"There’s just a certain air about you, as if you’re silently criticizing the whole tzibbur, and our kehillah in particular”
"We have some brand-new sweaters to give away,” said Chana Miriam. “Feivele got them from someone in America, and they’re very good quality, but not the kind that the men by us wear. Maybe your tenant could use them?”
“I think he’d love to,” said Yanky. “He only owns a couple of changes of clothes, and no winter clothes at all.”
“What about kitchenware? I’ve got an extra set of silverware, still in the box. We got it as a wedding present, but I didn’t like the pattern, so I never used it.”
“Bring it along, why not? Most likely he owns one cheap fork, knife, and spoon.”
“Okay, I’ll bring it all. See you soon.”
And the phone continued ringing.
“Listen, Yanky,” said Nochumku. “I’ve got three job offers for your new tenant. First of all, Minimarket Michaeli is looking for a worker. You know Michaeli, he’d be the right kind of boss for a young fellow who’s alone in the world — warm and fatherly. Another option, the vegetable store, Yerakot Hakikar, needs workers. They’ll pay more than Michaeli, but the work would be harder — you know, physical work, schlepping crates of produce.”
“Thanks,” said Yanky. “I’ll pass both suggestions along to him. And what’s the third offer?”
“Maintenance man in the yeshivah, two hours every evening. They want someone to clear up after supper, and then to set up the coffee niche in the kollel and make sure it’s reasonably clean.”
Nochumku gave Yanky the relevant phone numbers, and then added, “If your tenant wants, I can sign him up for the Yad Hachesed sale. If he’ll just give me his contact info and ID number, I’ll get him on the list, and every two weeks he’ll be able to order fruits, vegetables, and groceries for wholesale prices.”
“Everyone who hears about Bugi wants to help him,” Yanky said to Raizele afterward. “At Goldenkrantz’s seudah this evening, I mentioned that we have a new tenant. I didn’t give a lot of details, I just said that he’s a young man who lost both parents, and he’s been drifting around, trying to get a life for himself, and look what happens. The minute I get home, everybody starts calling, offering all kinds of help.”
“You see? There’s nothing like our kehillah,” Raizele said, simultaneously opening the door to somebody’s knock.
“Of course there isn’t,” said Chana Miriam, standing in the entrance with a few plump bags in her hands. “And I’m glad to hear that Yanky realizes it too.”
“Hey, is that me you’re talking about?” Yanky demanded, suddenly on the defensive. “When was the last time I said anything against our kehillah?”
Chana Miriam hesitated for a moment, formulating her reply: “Maybe you didn’t say anything, but… there’s just a certain air about you, as if you’re silently criticizing the whole tzibbur, and our kehillah in particular.”
“Really?” Yanky looked to Raizele for support, but to his chagrin, she gently nodded.
“Chana Miriam has a point,” she said.
He was very hurt. “So what if I have some criticism now and then?” he said after his sister had gone. “I’m realistic, I see things as they are. What am I supposed to do, wear rose-colored glasses and go around rhapsodizing about how perfect our kehillah is?”
“People don’t enjoy criticism,” Raizele said simply. “It makes them feel that you look down on them and see yourself as a different breed.”
“I don’t see what one thing has to do with the other,” said Yanky, still upset. “I can see flaws in my children, too — does that mean I see myself as a different breed? If I notice their weak points, does that mean I don’t love them?”
Raizele kept silent.
“Why aren’t you answering me?”
“I’m wondering if it will do any good to answer.”
“It will. Nu?”
“You need to understand, Yanky,” she said, choosing her words with great care, “that the people around you are sensing a certain unspoken message from you. Somehow, they get the feeling that you disdain them and the entire kehillah. I believe you, Yanky. I know you love them and you don’t really look down on them, but still, that’s how they feel. And from their point of view, the fact that you’re starting to look for inspiration in other kehillos, from other rabbanim, only confirms what they feel. If the people around you are getting this feeling that you hold yourself above them, then something’s wrong.”
Now it was Yanky’s turn to fall silent.
“All right,” he said heavily after a long pause. “From now on, I’ll make sure to do nothing but praise our beautiful kehillah. I won’t say a word that could imply any dissatisfaction with the kehillah or anyone in it. Kulam ahuvim, kulam berurim, kulam osim b’eimah uv’yirah retzon Konam.”
That’s not the answer, Raizele thought. But she kept it to herself. She was getting used to keeping certain types of thoughts to herself.
Despite everything Lulu said, he found secret comfort in the thought that his share of the inheritance was waiting for him should he ever want it. “If things ever get really bad,” he would say to himself, “I can always get in touch with Sandy.”
For now, things weren’t all that bad. True, the Sudanese squatters in the next building were noisy and violent, but he could always find another place to lay down his head at night.
Avery and Mishmesh were planning to move to one of the towns in the coastal plain for the winter. “Probably Tel Aviv,” Avery told him. “There are lots of possibilities there for us.” He didn’t elaborate on the nature of those possibilities, and Lulu preferred not to ask. He wanted to stay in Jerusalem; he’d grown accustomed to its streets, its people, and its shuls. He didn’t have the energy to start over again in a new place.
Meanwhile, Musa’s condition was getting worse day by day. Cirrhosis of the liver was destroying him slowly but surely. Early in the summer, Lulu had thought Musa would hold up for another couple of years, but now it didn’t look as if he would make it through the next month.
And once Musa was gone, Lulu would be left alone.
He was happy for Bugi. Bugi had a nice little nest now, and he was starting to live. His landlord was a mensch who was helping him look for a job, and maybe by the end of the winter he’d be able to fulfill his wish and stay in a hotel for a few days — his rite of passage into upstanding society. And maybe… maybe in a year or two Bugi would even have a family, a real home waiting for him when he returned from work, with a baby pulling at his pants and calling him “Abba.” Maybe when Bugi walked in the street, beggars would call him “Adoni” and ask him for money, and he would take out a leather wallet and give each of them a coin.
“I’m glad Bugi got out of here,” Lulu told himself again and again. “I’m very happy for him.”
But the tears that he couldn’t blink back told a different story.
“If you get cold in the winter, come and sleep here,” Bugi had said to him in his neat little kitchen, just before they parted. “We can put a mattress for you in the foyer.”
But Lulu had shaken his head. “No, I don’t want to come.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’ll get on your nerves. I can’t take it when I know I’m getting on people’s nerves.”
“So you won’t come stay with me when it’s freezing outside?”
“Right. I won’t.”
“And you won’t go to your brother to get your money for the same reason?”
“You got it.”
“Even though it’s your inheritance from your parents, and it belongs to you?”
“That’s right.”
“And it could cover the costs of a retirement home for 20 years?”
“Even more.”
“So why don’t you go to your brother and get the money?”
“Because I’m crazy, okay?” Lulu growled. “Some crazy people dance on roofs, and some crazy people shout in the streets. My brand of crazy is that I’d rather be homeless than see my brother and all the other people I left behind in London. That’s just how it is.”
“What if your brother sent someone here to look for you?”
“He doesn’t know I’m here. He probably thinks I’m still in California, managing some failing business or other.”
“But he might figure that you made aliyah at some point.”
“Let him think of it, let him look for me,” Lulu said savagely. “He won’t find me. If he comes looking for me at the bus station, I’ll slip away to Zichron Moishe, and if he comes to Zichron Moishe, I’ll hightail it to the Ramot Forest, and if he comes to the Ramot Forest, I’ll be on Shmuel Hanavi street, and if—”
Lulu’s eyes were flashing with something bordering on madness, and Bugi was intimidated.
“You know what?” Lulu continued, the strange fire dancing in his eyes. “I won’t run away from him, or whoever he sends to look for me. I’ll sit and wait for him, and any letter from him they put into my hands, I’ll throw it straight into the garbage. Sandy will never force me to take that money. He can try, but he won’t succeed. I’ll die a beggar, but I won’t take one pound sterling from him.”
Bugi was baffled. “But you told me one time that you weren’t worried about the future, because if things ever got really bad, you could go to him and get your money.”
“That’s right. I can go to him and tell him that I want my money, if I decide things are really bad!” Lulu banged his fist on Bugi’s sparkling kitchen counter. “I’ll decide, I’ll go, and I’ll take the money. Sandy won’t decide for me.”
For the time being, things weren’t bad enough to warrant such a drastic step. The money he collected in the streets was enough to cover all his needs. The two soup kitchens in the area were still operating, and they served hot meals that kept his hunger at bay. He went to them on alternate days, so that he wouldn’t become a nuisance and get on their nerves. And if the Sudanese crowd should take over the whole neighborhood, he would take his bundles and move to Sanhedrin Park, where the ancient tombs were. It was a peaceful enough place for the departed of yesteryear; there was no reason why he couldn’t find a little peace there himself.
