The House Across The Way

I see them mostly every day. I can't say I really know who they are. We share a walkway. I say a neighborly 'Hi, how are you' when I see them. She's a mom, with two kids. There's no husband around. I thought he died. I heard they're divorced. I didn't care enough to find out which was true.

The little girls sat outside one day with a table full of toys from their house, yelling "Sale! Sale!". In an effort to help them out I bought a pack of playing cards for two dollars. They told me I was their second sale of the day.

On Purim I did the neighborly thing and accepted shaloch manos for them when people came around, rather than letting it sit outside their door.

I chatted briefly with the mom. I offered to let the girls wait inside my apartment when their mom wasn't home. I've seen them in school uniforms and assumed they attended the local frum girls' school. I hear them coming and going. I'm a New Yorker at heart. I can't say I really know them. I can't say I really care.

One day I saw them outside wearing pants. I looked twice to be sure they were the same little girls who lived next door. They were. I said hi and walked past. It made me sad.

I try not to be a nosy person, but I wondered if anyone knew, if anyone cared what was happening to the family. I only sort of know their names.

One Shabbos I heard the little girls outside. I am slightly ashamed to say I spied on them through the peephole. I heard them call their mother. No one answered the door. The older girl said, in a nervous voice, "I'm gonna ring the doorbell". The little one looked uncomfortable. She rang the doorbell and I ran quietly away from the door, thinking about what I saw. Their mom came to the door. I'm not sure, but I think I heard her voice through the intercom.

I'm thinking, somebody should do something about this. Anybody. But not me. I barely know them. I'm not nosy. What would I say?

And so I stood by and did nothing, and let these Yidishe neshamos slip away.