Meir repressed a groan. Why didn’t girls know that guys didn’t take mussar seder seriously?

“Next interview’s in two days. Should be on your calendar.” Meir squinted at the little box on his screen depicting Yossi’s face. “Don’t see it? I’ll resend.” Click. “Done.”

Yossi nodded.

“Might need some editing,” Meir added. “New guy. Sales pitch is a mess.”

“That’s okay, I can edit. It’s my job, remember?” Yossi said.

“You’re right. Just remember to send the guest the recording guidelines and tips in advance.”

Yossi gave a thumbs up. “Will do. Bye.”

Meir waved, clicked out of the virtual studio, and pulled his headphones down to his neck. He stretched, arching his back, rubbing his eyes. His phone vibrated.

“Hi, Elisheva,” he said, switching on the warmth in his voice.

“Are you done with that podcast yet?” his wife asked.

“Yeah, I literally just finished.”

“Just reminding you Deedee’s waiting for you. It’s after midnight in Israel, better call her already.”

“Uch.” Meir face-palmed himself. “Totally forgot.” His finger traced the abstract pattern on the mousepad. “Think I can skip it?”

“No…” He could hear the smile in Elisheva’s voice. “She’s so excited to learn with you it’s almost nerdy.”

That got a smile out of Meir, revealing the deep dimples beneath his five-o’clock shadow. Ideas always sound better before you actually have to do them. Although the idea of learning a mussar sefer with his daughter… to be honest, it had never sounded good in the first place.

“Ugh, fine, fine, calling now.”

He hung up and rubbed his face in his hands again, his stubble prickling his palm. After a yawn deep enough to pop his jaw, he picked up his phone again and dialed. He tapped around his computer while the international call picked up with its long, muted ring. Singer had to sign the new policy. It wasn’t a big one, he’d come in through the podcast, so easy acquisition there. Fein was trickier, he came through regular client leads, so Meir didn’t have the podcast halo to fall back on. Would she even pick up at this hour?

“Deedee! My shteiging seminary girl!” He forced his voice awake.

“Wow, you actually called.” She sounded as tired as he felt.

“Mommy reminded me,” he admitted. Elisheva played that role in their relationship: the grounding, the details, the structure. Meir drummed his fingers on his desk, the polished wood emitting a muted, soothing thrum. How long would this take? Should he order supper to the office, or order pickup for the way home? What did Elisheva say she was making for supper? Probably cold and dry by now.

“You ready?”

Meir looked around his office. Where was the sefer, he bought it yesterday. Would his daughter give him credit for remembering that?

“Just getting the sefer.” He didn’t see the Z. Berman bag; where could it be? After a quick sweep of the room, he saw it hanging from a hook.

“Got it,” he said, settling back behind his desk. “Where are we starting?”

His stomach gave a low rumble he was glad Deedee couldn’t hear.

“Kuntres Hachesed for you. It’s called Giving and Taking in mine. I don’t know what page it is in the original version.”

Meir checked the Index. There it was, simple enough.

“You want me to read? Or you?”

“Ummm…” While Deedee deliberated, Meir prayed she’d choose to read; he could probably take care of a few emails that way. “You should read,” she decided. “That’s kinda the point, that I hear the original text in Hebrew and follow along with the translation, no? It’s more authentic like that.”

Meir couldn’t care less about authenticity, he cared about the bottom line, and if a translation saved him time and let him eat sooner, he was more than satisfied.

“Yeah. Of course,” he agreed. “Let’s do this.”

He laid the phone on the desk and turned it on speaker. Clearing his throat, he put on his resonant interviewer voice. “Michtav Mei’Eliyahu, by Rav Eliyahu Eliezer Dessler. We’ll begin with the classic essay Kuntres Hachesed.”

“Daddy!” Deedee laughed at her father’s performing. “Just read like a normal person.”

Meir took a breath. This was his first time reading the mussar classic. Funny, he knew it was a famous essay, but had no clue what it actually covered.

“Ka’asher bara Elokim es ha’adam…” Meir read, trying to add rhythm and fluidity to the text. Deedee just wanted to hear the words; she had the translation in front of her.

“Daddy, you chap what you just read?”

“Yeah?” He hoped Deedee wasn’t expecting an answer. He might as well have been reading the telephone book in Hebrew; he took in nothing. He flipped a few pages ahead… how long was this essay anyway?

“People with inherited wealth are takers, according to Rav Dessler, anyway,” Deedee supplied. Phew.

“So what are you saying?” Meir hated this. Hated questions like this, questions that implied there was one correct and obvious answer, which he never seemed to know. As a kid, those questions made him felt dumb. As an adult he’d learned to flip them back to the questioner. It was a great podcasting technique.

“Nothing, it’s just interesting. I never thought about it like that.” He could hear Deedee shrug through the distance.

“So I should go Bill Gates on you and give all my money to tzedakah, leave nothing for my kids?” Meir tcheppered.

“I just said it was interesting.” Her voice rose. Was she taking him seriously?

“Good thing I don’t have billions, otherwise we’d have to think about this.”

They both laughed. Meir’s stomach burbled and lurched.

“Can we put a pin on this, pick it up tomorrow, whenever?” he asked his daughter.

“Tomorrow,” she said definitively.

Meir repressed a groan. Why didn’t girls know that guys didn’t take mussar seder seriously?