But Naomi said to her two daughters-in-law, “Turn back, each of you to her mother’s house. May GOD deal kindly with you, as you have dealt with the dead and with me! May GOD grant that each of you find security in the house of a husband!” – Ruth 1:8-9
“I really think this guy might be the one. I haven’t felt this way since Ben’s death, and I want to see where this goes.”
The woman speaking smiled at the group as they politely clapped for her declaration. Ruth nibbled on a cinnamon rugelach, the same one she had been nursing like a beer for the past hour, now little more than a crumb. It was essential for her mouth to stay busy so she wouldn’t be asked to share with the group. It was her first time there, but she didn’t think she would be returning.
The support group had been recommended to her by Talia, a “friend” who hadn’t visited Ruth’s house while she was sitting shiva for her husband, but who had magically reappeared when Ruth started bringing her homemade babka to shul again.
“I’m telling you, every widow in town’s been to Naomi’s group,” Talia said, wiping crumbs from her mouth. “It’s, like, the place to be for mourning women. Maybe it’ll knock you out of your funk.”
Her “funk” could’ve referred to many things: Ruth missing shul for weeks at a time, Ruth not returning to work after four months of leave, Ruth forgetting to shower some days because who would smell her anyway? Talia was probably referring to the fact that Ruth had forgotten her babka in the oven for an hour, and the outside was a charcoal-chocolate layer.
The biggest indicator of her “funk,” truly, was that she listened to Talia’s advice in the first place. And now she was in a support group full of women talking about the latest dates they had been on while Mahlon was hardly cold in his grave. She had nothing to say to them, and she didn’t feel like they had anything of use to say to her, least of all Naomi herself.
“And now, we will say a section of Tehillim to help us continue on our path of healing,” Naomi said, passing out little booklets of Psalms. “We’ll be saying Perek 77 on page 12.”
Ruth didn’t take a booklet; she already knew this one by heart. You hold my eyelids from closing; I am so troubled that I cannot speak.
When the Psalms wrapped up, the rest of the women handed in their booklets and filed out the door, thanking Naomi for her hospitality. Ruth started stacking chairs alongside the older woman, trying to keep a neutral smile.
“You don’t have to stay back,” Naomi said when she noticed her hanging around. “I’m not that old, you know.”
Naomi looked to be in her late forties, not much older than Ruth, but had been a widow for far longer. Ruth wanted to talk to her more about her own experience, ask her how long it took before she stopped covering her hair, or if it would be strange if Ruth never did. She did not, however, want to talk about men.
“Truly, it’s the least I could do,” Ruth replied, a little rigidly.
“Really, I insist,” Naomi said, pushing one pile of chairs to the corner to start working on another. “You don’t owe me anything. I’m happy just to provide a space where women can grieve together comfortably.”
Ruth didn’t mean to snort. She certainly hadn’t been so callous when Mahlon had been alive.
“Pardon?” Naomi asked, and the chair in her arms looked a little more menacing.
“I’m sorry, that was rude of me,” Ruth said quickly, turning around to find something to do with her hands. “I’m still pretty fresh to… all of this, and this isn’t my sort of space.”
She thought about making her exit, but decided that staying was more polite, if not enough to make up for her snort.
“What do you mean by that?” Naomi asked.
“I think this environment is catering towards the remarriage mindset.” She pointed to the dating-app pamphlets on the table, the books on Jewish remarriage on the bookshelf. “All anyone talks about here is their experiences dating again after losing their husbands or how they’re still working on getting to that point, and I don’t want to remarry. So I don’t feel comfortable grieving here.”
Naomi took a moment to think about this.
“When I set up my support group, I wanted to make a space where, among other things, women could discuss the difficulty returning to ‘normal life’ after such a loss. This is a place where they can practice feeling normal, even feeling happy again, without guilt. And for women who are still in the earlier stages of grieving, it can be helpful to see the light at the end of the tunnel.”
It made sense to Ruth in a way. Didn’t she wish that she still had a community she could relate to and talk to about her life? God knew how sick she was of having stilted conversations with women at shul who didn’t know if they could talk about something other than Mahlon with her. Ruth couldn’t help them; she didn’t know herself.
“Right,” she said. “I guess I was just surprised to hear so many people talking about it. I mean, you never got remarried, and you’re doing perfectly fine, so I figured other women might be in the same boat.”
Naomi’s smile tightened. “I might be doing perfectly fine now, but 12 years ago, it was a different story. When it became clear that I wasn’t looking to remarry, the community didn’t know what to do with me. They didn’t understand that the married woman stage of my life was over, that God had sent me to the time that came next. They couldn’t even imagine the loneliness that caused me.
“That’s why I don’t understand you!” Ruth exclaimed, surprising even herself. “Instead of endorsing these uninviting congregations, you should be showing your group the beauty of this community. You have a room of women talking about how they can’t relate to anyone in their lives, and instead of pointing them to each other, you’re sending them on dates.”
“So you think they should just give up on their old communities entirely?” Naomi asked, and the chair in her arms wobbled.
“If their communities are making them feel so isolated, then maybe they should!” Ruth shouted, the heat inside her rising. “If you think being a widow’s bad, try being a widow and a convert. I’ve heard women in my shul speculate about when I’m going to give up on Judaism and ‘go back to my people’ now that my husband’s dead, as if I spent six years in their congregation biding my time until I could escape. Everyone loves the convert until the convert is standing alone. I don’t want to stand alone anymore, and I don’t want another husband to prove to people that I’m Jewish enough for them. You’re just another facet of the same community that made you feel so alone!”
She leaned against the wall, feeling the fingers of a stress headache wrap around her temples. “I’m sorry,” she breathed. “I’ve been angry for months without anyone to talk to.” She met Naomi’s eye. “I’m sure you know what that’s like.”
Naomi had been frozen in place in the other corner, but she straightened herself up and slowly crossed the room towards Ruth.
“I’ve never felt that anger,” Naomi said, “but I’ve carried my weight’s worth of fear. I’m no longer afraid of being cast out, but I’ve done nothing to help fix the circumstances that caused the fear in the first place. In that way, me and my group have failed you.”
Ruth’s back sank until she was sitting on the floor. “I don’t want to leave on this note,” she said softly. “I think you’re a smart woman, and I respect the efforts that you’ve made for many women over the years.”
“I don’t want you to leave either,” Naomi said, smoothing her skirt down as she joined Ruth on the floor. “I want you to help me make this into a community.”
Suddenly, Ruth felt a little overwhelmed. “Oh, I’ve never run anything like this before. I wouldn’t even know where to start. I was just running my mouth.”
“Don’t back down on me now.” Naomi pushed herself to her feet with a little effort, holding her hand out to Ruth. “Help me make it a place where you’ll never feel lonely again.”
It was too early for Ruth to feel optimistic, and yet she felt dizzy with the possibilities. She didn’t know where her place in the world was yet, but if she could build it herself…
She took Naomi’s hand and kept it clasped in hers. “I’ll see you next week, then.”
Kaily Mermelstein is a rising 2PD at the University of Florida College of Pharmacy. When she’s not writing stories, she likes reading, crafting and going on walks with her bearded dragon Fred.