“Get their kids away,” Yochi ordered the blond guy. “Someone take them to a quiet place, calm them down”

Goose bumps crawled over Yochi’s arms as he wended his way through the hotel lobby to the front desk. There was nothing to worry about, he told himself, everything was ready: the room plans, the staff schedules, the succah and conference room seating. He had the first day’s schedule in his hands. This was typical arrival day tension. The buzz of people and luggage — the strange faces, the mix of languages — everything combined to fill the air with nervous excitement.

His gaze flitted over the people, registering faces. There were the cool guys milling around, chatting comfortably, laughing loudly. Those were the seasoned travelers, the people who “did tours” all the time and wore an almost haughty air of confidence.

Then there were the first-timers — visibly anxious, a little overwhelmed. Their eyes darted around in confusion, trying to figure out what they were supposed to do while waiting for their rooms. There were the quiet couples, the large, rowdy families, the parents with all their married children “doing this together.”

Yochi smiled and nodded greetings, stopped to answer questions. Finally, he spotted Binick among the knot of people at the front desk.

“Psst, Meir?”

Binick turned. “Yochonon. What’s up?”

Yochi spoke in a low tone. “Nothing, just checking how things are going here. I put up the schedule in front of the conference room. Does it look like dinner will be on time?”

Binick checked the time on his phone. “I think so. We should be done with check-in in less than an hour.”

“Great, so I’ll distribute these,” Yochi said, waving the schedule papers.

“I think one of us should run to the tearoom to make sure everything’s ready there,” Binick said. “Should I go? Do you want to take over here?”

“Okay. Show me where you’re up to.”

When Binick left, Yochi studied the spreadsheet on the tour’s Drive for a moment, then turned his attention to the guests in front of him. “All right, who’s next?”

A short man with a jet-black beard held up the little envelope with his room key. “I just checked in.”

“Amazing! You are?”

“Chaim Tzvi Fishberg.”