“Harav Eisental said you have a job for me, something with a drug dealer and a yeshivah bochur?”

“Benny, are you around? Are you feeling better?”

“Feeling better?” Benny didn’t understand.

“Yes, your wife told Reb Motti that you weren’t feeling well, that’s why you didn’t show up the past two days.” The Rosh didn’t sound like his usual aloof, composed self.

“Right,” Benny said. Smart wife he had. “I’m starting to feel better, yeah.”

“Good,” the Rosh said, “because we need your help.”

Benny eyed Tziporah. According to her, Ner Olam had weakened the link between him and the family; it had overtaken his focus and skewed his priorities. He was supposed to be mending bridges now, not getting sucked deeper into the water.

“Just a minute please,” he told the Rosh. Then he covered the mouthpiece of the phone. “Tziporah,” he said, “I’m not sure what’s going on. The Rosh sounds weird, like worried maybe? And he said he needs my help. Let me hear him out.”

Tziporah nodded. Her shoulders were still stiff, distant.

“Okay, sorry, I’m here,” Benny told the Rosh.

“So, how should I start?” the Rosh said. “It’s Meir Elbogen, yes? He asked Mrs. Maryles for his passport, because of some family simchah in Europe. Which is fine, he’s a big boy and there’s no reason why he can’t fly out to meet his family. Except that… Mendy Kornbluth, you know, the dorm counselor, noticed he’s been speaking to this strange man quite a bit lately.”

Benny wasn’t following. Why in the world would the Rosh care who Meir was talking to? And what did it have to do with his cousins in Europe?

“Do you hear me?” the Rosh demanded.

“I hear, but I’m not sure I understand,” Benny confessed. “What is the Rosh Yeshivah worried about?”