| Calligraphy |

Prime Location

By Riki Goldstein | June 18, 2016

he impromptu reunion took place outside the bagel store. The streets around the yeshivah were alive abuzz as streams of men flowed off tenders to take up positions for the morning. Purposeful striders overtook meditative strollers the occasional jogger intent on making it to his shtender on the button dodged all. Bochurim hurried along alleys to replace their tefillin bags in dirahs. Young husbands Shloimy Weiler among them chatted on cellphones as they headed in to morning seder. Shloimy suddenly felt a bang on his back. It was Aranowitz an old friend and chavrusa on his way to the Kol Haloshon booth to load the MP3 which kept him company on the bus journey to yeshivah. As they spoke Ari Freimark and Gabi Broder emerged from the bagel store together huge coffee cups warming their hands.

Eating the lunch Tzivi had prepared him while watching his boys play with matchbox cars on the tiny porch Shloimy didn’t even look at the free Hebrew Yaated he’d brought up. Aranowitz and Freimark . Both. At the end of this zman. And Broder was going too — he’d said maybe one more year. He chewed on the crusty bread that Tzivi had filled with grilled veggies and cheese just the way he liked it. The ten-minute schmooze before morning seder replayed like a film in his head an animated discussion about kollelim and potential jobs. His friends were making plans weighing options — he Shloimy had nothing to add.

While Aranowitz was really reluctant to leave and had stuck in a lot of “if Mashiach doesn’t come” and “it’s crazy not geshmak to have to leave” the general tone had been upbeat and practical. He supposed it was natural to get excited when planning a new start. Freimark ’s kids were the oldest he really felt the need to settle them down in schools. Aranowitz had no family in Eretz Yisrael at all life would be a lot easier for his wife in America. Broder was happy learning in Yerushalayim for now but he planned to go into chinuch and he couldn’t do that in Hebrew. For him the move back was a step closer to what he felt was his role in life.

And Shloimy Weiler who they’d called “the poritz” these eight years with his own apartment his wife a native speaker with a decent job and his in-laws minutes away was the one with no plans. He had no choices to make nothing to weigh and choose from together with his wife and Rosh Yeshivah.

He loved Yerushalayim. The life he had chosen was wonderful and he and Tzivi were definitely created for each other. But sometimes now that all the old crowd had left or were leaving Shloimy Weiler felt as homesick as he had during the very first zman in yeshivah. He wondered about the decision which he could barely remember making.

***

t was Shabbos Rosh Chodesh, and the marrieds were all present at the Birnbaum table. Tzivi and Shloimy, who lived a twenty-minute walk away, were sleeping at home this time to enable Dovid and Simi and their two infants to crowd in.

The younger Birnbaums were playing with the nephews and nieces, some game which involved schlepping all the pillows and blankets to the sukkah porch, while Yocheved, Rifky, and yeshivah bachur Sholom helped their mother serve the meal.

Brocha had made apple kugel this week, in honor of Rosh Chodesh, and some salmon along with the gefilte fish. Otherwise the meal was delicious but simple. Brocha Birnbaum cooked well, but she did not believe in “serving simchah food to the family for Shabbos.” “Skip over those fancy salads and side dishes you see in the magazines,” she told her seminary students. “Who needs it? A woman is blessed with a certain amount of energy. She can choose how to expend it, and family should always come before patchking. Why would you want to make a tri-color vegetable kugel and a four-layer dessert every Shabbos?”

“Everything’s delicious, Brocha,” her husband called from the head of the table, his fork hovering over a steaming piece of chicken.

“It’s really good, Mommy,” Shloimy echoed. “The boys eat so well over here.”

Brocha smiled. “Enjoy.” There was nothing like having the einiklach growing up nearby and coming over so often. Having spent all her own married life so far from parents and siblings, she was always aware of the joy of having kids nearby. There was so much she could do for them this way.

***

he sun rose in a perfectly blue sky in Jerusalem. The phone rang next to Shloimy’s bed at 5:32 a.m. and he groped for it, dazed. Tatty? A stroke? “Mommy would never, ever tell you this, but I think they need you here,” his sister Shifra said. His married sisters lived in America, but none of them near his parents. His younger brothers were bochurim — sweet, but younger, and away in yeshivah. He was the oldest son, and he needed to be there for Tatty.

The travel agent was professional and efficient. By the time Tzivi had his suit laid on the top of a full suitcase, it was almost time to leave for the airport. His thoughts a jumble of worries for Tatty, Shloimy set off for New York.

By the third day of his visit, he could think more clearly. Tatty would be in the hospital, then rehab for a couple months, even if things went smoothly. Traveling alone with the kids for the first time, Tzivi flew out to join him. Of course, his shvigger had offered to keep the kids, she was sure it was better for them to stay in the routine and not be underfoot in his parents’ home. “And they’ll be missing so much cheder!” But Tzivi had not wanted to be separated from her boys, and Shloimy knew the kids would be a blessed distraction for his mother, so Asher, Yossi, Chezky, and baby Leah came along.

***

Excerpted from Mishpacha Magazine. To view full version, SUBSCRIBE FOR FREE or LOG IN.

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