“I couldn’t be the golden boy they dreamed of. There was no way I could compete with him, he was too perfect"
On his way home, still trying to formulate how to break the news to Raizele, Yanky remembered that today was Tuesday. That meant Raizele would be at her jewelry-making class. Instead of sitting and listening to him, she’d be spending the next hour with her sister at the community center in Romema, stringing crystal beads on gold-filled wire.
“Shalom, Abba, Ima went out to her class!” Bentzi greeted him, cutting off his last hope that the class had been canceled, or something like that. “She said to tell you there’s hot chocolate pudding waiting for you in the milchig pan.”
“Say that again,” said Eliyahu, grinning.
“I said there’s chocolate pundig waiting for Abba in the milchig pan,” the little boy repeated. “What’s so funny about that?”
“It’s funny that you’re so cute,” Yanky said, patting his head.
“I wanted to eat it all up,” Bentzi informed him, “but Ima said, ‘No, we have to save some pundig for Abba.’ I said, ‘But Abbas always let their kids have,’ but she still wouldn’t let me.”
“Go to bed now, motek. You’re a delicious boy.”
“Okay,” said Bentzi, yawning. “Good night.”
Yanky opened the bread drawer, took out three slices, and looked in the fridge for something to spread on them. He heard light footsteps behind him. Eliyahu, his eldest, was still up.
“Why aren’t you in bed, Eliyahu?”
“ ’Cause I wanted to ask you something.”
“Okay, so ask me something.” And then go to bed already, because I really don’t feel like talking.
“Abba, are you… not a chassid anymore?”
“Wha… who told you that? Mah pitom?”
“Well, because you don’t always come to shuleshides in the beis medrash, and my friends said they think you’re not a chassid anymore.”
Yanky put the bread down on the counter. “You can see I’m a chassid,” he said. “I wear the same clothes as all the chassidim, and the same hat, and I learn in a kollel where almost all the avreichim are from our chassidus. So of course I’m a chassid.”
“Yeah. And you’re a meishiv in the yeshivah, too.”
“That’s right.” Actually, not anymore. “And I was even by the Rebbe today, and I talked with him for a long time.”
“So you really are a chassid?”
“Eliyahu, this isn’t something to talk about now,” Yanky said. He was tired, so very tired. “You should be in bed. We’ll talk another time.”
“Okay,” Eliyahu said softly. His eyes still looked troubled.
“Now back to bed,” Yanky said firmly. “And stay there till the morning!” he called after the child’s retreating back.
Yanky spread some butter over the bread and sat down to eat. He took a portion of the pudding his children had so kindly left for him. His head ached, his heart ached, but at the same time he felt a little calmer. It was a strange kind of relief: The game is over. You’ve left your job. Now you’ll go to Reb Groinem Leibnitz’s yeshivah, a place that’s not under the authority of any particular chassidus or chatzer, and you’ll be able to teach and be mechanech the bochurim in the way that’s right for you. You’ll be marbitz Torah as you know how, and guide the boys in keeping with your instincts. It’ll all be open and transparent. You won’t have to stop every time you’re about to open your mouth and ask yourself if what you want to say is in line with the yeshivah’s hashkafah….
Somebody was knocking at the door. The children, apparently heeding his warning, stayed in bed and didn’t answer. Yanky had to abandon the half-eaten bread, the pudding, and his thoughts, and deal with the nuisance who knew how to time his visit precisely when Yanky desperately craved quiet.
It was Bugi.
He stood there, holding some wet sweaters. “Could I use your dryer?” he asked, looking embarrassed. “These sweaters just aren’t getting dry in this weather, even if I put them right next to the heater.”
“Oh, of course, no problem,” said Yanky. He felt a little ashamed when he realized he hadn’t heard from Bugi in quite a while, nor had he asked how his tenant was doing or invited him for a Shabbos meal. A bochur lives on his own downstairs from you, without family and with very few friends… it’s not very nice to ignore him like that.
Yanky went to the little laundry room, tossed aside a few items that were lingering in the dryer, and inserted Bugi’s sweaters. As he was adjusting the dials, he remembered that Yonatan should also be coming around any moment. He and his kallah were starting to think about their wedding invitations, and Yonatan had asked Yanky to save him some invitations from people in the kehillah so he could get a better idea of how they were worded and designed. So Yonatan would be sitting here, and then Bugi would come back up to get his sweaters, and then Weinberger would be waiting for him in the beis medrash for their regular chavrusa. When would he have a chance to think about where he stood and where he was going? When would he get a chance to decide what to say to everyone about his move to Reb Groinem’s yeshivah?
He wouldn’t get a chance. There was Yonatan’s voice at the door already. And Bugi’s voice. Bugi must have let him in, and they were making each other’s acquaintance. Fine, let them keep each other occupied, and meanwhile I’ll finish my supper and bentsh.
“Shalom, Yonatan,” he called. “Please, have a seat in the living room, I’m just finishing my supper and I’ll be right with you.”
“It’s all right, no need to hurry,” Yonatan replied. “Meanwhile I’ll get to know your friend a bit. You’re Bugi, right? I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Yanky sat back down at the kitchen table and turned his attention once again to the bread and pudding. Meanwhile the two men sat down in his living room, and Yanky pricked his ears to hear their conversation.
“So if I understand you correctly,” Yonatan was saying. He got up from the sofa and and came closer to the chair where Bugi sat. “If I understand you correctly, you were an only child of parents who adored you, and you were the center of their life. Your father took you everywhere with him and proudly introduced you to everyone he knew….”
“Yeah, but he died when I was five!”
“And he always told you how lucky he was to have a son like you….”
“Yeah, but then he was niftar and left me an orphan! His business collapsed, because Bituach Leumi froze his bank account and his suppliers wouldn’t send him any more merchandise, and he ended up having a heart attack and dying….”
“And your mother always told you that you were the light of her life, and she didn’t know what she’d do without you….”
“Yeah, but she died, too!” Bugi was almost shouting. “And how do you know all this, anyway?”
“I just read between the lines of what you told me, that’s all. A few minutes ago you were talking about how you supported your mother when she was so ill, and what she would say to you when you came to see her in the hospital. Isn’t that so?”
“Yes, but….”
“And you’ve also had something to say about ‘pampered princes’ like me. Well, I have something to tell you, Bugi. You have no idea how pampered you are. You’re not just a pampered prince — you’re the king of pampered princes. You’re an uber pampered….”
“What do you mean?” Bugi was yelling now. “After my mother died, I was living on the street! Our landlord took out all our stuff and put a new lock on the door, and I had nowhere to go. I was an orphan, alone on the street! Do you know what kind of awful places I was sleeping in? Do you know I had to beg on the streets for a living, because I had no job and no money to go to school? How can you call me a pampered prince — you with your big millionaire father who owns hundreds of apartments….”
“I was a beggar, too,” said Yonatan, looking a little pale. “Don’t talk to me about having to beg.”
Bugi stared at him with open skepticism. “You? Begging? Where, in Trafalgar Square?”
From the kitchen, trying to concentrate on Bircas Hamazon, Yanky, too, couldn’t believe his ears. Was that really Yonatan talking — polite, gentle Yonatan? Even his voice sounded strange.
“No, not in Trafalgar Square. At home, with my wealthy parents, who wanted a son just like his father — capable and sharp-witted — and instead they got this alien creature who wasn’t quite with it, always daydreaming, who couldn’t sit straight at the dinner table. They were always a bit ashamed of him when they had to introduce him to their friends and business associates at the glitzy events they went to. That’s where I was a beggar, craving every speck of approval I could get.
“I couldn’t be the golden boy they dreamed of. There was no way I could compete with him, he was too perfect. Even when I grew up, I wasn’t granted the title of Heir to My Father’s Business. That went to my brother-in-law Yaakov. He was thrilled to get it.”
Yanky hastily put the bentsher away and went to break up the tête-à-tête in the living room before it turned into a full-blown fight. “Yonatan, let’s get busy with those invitations,” he said in the most neutral tone he could muster, “because I’ve got a chavrusa in 20 minutes. Bugi, it’s okay, you don’t have to wait, I’ll bring your sweaters down to you when they’re ready.”
“Did you hear what was going on here?” Yonatan asked, with his eyes on the door that had just closed behind Bugi. “I can’t believe I talked to him that way. He got me so mad — he triggered something in me. It’s like the only equation he knows is ‘rich equals pampered prince.’ ”
He knows a few more, too, Yanky thought to himself. Family man equals pampered prince. Apartment owner equals pampered prince.
“But I wasn’t pampered at all,” Yonatan was saying, his lips trembling now. “It was all because of my Dad’s overactive imagination. I mean, he’s so good at envisioning what he wants. He had such a clear vision of his firstborn son that there was no room for me in the picture. He’s so good at making his visions come true, but not when it came to me. He couldn’t make me into the son he wanted. And what was worse, I was too much like his nebach of a brother….
“But never mind that,” he said suddenly, quickly. “Let’s do what I came here for. You’ve got those invitations for me?”
