Rebbetzin Weiss leaned back. “That was a lot for you to carry, Estee. And you’re already carrying a lot!”

Estee grinned through her tears. True that.

“What I can share with you, Estee, is that right now, you need to trust your husband more. Yes, sometimes it might be obvious that he’s just a young boy, figuring life out as he goes along, but he’s still your husband. You need to trust that he’s trying his best. I still would advise you to give him space. And to try to rein in your emotions when he skips seder or whatnot.

“As for the fight at the siyum… I would just let it go. Don’t mention it. If he does bring it up again, then tell him that wanting things is not the same as wanting eternity. And that the latter outweighs the former.”

“I hear,” Estee said slowly. She wasn’t actually sure that she did, she needed time to process it all. Alone. In her car. With space to cry without feeling mortified.

Rebbetzin Weiss leaned across the table and squeezed her limp hand. It was such an old-fashioned gesture, so foreign, but Estee appreciated it nonetheless.

“You’re a really special young woman,” Rebbetzin Weiss said.

Estee was definitely not sure about that, but it did embolden her to ask one more thing.

“Rebbetzin, I have a question… about my mother.”

Rebbetzin Weiss looked up, and for the first time, Estee saw her age on her face.

“Your mother?”

“Yes. She recently went from being, um, very over-involved, which my husband hated, to seemingly having zero interest in me. My younger sister is engaged, and I guess she’s more exciting at the moment. But…” Estee swallowed. Stupid hormones, making her cry every few seconds.

“And that hurts.”

“Yeah. It hurts.”

The older woman took off her glasses, rubbed her eyes, put her glasses back on.

“I’m sorry. I truly am. But maybe there’s a silver lining? Maybe, away from over-involved mothers, you and your husband can continue to build something precious and real. Alone. Together.”

Yonah almost beeped outside his parents’ house, then, realizing that would be disrespectful, parked, and hopped out of the car. His father was waiting to accompany him to an all-you-can-eat grill bar. Rabbi Wagschal had rented out the party room and hired fantastic speakers. And Yonah was emceeing.

He’d been practicing all week, and had kind of turned it into a light roast. He was excited but nervous. He was also hesitant to do all this in front of his father, who was probably wondering why Yonah had time to plan elaborate introductions instead of learning in seder, but hey, he’d just made a siyum. He needed a little break.

The drive there was pleasant, though Daddy was a little concerned about the event itself.

“An all-you-can-eat grill bar? Won’t the boys just keep eating until they pass out?

Yonah smiled as he adjusted his mirror. “Nah, Daddy, today the boys are all on diets.”

Dovid shrugged. Yonah took that as a sign that his father didn’t agree with the idea but also would never say anything to criticize Rabbi Wagschal, whom he held in high esteem.

“They’re good boys, Dad, they just need a little love. And some grilled meat.”

His father regarded him for a long moment. “Maybe. But why do they need me?”

The event was going well. Yonah was the emcee, apparently, and he was pretty funny.

Uri’s hair had gotten longer, and Ruvi’s yarmulke had gotten smaller. Or maybe his tshup had eaten it. “Rabbi R, sick chill, no?” Uri asked, hugging him with one hand.

Dovid looked around theatrically. “You give semichah now, Uri?”

Uri cracked up. “Guys! Rabbi R just said the funniest thing….”

He walked off, still laughing.

Dovid stood there, bemused. Hey, he had no problem being called Rabbi. He just wasn’t sure exactly what a “sick chill” was and if he was happy to be part of one.

The boys didn’t look good. They looked tired and too old.

That saddened Dovid. They really did just need some support and love. And maybe he wasn’t young or cool, but he has plenty of both of those things to go around.

To be continued…

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1048)