A particularly testy Shabbat dinner serves as a boiling point for Ronit, who can no longer keep her hurt at being kept in the dark about her father's illness to herself. Weisz does a fantastic job of conveying her character's conflicted inner feelings about this life: she enjoys stirring up shit, as evidenced by her biting comments to the Rabbi's wife about how ending up married with a brood of newborns might have led her to die by suicide; but she also clearly craves the sort of connection and community that only comes by adhering to the strict rules that govern Orthodox Jewish life. An early scene in which she tears her black shirt upon learning of her father's death, a custom observed by Jews in mourning, is a sign that some of the old ways still hold sway. Yet she never feels more alone than when she appears walking among a procession of mourners, an outsider within the crowd. There is no caricature in her portrayal, and none of the blanket condemnation that's so often present in works dealing with such an insular and rigid community.