Y

anky hung up the phone with obvious irritation and went to see if Raizele needed any more help with the packing. Tomorrow they would be joining the extended Kleiner family at Beit Chilkiyah for a short vacation.

Raizele paused in the middle of folding the children’s clothes and looked up at him. “Your clothing is going into the small suitcase, okay?” she said. “Who was that on the phone?”

“A nudnik.”

“What did he want?”

“To annoy me.”

“It looks like he succeeded.”

“It was Levron, the secretary of the mosdos. I don’t know who told him to call me, or who thought up the whole silly idea. They’re looking for a babysitter for Sandy Eliav’s son. He’s supposed to be coming here for a long visit after Yom Tov, and they want someone in the beis medrash to make him feel welcome, invite him now and then for a Shabbos meal. Basically, to babysit.”

“How old is he?”

“Twenty-three? Twenty-eight? I don’t know. What do I care how old he is? I’m not taking the job.”

“Is this the son who studied architecture?” Raizele asked.

“I don’t know,” Yanky said indifferently. “Wait— Sandy Eliav has a son who’s an architect? Who told you that?”

“One time at a bar mitzvah, I was sitting at a table with Mrs. Eliav. Her name is Marta, and she was going on about her son who was studying architecture at some university in England.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me that before?” If the person to be babysat was an architect, that was obviously a whole different story. He would be happy, overjoyed in fact, to have the young man over for Shabbos, even to take him to the tish and explain to him what chassidus is all about. To make friends with an architect would be worth the effort.

“Call Levron back,” Raizele suggested, “and tell him you changed your mind. Tell him you thought it over, and you’d be happy to host Eliav junior.”

“Um, that would be kind of awkward. Did you hear me refuse? I was pretty firm about it. I can’t suddenly call back and say fine, I’ll do it.”

They continued packing in silence. Ten minutes later, salvation came from an unexpected source. Yanky’s phone rang again, and this time Tzvika was on the line.

“What’s the matter with you, Yankele? I set you up with a nice job, and you turn down the shidduch?”

“Next time, ask me before you set up the shidduch,” Yanky retorted. “Or at least let me know the profession of the shidduch candidate. I thought Levron was just nudging me to spend a few weeks of my time entertaining some young man of leisure. That’s why I said no. And then my wife informed me that the baby I need to babysit is an architect. How was I supposed to know that?”

(Excerpted from Mishpacha, Issue 766)