“Maybe I was wrong to bring you here with me,” Abba says to him, with a look that silently adds, “Don’t you dare say anything uncalled-for in front of my daughter”

ON Monday morning, Abba says he wishes he could find a beis medrash with Gemaras, and sit and learn all morning.

Dudi can’t believe it.

“You’re in L.A., man!” he says. “Why not enjoy the place while you’re here? You can learn in Beit Shemesh, too.”

“I do learn in Beit Shemesh, too,” Abba says. “We didn’t come here to look for amusements, Dudi.”

“Yeah, and we weren’t put in This World to look for amusements, and so on and so forth,” Dudi sighs. “I know all about your hashkafah, Gedalya. But Tovi can’t sit here all morning with nothing to do.”

“I know.”

In the end, we work out a compromise. Dudi takes us to a beautiful park, with a view of the ocean. Abba sits there and learns, and I walk around, read my book, and listen to music on my MP3. The sunshine is wonderful, and the air seems so open, somehow, in a way I can’t describe. Open and fresh, and very bright. Los Angeles is so big — I can’t believe it. Those amazing mountains in the background. The millions of people living here. I talk on the phone with Ima, with a few friends, and with Chaya, who calls to hear how I am doing. Dudi has gone off somewhere, leaving us with sandwiches and drinks, and a few hours later he comes to pick us up. He looks very cheerful, and he is singing some song to himself in English.

“Where were you?” Abba asks him.

“What are you asking me for? Do you really want to hear the answer?”

Abba doesn’t press him. “You’re right, better I shouldn’t ask.”

But Dudi answers anyway. “I was at some of L.A.’s must-see places,” he says. “Shall I go on?”

“Maybe I was wrong to bring you here with me,” Abba says to him, with a look that silently adds, “Don’t you dare say anything uncalled-for in front of my daughter.”

I know exactly what that look means.