The words bothered Pinchas Bass, but he was used to being irritated by this strange rosh yeshivah

Boruch Zeldman had a little bit of the askan gene, inherited from his father. When the people in shul were grumbling that the rav’s speeches were getting too long and that it was too much halachah and not inspiring enough, it was Eliezer Zeldman who decided that someone had to tell the Rav. He’d squared his shoulders and gone and done it, offering a lengthy introduction about if people were talking behind his back he would want to know and the oilam loved the Rav and the derashos were great but maybe it would be kedai to make some small changes.

He had come home like a conquering hero, telling his wife again and again that sometimes, it’s a mitzvah to say what needs to be said. The next Shabbos, the rav had spoken four minutes shorter and Eliezer Zeldman’s face had been pink with pleasure. “Sometimes, it’s just about saying what needs to be said,” he repeated during kiddush, as if he was considering copyrighting the phrase.

When the uncles and aunts decided that Zeidy shouldn’t be driving anymore and no one wanted to tell him, Eliezer Zeldman had stepped up to the plate and spoken for all of them.

Boruch didn’t really care much how long Rabbi Schlaeffer’s speech was and he felt kind of bad for Zeidy, who had barely been driving in any case, but he did worry about his best friend and he felt like someone should tell the other bochurim about Avi Korman’s financial issues. Not because it was any of their business, but because in yeshivah, Dovi Korman was jokingly called chairman of the board. Leiber liked to tease Dovi, saying things like, “Please tell your father there was no hot water today,” and “would your Tatty mind if I took a second piece of kugel,” and Sutton had blown up a picture of Avi Korman seated between the rosh yeshivah and Mr. Portman and hung it up in Dovi’s room as a joke.

Dovi didn’t seem to mind, but now it would be sensitive, Boruch thought.

Sometimes it’s a mitzvah to say what needs to be said.

*****

Jacobs and Halbfinger were playing basketball during bein hasedarim when Zeldman approached. They were both loud and popular and he figured they were the right place to start his campaign. He didn’t have to tell all the bochurim, he reasoned, but he did have to tell the right bochurim.

The basketball court was old and the pavement was cracked in places, weeds coming through, and no game lasted more than a minute or two, since as soon as the ball hit a bump, it would jump suddenly and fly off the court. Zeldman knew he could just wait and he’d have their attention.

Within 30 seconds, the ball had flown off the court and hit the rusty fence, and he leaned over to pick it up.

“Nu?” Halbfinger said. “Send it over.”

Zeldman held up his hands like a school teacher. “Wait, mamash a minute of your time. Just hear me out.”