“Many people would think that the ideas Yanky has in his head are comparable to wanting to move to Madagascar”
At the end of the corridor, there would be an office. On its door would be a sign emblazoned with the words, “Shalom Eliav, Vice President, Finance & Sales Operations.”
No. That wasn’t right, Sandy realized. Shalom couldn’t handle finances, much less marketing. He needed to be out and about. Property management — that would be the right job for him. So the sign on that door at the end of the corridor, where Aryeh Wright sat and drew up lists of supervision and maintenance tasks, should say, “Shalom Eliav, Maintenance and Management Officer.”
Sandy stepped into his office, taking a deep breath and letting his dream flow unfettered.
In my dream office my son sits at my side, and we make decisions together. He’s in charge of all financial affairs. He has a degree in business administration, my dream Yonatan, and in the evening, after working at his day job with me, he’s working toward his MBA. He’s an impressive, knowledgeable man, my Yonatan, a brilliant manager whose ideas are catapulting our firm to the top financial echelons.
Shalom in my dream is my sparkling twin. He drives around in a jeep from one property to the next, keeping tabs on the tenants and taking care of property maintenance. He’s a pleasure to work with — he’s reliable and methodical, and I know that if I miss a day at the office now and then, the business will keep humming along without missing a beat.
A green pencil, the kind Sandy favored, scraped against the business card under his hand, drawing random circles. Yonatan wasn’t there. True, he’d earned his bachelor’s degree, but not in business administration. He doesn’t even want to work here with me. He’s engaged to a girl who hardly has a word to say, and the two of them plan to make their home in Jerusalem, the city of their dreams.
Their dream will come true. Not mine.
Shalom wasn’t there, either. No, instead of driving around in the jeep the company would have provided for him, he’s dragging his feet over the sidewalks of Jerusalem and snoring on park benches. He hangs around shuls with his hand out, begging for tzedakah. He’s so far down, he can’t even see the poverty line, it’s way, way over his head. He should be here in the family business, but….
It’s only a dream of mine. It’s never going to happen.
