Benny watched Dave stride purposefully toward the washing sink. His business must be doing well; he walked as though he owned this place

Benny smoothed down his pants and walked into Entrecote. He quickly scanned the room — four young American couples, a table of five chassidish men, a dati-leumi family, a set of fifty-something American parents treating their couple-living-in-Israel, and a big Sephardi get-together in the corner.

Oh, and there was Dave, at a table at the far end, his blazer draped over a chair and his fingers busily swiping his phone. Benny walked over and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Hey, Reb Benny, good to see you!” Dave said. “Sit down, I’ll tell the waiter you’re here. Looks like you could use a drink. Still racking up sechar, walking all around Yerushalayim?”

Benny wondered how sweaty he looked. “Actually no, I caved and got myself an electric bike last year. Don’t tell my mom, she’ll just be petrified I’m getting myself killed. But it’s so much faster and easier, once you buy it there’s no going back.”

The waiter arrived.

“Can you bring us some cold water, please, and the bread,” Dave said. Benny noticed how his voice didn’t go up at the end — this wasn’t a question, it was a command.

The waiter nodded, then returned with some sort of Middle Eastern hot, fresh bread. He industriously began covering the table with tiny little dishes of dips — carrots, beets, cabbage, tomato, pepper, several iterations of eggplant, and lots of herbs.

“Let’s go wash,” Dave said. “I hope it’s okay that I ordered for both of us already.”

Benny watched Dave stride purposefully toward the washing sink. His business must be doing well; he walked as though he owned this place. Benny followed silently and washed.