prep. Still, it felt like she couldn’t leave, as if something would go wrong if she turned her back on it. She’d fallen deeper into distress, but she didn’t dare let anyone see it. Ever since they’d been freed from hell frozen over in Finland, she’d been struggling. While she’d suffered horrendously while in the IDF, she hadn’t blamed her superiors for it, even if she should’ve. She hadn’t been able to believe Sophia would allow such a thing to happen to them in Finland. Atarah had believed that the Leader would never allow for their despair, but it had happened. She had racked her brain to try to think of a higher purpose or reason. She’d been raised to believe that God would provide and if she could put her faith in His hands, all would be revealed. Hadn’t she offered that to the Organization? What had she gotten in return?

Had people noticed that Atarah had become even more fervent about making sure she always had food on her? Had they noticed how often she dressed in layers? The thought of her body physically aching from being so cold unlocked a numbness within her. Her body wasn’t used to winter, but Kakslauttanen had been soul crushing. Though she’d never slept a full night, she struggled to get to sleep at all. She refused to sleep without her electric blanket on its highest setting and had to make sure Bamba was nearby. She let her focus remain on Motek’s dual locations. If Naomi, her second in command, had thought she was neurotic before, Atarah’s presence seemed to verify that her degree had grown.

The question of where Phoebe was still reverberated in her mind. Atarah couldn’t shake the feeling that both Thatcher and Sophia knew where she was, though she didn’t understand why it ought to be a secret. Had she been cast out? Thatcher had been and he’d found his way back. Their children needed their mother, the members needed her. Atarah had felt a comfort with Phoebe, something about her feeling familiar and reassuring. With the disappearance, she kept wondering when the other shoe would drop. It didn’t quite feel like they were on solid ground. The doubts seemed to nag her no matter how she tried to escape them. What if this was a mistake? Was this a crisis of faith?

It hadn’t been all bad, of course. Lux’s community garden had flourished and Atarah had volunteered to help as best as she could. Not to mention that it was an incredible resource for the restaurant. Atarah’s new apartment was bigger, better than the last. There was a pantry where she could store much more food than in her last place. She had a large balcony where she could drink a cup of coffee in the morning and a large closet. Bamba had adored the place the moment they had moved in, but it had taken her owner some time to settle. She hadn’t been the most enthusiastic about the move to begin with, but it had grown on her.

She gazed around the empty cafe, a small smile settling on her face. The new location of Motek was much bigger, with an outdoor terrace, and it had given her a great opportunity to expand the menu. It had calmed even her hesitance to move when she realized what an opportunity having a second restaurant, especially a location this size could offer. The island was a totally new experience, and she had relished the opportunity to build relationships with other local business owners. There were so many places to explore, eat and revel in. This was her home now and she ought to take stock of it, to claim a piece of it for herself. She crossed over to the daily specials chalkboard and erased today’s. Carefully, she wrote it out with the specials she’d already planned.

The sessions and workshops with Sophia multiple times a week were helpful. Sophia always made Atarah feel better, but she just couldn't shake that something was off. Though she played along and smiled through it, Atarah couldn't quite put the pieces together. Had Sophia knowingly put them in harm's way? She couldn't allow herself to believe that, right?

...Right?

[atarahsofer]

Activity Check - 17

“It’s never too late to become who you want to be. I hope you live a life that you’re proud of, and if you find that you’re not, I hope you have the strength to start over.”

Curled up beneath the blanket, the Israeli chewed at her lower lip. She’d never expected the huge life changes that 2021 had offered. This time last year she’d been trapped in captivity, with no knowledge of how many days had passed or if she’d survive to see what came next. Beyond that, she had known nothing about a life in America, the American (Gregorian) calendar or even such a thing as a bacon cheeseburger. Atarah had wanted none of it; she’d just wanted freedom. She’d gotten more than she’d expected, but with quite a few bruises along the way.

Other than Bamba and her cafe, she’d found therapy in writing. As 2021 came to a close, she was on the last pages of her notebook. It had been her road map, a place for her thoughts, recipe ideas, lists and everything else. As she browsed the pages, she was able to look at her year in review. Tulum, Venice, Barcelona and every other Sanctum trip they’d taken, every step of building her business, the strength she’d discovered within herself. Atarah sighed as she considered how removed she felt from the girl she’d been at the beginning of the year.

ג׳ בִּשְׁבָט תשפ״א - January 15, 2021

האחות שלי, אמילי, נתנה לי את המחברת הזו בתקווה שזה יעזור לי להתחיל לתקשר - גם אם זה רק כדי לכתוב. אני אפילו לא זוכר איך הגעתי לכאן. הרגע התעוררתי בחדר הזה, התחברתי למכונות המצפצפות האלה עם רופאים מסביבי.

הם מצאו מתרגם שיגיד לי איך הצבא מצא אותי, איך שחררו אותי וכמה חמורות היו הפציעות שלי. כל כך גרוע, למעשה, שהוכנסתי לתרדמת רפואית. אני עדיין לא יכול לקבל את זה ששרדתי וחיה נרצחה. לעולם לא אסלח להם על שהרגו אותה ולא אותי. למה חסכו ממני?

My nurse, Emily, gave me this notebook hoping it would help me begin to communicate - even if it is just to write. I don’t even remember how I got here. I just woke up in this room, connected to these beeping machines with doctors around me.

They found a translator to tell me how the army had found me, how they’d freed me and how grave my injuries had been. So bad, in fact, that I’d been put in a medically induced coma. I still can’t accept that I survived and Chaya was murdered. I will never forgive them for killing her and not me. Why was I spared?

י״ד בַּאֲדָר תשפ״א - February 25, 2021 (Purim)

פורים שמח! זה דבר מוזר להיות באמריקה בפורים. בישראל כל המדינה חוגגת. הרחובות חיים, עם תלבושות, מוזיקה ומסיבות. כאן, אין כלום. אמילי אמרה לי שהאוכלוסייה היהודית קטנה מאוד. היא הצליחה למצוא לי כמה ספרי תפילה מהקפלה, אבל זה לא היה אותו הדבר. אני מתגעגע נואשות לישראל. אני מתגעגע נואשות למשפחה שלי. מה אם כל זה היה סתם? רציתי חופש ועכשיו אני ממש לא מסוגל לעזוב את .מיטת בית החולים הזו

מצאתי תוכנית לחברים לעט ואני מנסה לשפר את מעט האנגלית שאני יודע. אמילי הייתה מאוד סבלנית איתי, ניסתה לעזור לי ללמוד דברים חדשים. צפייה בטלוויזיה אמריקאית עזרה מאוד. יש אפילו דמויות יהודיות בטלוויזיה, אם כי אף אחת מהן לא שומרת מצוות. לא אכפת לי מרוס גלר, אבל אני כן אוהב את אחותו, מוניקה. היא מזכירה לי את אחותי, לאה.

Happy Purim! It’s a weird thing to be in America during Purim. In Israel, the entire country celebrates. The streets are alive, with costumes, music and parties. Here, there is nothing. Emily told me the Jewish population is very small. She was able to find me some prayer books from the chapel, but it wasn’t the same. I desperately miss Israel. I desperately miss my family. What if this was all for nothing? I wanted freedom and now I am literally unable to leave this hospital bed.

I found a pen pal program and I am trying to improve the little English I know. Emily has been very patient with me, trying to help me learn new things. Watching American television has helped immensely. There are even Jewish characters on TV, though none of them are observant. I don’t care for Ross Gellar, but I do love his sister, Monica. She reminds me of my sister, Leah.

י״ד בַּאֲדָר תשפ״א - March 27, 2021 (Passover)

I try to write in English now. I don’t feel very confident, but Raven has been able to understand me so I hope the more I write in it, the more comfortable I will be. I reached out to Sophia Richards. Once I was released from the hospital, I immediately went to the library to try to find some information about this Sanctum organization. The nice librarian taught me how to use the computer. She said I can use this thing called the internet to find the answers to everything. How much have I been missing? I was able to find photos of Mea She’arim, news articles about it and about Israel.

I think I spent 5 or 6 hours on the computer, just trying to learn everything I could. I need to get a computer so I can do more of this. There were so many recipes! You can buy anything you want! What kind of world is this? It is all so overwhelming! I’m going to meet with Sophia this week, I’m settling into an apartment and I’m going to try to build a life.

ל׳ בְּנִיסָן תשפ״א - April 11, 2021

It’s funny how different a few weeks make. I feel much more capable of building a life here. Sophia has been helpful, she even gave me a contact for English lessons. The cafe below is for rent and I have been doing a lot of research on how to open a business. So far, I haven’t found a single restaurant that serves the kind of foods I love to cook. Raven thinks I should open my own cafe and I’ve been doing research to learn how. I’m really concerned about costs, but… I might’ve met someone who can help with that.

ל׳ בְּנִיסָן תשפ״א - May 16, 2021 (Shavuot)

I can't believe I'm a business owner. I cannot believe that Motek is here. Sophia and Phoebe have been so supportive, but it still blows my mind that everything is coming together. It might be small, but it is mine. I built this. These are my family recipes and this is who I am. I've come so far from the person I was just months ago. I'm even throwing a white party for Shavuot for members of Sanctum in a few days. Each day, it feels like things are coming together. Is this the American dream?

ו׳ בְּסִיוָן תשפ״א - June 05, 2021 (Chaya’s birthday)

I spent the whole day working, trying to ignore the sadness of today. I made all of her favorite recipes. I light a Yahtzeit candle in her honor. She didn't deserve to die, but I have this hope that she's watching over me. Chaya always had my back, she helped me and inspired me. After all, I named the cafe for her. We were each other's moteks. I really loved her, I still love her. I wonder if I'll ever love someone like that again.

Motek is growing. The social media campaign seems to be working. Someone came in and said they were from a local publication. They wanted to ask me a few questions. It's times like these that I wish I could tell Chaya or call my sisters. I didn't expect thing to turn out like this, but Phoebe came for lunch today and said the best thing to do is embrace the adventure. So that's what I'm doing. I'm doing it for Chaya and for me. (And for my family, even if they disowned me.)

י״ג בְּאָב תשפ״א - July 21, 2021

I woke up today with Bamba spooning me from behind. I think she is the greatest gift I've ever received. She's this bundle of love, she's become the cafe's mascot and our frequent customers seem to love stopping by the cafe even more with her there. I had a session with Sophia today and she made me feel more at ease about thing than I have in a while. I've been struggling with my mind lately. I know I should see someone about my issues, but burying it and focusing on works is easier. That's the better way for me to handle things. Of course, there's also writing in here.

י״ג בְּאָב תשפ״א - August 11, 2021 (Tatte’s birthday)

It's Tatte's birthday, another year without him and I can't ignore how much it hurts. I broke his heart when I told him I couldn't get married. I couldn't give up my freedom, do exactly what everyone else in our community has done. Was I too proud? Was I too selfish? Or maybe I was just stupid. Would I be happy, would it have worked out for me? I bought a birthday card, I wrote it out, I even put it in an envelope, ready to be sent out... but I don't think he'd even read it. I don't think he wants to hear from me at all. I know he'd never admit it, but would he possibly be proud of the life I've built for myself? I don't know.

א׳ בְּתִשְׁרֵי תשפ״ב - September 06, 2021 (Rosh Hashanah)

It's the strangest thing to celebrate the Jewish New Year and realize that the Americans all have another new year in December. I decided to host a pre-fix dinner for all of the Jewish people around. I've been cooking for three days - three entrees, all kinds of appetizers, sides and desserts. While we only celebrate the first night in Israel, American Jews celebrate a second night so that means a second dinner. I heard there's a thing that Americans do called New Years Resolutions. I guess they're goals? I want to write a cookbook, I want to expand Motek, I want to, eventually, open a second restaurant. Do those count? I want to be happy... at some point.

א׳ בְּתִשְׁרֵי תשפ״ב - October 18, 2021 (Birthday)

Another year older, I don't feel it though. I don't know what to make of it, honestly. It doesn't feel like I should celebrate, but I think I'm expected to. My employees surprised me with cake and presents. I am so grateful to employ people who truly care about me. What did I do to be so lucky? I'm shocked they don't all hate me, considering how particular I am about everything.

ג׳ בְּכִסְלֵו תשפ״ב - November 06, 2021 (Mamme’s birthday)

On Tatte's birthday, I wondered if he'd secretly be proud of the life I built. On Mamme's, I truly think she would be. It is so outside of the confines of our community, but I think she would be impressed. I've had to learn, basically, everything. I've had to grow and recover and survive in a foreign world. If anyone taught me how to do that, I think it was her. Of everyone, I think I miss her the most. I wrote out her card and I thought about sending it, but I don't know if she'd be willing to open it. I betrayed the family, I embarrassed them. Even if I want to believe she understood, she let Tatte disown me. I no longer have a family.

ג׳ בְּטֵבֵת תשפ״ב - December 06, 2021 (Last night of Chanukah)

Barcelona has been such an incredible experience. While there was so much food I wasn't able to eat, I was able to learn about kosher Spanish cuisine, I got through just about everything on my list and I even snuck into a FC Barcelona party. The bad news is that I didn't get to meet Shakira. Still, each opportunity Sanctum has given me to explore the world has been incredible. It has inspired me to start developing kosher recipes for international dishes. Things that I would never be able to order as is, but could make kosher. I'm really inspired. I think that's what the second restaurant I open would be all about. I already have a name in mind, but saying it out loud is too embarrassing. Maybe one day...

Atarah sighed as she opened to the newest page, putting the date at the top of the page. She had known nothing about Christmas, but she'd learned quite a bit within the past few days. Atarah had grown so much in one year, she only hoped 2022 promised even better things.

[atarahsofer]

Activity Check - 16

“And the danger is that in this move toward new horizons and far directions, that I may lose what I have now, and not find anything except loneliness.”

As Jake Epstein and Inbar Lavi locked lips and the cover of “Collide” swelled, Atarah sighed. How many years had it taken Hallmark to make a Hanukkah movie? It was worth the wait. They’d been playing Christmas movies since July, at least. Not that Atarah had watched much of them, but she’d caught a few. Eight Gifts of Hanukkah, though? She’d seen it three times already. Inbar Lavi was an Israeli actress who was going to be in the new season of Fauda! It wasn’t as if there weren’t other Israelis in Seattle; there were a few that had become regular customers of Motek. It was just nice to find anything or anyone that reminded her of where she came from.

Atarah hated to admit that she’d been feeling out of her depth lately. Ever since the announcement that they’d be moving to the island had left Atarah more upset than she wanted to admit. She’d built a life downtown, between her home, her business and the relationships she’d established within the culinary community. Leaving those, even if the island was only half an hour away, was not something she looked forward to. She had said as much to Sophia. She’d comforted Atarah that she could open another location on the island and had the freedom to go back to the Downtown location, but it wasn’t the same. For months, she could just go downstairs to open Motek and, as someone who relied on order, it went against her comfort zone.

“Bambele, yalla.” She told the peanut puff, urging her to follow as Atarah led her to the kitchen. Bamba, expecting food, did as told as her owner sighed, glancing at the boxes, sharpies and tape that littered her dining table. She’d only truly packed once before, when she’d left the world she’d known behind. One suitcase to cover seventeen years of her life. Soldiers traveled light, only carrying a pack. So, what now? Atarah didn’t really know how to feel about it, even if Sophia assured her that it would be great. Sophia claimed that she’d be able to focus on her commitment to the Organization, that they’d all be better for it. Atarah trusted the leader, so why couldn’t she believe her?

Ever since she’d read the newsletter, she’d been unsettled over it. She believed Sophia. She knew better than to doubt her, but Atarah craved control. She liked her routine of walking downstairs to the café and working. Closing the café, taking her dog on a walk through the neighborhood, befriending other local business owners. Sure, they’d be thirty minutes away, not thirty thousand miles, but this was her home. This was how she’d settled into Seattle and leaving it left her anxious. Having no say, being surrounded by only members of the Organization, were others happy to surrender themselves to the cause? Was she a bad member for not feeling excited about the change?

A sigh escaped her as she grabbed the tape and box, building it before she grabbed the sharpie. Atarah had started over before, she could handle the change. Maybe it would be good, but it didn’t mean she had to look forward to it. Scrawling kitchen - meat on all sides, she began to carefully wrap up her meat dishes, milk would have their own box. If she just focused, she'd get this done in no time. Maybe she could allow herself to be optimistic. Sophia had offered to help open a new location on the island and she couldn't argue how nice it would be. Atarah had wanted a second restaurant. If this was how to get it, maybe it could be worthwhile.

[atarahsofer]

Activity Check - 15

“We are not defined by the things we do in order to survive. We do not apologize for them,” she says quietly, eyes never leaving mine. “Maybe they have broken you, but you are a sharper weapon because of it. And it is time to strike.”

2AM, Friday, November 12th - Foundation Nightclub

The brazenness of the pretty face with an accent they couldn’t place of using the mens’ room as her domain, ogled by the men as she dealt. It had to be a sign that she’d followed them in, that she was interested. They rallied around her, pick up lines and flashes of cash, hoping to get something else other than the pills. Hoping if they bought what she was selling, they’d pique her interest. Twenty-four pills, twenty dollars each. Those would help them through the night. They’d be poorly disappointed to know pills were the only thing she was offering.

Atarah had just led another group out of the restroom like she was Moses, leading them to the Promised Land. Taking just a moment to collect herself, she jumped as an arm wrapped around her. Her body tensed, her instinct to fight, but the hold was too strong. Atarah could feel her anxiety growing, the terror seeping into her bloodstream. It was a split second before she realized whoever he was certainly wasn’t just happy to see her. It was a gun pressing against her. She hadn’t expected that. She could barely hear him over the music, but she thought she heard a deep voice calling to her. Whoever he was, he wasn’t happy, and she had to do what he asked.

She didn’t say a word, just let him lead her away. After a moment, he shifted their positions, urging her to lead the path outside. The entire room parted like the Red Sea for them. She had no idea who she was with, but she could tell he was important. Whether he was security or the owner, she wasn’t sure just yet. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she allowed him to tug her away. As far as Atarah was concerned, anyone who would willing go to an EDM club had to either be on drugs or looking for them. If he thought she was the only underhanded dealer in this club, he was mistaken. She was just the one who go caught. With his gun pressed against her back, she knew better than to do anything foolish.

She’d learned very quickly in life to never show fear. No matter what, she couldn’t let anyone see her weak or force her to submit against her will. The moment she let her guard down was when she no longer could protect herself. She didn’t know him from anyone else, but she had a feeling he was no one to mess with. The way he held himself made it clear that he could so easily shoot her with no regrets and leave her body in this alley where no one would find her for hours, if not longer. She was sure that he’d done it to others before for doing exactly what she’d done or worse. As they made their way from the club and out to the alley, he let her go. He shoved her from his grip, gun still trained on her.

“Who are you?” Dark brows narrowed as he sized up the femme he towered over. “What is your name?”

“Dalia.” She offered, pulling a name out of the air. He just wanted to put a name to the face of his potential victim.

She thought about taunting him, but given that the safety of the gun was off, she knew better.

“Well, Dalia, what the hell are you doing dealing in my club?”

The femme’s life had been threatened multiple times. Faced with death multiple times, it somehow felt emptier each time. She couldn’t be scared. She’d survived this far. And, if her life were to be snuffed out, she knew she had few to mourn her, if any. All she really had was herself and she had to manage no matter what. She was good with a weapon but her womanly wiles always cut deeper. Men were so compliant in that sense.

“Well, I know now that I should’ve been looking for you.” She offered a coquettish smile.

“Cute.” He told her, his eyes running over her form. “You know it’s a federal crime, right?”

Atarah swallowed as she heard Sophia’s voice in her head. “When will you admit that you messed up?” She’d gotten herself in too deep. Sanctum was meant to be her savior. She’d found solace in it and she’d only fallen deeper into depravity. It was a part of her now. It was who she was. And she was going to have to live with it.

[atarahsofer]

Activity Check - 14

“To be haunted is to glimpse a truth that might best be hidden.”

Not that Atarah Sofer didn’t believe in ghosts or spirits; she had just seen plenty of real life horror. In her home growing up, odd things had happened with no proper explanation. From lights flickering on and off on the Sabbath when no one was allowed to touch them, to things being moved around, to a bowl crash to the floor. Having come to Salem, she’d heard from her peers tidbits about witches and ghosts, particularly Lux, who was from here. All of it seemed too thematic for Halloween. No matter how they explained it to her, she couldn’t quite grasp how all of this had to do with the holiday.

When she’d checked into her room, the clerk had warned her of the stories of the sixth floor but she had thought it was simply part of the charm of the hotel. A place like this lived off of the draw of spook seekers. She’d given a small smile and played along, casually saying, “we’ll see if I have an encounter” before grasping her key and heading towards her room. While the femme might’ve come to the Hawthorne Hotel a non-believer, a chance encounter would change all of that.

2am, Salem, Massachusetts - The Hawthorne Hotel

Cursing under her breath in her native tongue, the femme dug deeper into her bag for her hotel room key. She had sworn it was in her wallet but it had disappeared like magic. After a night out exploring, all she wanted was to get into her hotel room and change into more comfortable clothing. Things had been odd since they’d come to Salem, but she’d shrugged it off as if it were simply a stunt to keep with the spooky theme. After all, it was almost Halloween. Of course they’d put on something.

Everything had an explanation. The sounds she’d heard at night must’ve just been the TV in the room beside her. The presence she’d felt simply because she was cold. The apple she’d found outside her door must have fallen from a room service tray or someone’s hand. It wasn’t a sign that Bridget Bishop was haunting the hotel. They’d said she owned an apple orchard on this very property before being burned at the stake, but it wasn’t some kind of sign that she was haunting the hotel. People would believe anything!

With a shake of her head, she dug deeper into her bag when she felt cold. Really cold. There was a prickling sense she ought to turn around. She couldn’t explain why, but it seemed like she ought to. And when she did, the shock had her bag falling to the floor and the lone red apple rolling from its midst. There was no explanation for what she saw before her. She wasn’t sure she could blame it on the cocktails she’d drank or the tiredness that seemed to never cease.

An apparition was before her of a woman, dressed in the garb she’d seen at the Salem Witch Museum. She seemed so real, her arm holding a basket. Atarah blinked a few times, but she was no figment of her imagination.

She still stood there, looking right at the femme. A hall light flickered above her as Atarah glanced down at the apple, which had rolled right beside the form. “Bridget.” She breathed. Who else could it be? Her heart sped up as she glanced around the hallway, hoping someone else had seen this. There was no one else around and she wondered if they’d believe her if she told them what she had seen.

With a shaking hand, she reached down for her cell phone, plucking it from the bag as she pressed to connect her to the femme she’d just left on her return to the hotel. “Come to the sixth floor.” She swallowed, barely listening to the voice on the other end of the phone as her eyes locked on Bridget. “El, the stories about this hotel, they’re true.”