“It’s too good an opportunity to pass up. What Yid can say no on Motzaei Yom Kippur, right?” Rabbi Plaut stopped to bask in his own brilliance

The rosh yeshivah spoke about not being mediocre all the time, it was one of his go-to shmuessen, but Nussi wasn’t sure what it really meant. How could a person stop being mediocre, if they just were? Could you buy excellence at Amazing Savings?

He wasn’t inferior. Being okay in learning and okay in sports kept him average, and every so often he had a good line in the dorm that made him exceptional for an hour or two, but by and large, the mark was mediocre.

His father was also mediocre, but it was worse for Tatty, because he was surrounded by superiority. Uncle Ari had his name on buildings and Uncle Shmuel was saving lives and Tatty was your man when it came to good life insurance at a fair price and had nothing memorable about him other than the fact that his brothers were famous. A career third brother.

Once, they had been to see a gadol in Eretz Yisrael, and the gabbai had actually said it to the rav. “This man is Ephraim Loemer; his younger brothers are Ari Loemer, the groisse toimech Toirah, and Shmuel Loemer, the one from the medical transports — he helped Moishe, the rosh yeshivah remembers? So this is the dritte brudder — the third brother.”

Nussi knew that he wouldn’t see anything in Tatty’s face, it was all part of the mediocrity, swallowing and pretending and showing nothing, nothing at all, as if he had determined that the only way he could match their distinctiveness was by being as unremarkable as possible and he didn’t want to ruin it.

***

Rabbi Plaut was meeting the whole yeshivah, which was weird, because he almost never came out of his office on the second floor and Nussi had never heard him speak in the yeshivah. The meeting was in the dining room and the rosh yeshivah was there, but he looked uncomfortable, as if he had wandered into the wrong room by mistake.

Rabbi Plaut was a sharp dresser, and this gave him credibility with the one hundred and fourteen bochurim, the Ferragamo tie waving back and forth like a hypnotist’s pendulum.

He didn’t waste time with useless introductions. He spoke to them like they were adults, which Nussi appreciated. They all knew what a matching campaign was and they all knew how crowdfunding worked.

“You guys are the best ambassadors this yeshivah could ever hope to have, and each and every one of you,” Rabbi Plaut waved his hands around the room, “has a network that can do more than you realize, the neighbors and mechutanim and cousins.”

Here, Rabbi Plaut turned to beam at the rosh yeshivah, who was looking at the floor. “And you wear the Cheshkas HaTorah label with pride. Now is your chance to celebrate it.”

He went on to explain the terms and conditions. Motzaei Yom Kippur there would be a lavish meal, and then they’d go straight to a call center — right here; phones, screens and all the technology set up in this very dining room. The next morning they’d keep working from nine to three, calling every single person on earth until they reached and hopefully surpassed their goal.

“We know it’s a bein hazmanim day, and we’ll make it up to you, but it’s too good an opportunity to pass up. What Yid can say no on Motzaei Yom Kippur, right?” Rabbi Plaut stopped to bask in his own brilliance. “The yeshivah will shtell tzu, you won’t have to eat again until Succos, guaranteed, and at three sharp, we’ll have rides home for every talmid in this yeshivah. So prepare lists of people you can call — at least 50 people per talmid. Get their phone numbers and get ready…”