Mishpacha - always my malky

Always My Malky
story so that you can understand who Malky
was, what was going on inside of her.”
On the first day of school, young girls in
fresh, clean uniforms carried spanking new
school bags down the Boro Park streets, but
Malky Klein had no school to go to.
Finally, a few days into the semester, the
Kleins found a school that would take Malky.
“We were so excited for her. I remember, we
wanted her to also enjoy that first-day-ofschool
feeling, even if it wasn’t really the first
day, and we ordered her a beautiful new briefcase.”
They’d learned not to be too optimistic, but
Malky’s parents looked on with hope as their
daughter went off on that first day.
A few weeks later a phone call came. The
principal grimly informed them that Malky
wasn’t really adjusting. And she was breaking
the rules. They were called in for a conference,
and informed that Malky showed
disdain for authority in several ways. First
of all, she brought expensive nosh for snack.
Also, she’d purchased an expensive birthday
gift for a friend.
“Malky finally has a school and she’s eager
to make new friends, so she bought a nice gift,”
the mother argued.
“No,” the principal asserted, “she’s trying to
‘buy off’ other girls.”
Then, the principal charged, Malky had
switched briefcases, further evidence that
she was trying to create new standards in
the school.
“No,” the parents argued, “it was just once.
We’d ordered it when she was accepted and
when it arrived, she switched, that’s all.”
The verdict was sealed.
Avreimie looked at the principal. “Okay. We
get it. Just please don’t expel her until we find
her a new school.”
They left the school and headed home, ready
to start a new round of school-searching. When
they got home, they found that Malky was already
there.
She’d been expelled.
Malky lay on the living room floor, books
fanned out all around her, as if she’d dropped
them the moment she came in. Her parents
look at the room, as if reliving the scene.
Within the bottomless
pit of pain, Malky
let her art give
expression to her inner
desolation, while still
tenaciously holding on
to a thread of light
“She was crying, in such obvious pain and
we, parents who just wanted to give her what
she needed, weren’t able to help.”
Malky was broken. She would never really
be whole again.
Mrs.
Klein’s voice rises
slightly. “My
Malky, who loved
to dress well,
Miss Fashion, spent the next three months
without a school —but wearing her uniform
every single day. She would go to stores with
me in her uniform. She wanted so badly to be
in school, to look the part.”
She wanted, but there was no school that
wanted her.
Midway through the year, an existing school
fell apart and the administration split. A new
school was forming, and they were ready to
accept Malky.
Malky Klein had a school again, and determined
to prove herself, she threw herself
into her studies.
“We hired tutors,” recalls her mother, “and
Malky would rush in from school, grab a bite,
and hurry out to study. At home, she always had
a book in her hands, cramming information.”
“We had real nachas,” her father says, allowing
the sentence to hang there for a moment
before finishing, “but we didn’t realize that it’s
like a car that’s overheating. It was too much
for a little girl.”
At the end of ninth grade, Malky came home
with a good report card. It was a new experience
for the young girl and her parents.
“We were excited for her, and even though
we knew she wanted to go to one of the schools
of her choice and rejoin her friends, we encouraged
her to wait until she had good marks for
a sustained period, until her confidence was
restored.”
But she couldn’t wait anymore. Being normal
was simply too exhilarating a prospect.
Unbeknownst to her parents, Malky marched
herself into the office of the principal in the
school where her friends were and made her
pitch.
The night before she’d gone, she’d carefully
written down the things she wanted to say to
the principal.
Avreimie goes to the computer to pull up the
notes that Malky prepared before that meeting,
talking points for her appeal. Yet another
exhibit in the chronicles of a broken heart.
Please here me out. Before telling me no for
the best reasons please give me a chance.
It doesn’t matter who somebody may have bin,
it matters who they want to be. Who I want to be
is the best I can be. I want to grow and change
and work harder, I want to c what I’m capable
of cause I bet it’s a lot…. I want to go to this
school more than I’ve ever wanted anything….
I’m not a faker, I mean it…. Please, please give
me a chance, please take it into consideration
to except me for the 10th grade…. I know school
starts in less than two weeks but in five seconds
anything can happen….
Thank you for listening to me….
The principal was polite, but firm. There
was no space.
The new school year began. Malky wasn’t
herself. She returned to the original school, but
she was already burned out — she’d worked too
hard, invested too much, only to be denied the
privilege of being “normal,” in a mainstream
high school with her friends.
Night after night, she and her father would
sit in the living room and talk, really talk. One
night, she looked him in the eye and said, “At
least put me in public school. Then I’ll know
that I have a place.”
Another night, she wept and finally managed
a single sentence. “It takes me hours to
do what other kids can do in a few moments.”
Her father listened and reassured and encouraged.
But it wasn’t enough to keep Malky, Malky.
It happened so quickly. She was done.
She’d given up. She forgot about school and
found a new identity in the streets. Friends, it
turned out, gave validation more readily than
teachers. When Malky smiled, the chein was
still there, but she smiled less and less.
The parents couldn’t do much. Reb Hershele
Spinker had already left this world,
and Avreimie went to speak with the Rebbe’s
son, the Krule Rebbe, Rav Naftali Horowitz.
The Rebbe sent Avreimie into the dark
52 MISHPACHA 17 Av 5777 | August 9, 2017