Now the Flake was married, raising his children as he was raised — and he would soon suffer the consequence

“A sheer impossibility.”

Efraim winced. He always felt that Rabbi Bindman, his sgan menahel, was better suited to a bowtie and tuxedo, given his formal way of speaking. That’s why Efraim called the meeting in the staff room rather than his cramped office. If Rabbi Bindman was going to be there, Efraim needed a few feet’s distance.

The subject of the meeting was the Gorpin kid, who had been a huge headache almost from day one. The Kid (he had a first name — Shimmy — but to Efraim, he would always be “The Kid”) barely skimmed average during his farher. That would have put him into questionable status had he been anyone else. But he was a Gorpin, and that meant full salaries’ worth of yearly donations, or so they were promised, and therefore averages counted for home runs in his world. So insisted the mighty Board of Directors. Efraim had no choice.

The Kid was in.

Starting from the very first day of yeshivah, Efraim kept a wary eye on The Kid. He couldn’t help himself. He watched as The Kid’s Shacharis arrival inched from a few minutes late until much more than that, and soon, he was missing davening entirely.

A week after Succos, The Kid was pulling up some time mid-first seder.

Efraim was fairly new at this job — this was his second year as a menahel — but right from the start he’d established a rule: give the rebbeim their space. So as the school year progressed, he stayed quiet, never approaching Rabbi Katz, The Kid’s rebbi, to ask how things were going.

But he really didn’t need to. Rabbi Katz — who was too noble for his own good — wasn’t saying anything, but the expression on his face said it all. The “Average” farher had been a fluke for The Kid — he was performing well below it.

Finally, by Chanukah, Rabbi Katz cracked, venting how Shimmy was lazy, disinterested, and disruptive. Efraim kept quiet, nodded, said he’ll think about it, then, the moment Rabi Katz left, took out his phone and texted the president of the board.

Gorpin kid a disaster. We gotta send him packing.

He regretted it immediately; the president deserved more cordiality. He was about to apologize — which would sound pathetic — but the president already responded: Don’t you dare.

And so Efraim tried to do some digging, searching for local yungeleit who felt a calling toward “working with shvacher bochurim.” He found a guy named Shloimy Portman who was up for the challenge. He wanted a thousand dollars a month but the Gorpins bargained him down to 750. Shloimy learned with The Kid for a few weeks but, pretty soon, it was over. The Kid was a no-show.

Rabbi Bindman fashioned himself an educational psychologist, and he made The Kid his project, spending ridiculous amounts of hours playing board games with him which, he explained, were “assessment tools.” Now he had called Efraim to this meeting to share his conclusion: sheer impossibility.

Take that, Mr. President.

Efraim was extra cautious to ensure that no smile tugged at his lips at this pronouncement. He looked up at Rabbi Bindman, nodded grimly, said, “I understand and will take your evaluation into consideration” — which sounded formal enough — picked up his folder, and left the room.

(Excerpted from Calligraphy: Pesach 5785; Mishpacha Issue 1057)