For a second, Shuey thought the boy was hurt, but when Shuey said, “Yeah, you,” Dovi’s face lit up and he stepped forward

Late on Motzaei Shabbos Chanukah, a soft snow started falling outside. Well-fed and relaxed after their various Chanukah parties and family get-togethers, the boys trooped into the studio and brushed the snowflakes off their coats.

Shuey’s old producer, Raffi, had given them studio time at Perfect Pitch as a gift, but he’d made it clear that he wanted the job done in two hours. No more. Good memories and all that, Shuey was his boy, but time is money and there were plenty of takers for those hours and did Shuey know that Neiman was coming out with his ninth album, remember Neiman? He’d been a kid back then, right?

Raffi had been kind enough not to mention all those long-ago repeated requests to Shuey Portman to join him as a partner in the studio but just in case he remembered the offers, Shuey made sure to tell him how much he loved the work at the yeshivah and how he’d never been happier. This was his calling, he said, and Raffi was glad to hear it.

Raffi himself had welcomed them, but then left, leaving the engineering to a young Israeli kid named Dani with bangs covering his eyes.

Shlomo Bass had prepared the music tracks in his own basement studio last week. Now he leaned over the computer with Dani, clicking and pointing and explaining, until suddenly the sound of a guitar strumming filled the studio. Shuey assembled the boys around the mics in the wood-paneled room, adjusted his headphones, and signaled to Dani to begin the first run-through.

Within a few minutes, though, it became painfully obvious that instead of talking to Shuey, Dani was directly addressing Shlomo Bass, whom he’d judged had a better sense of music — and who of course spoke a perfect Hebrew too. All those European types did, Shuey thought. It was Bass who decided to repeat the high part at the end — “just copy and paste the music over there” he’d instructed — Dani nodding so that his bangs flapped up and down.

The song was great, even if Shuey wasn’t in charge. The boys sang with heart and emotion, and the spontaneous decision to give out some solos didn’t meet with any resistance. All the boys just seemed excited to be part of it. After they’d done a few rounds, Shuey was ready to practice his own solos. He stepped up to the mic, imagined that scene back in Modena — the boys crammed into the laundry room, the camaraderie created by a song — and let his voice soar. This was what music could do.