Naftali has never felt more like a cautionary tale

“Good morning, Yudi,” Naftali says pleasantly.

Yudi gifts him with a glare sharp enough to cut through steel. “Don’t talk to me, Mr. Hartman,” he says coldly. He climbs onto the bus, stalks to the back, and sits as far away from Naftali as possible.

Naftali takes a deep breath and drives on. It’s going to be a long day.

It had been a relief to come home this morning and find Chana still asleep. He’d been afraid that she might broach the topic of schooling again, that she’d point out all the ways that he’s failed his family with this job. And then, what choice would he have? If not schooling, it’ll be something else she’d suggest, some better job than the one he’s chosen.

Even today, with a furious Yudi in the back, driving the bus is comforting. It’s the only thing in his life that he feels like he has a handle on right now. But now, the boys climb on and look at him with discomfort or pity, murmuring among themselves, and Naftali has never felt more like a cautionary tale. Learn well or you might turn out like Rabbi Hartman’s brother. Study hard or you’ll be driving a bus one day.