He knew that the man at the other end of the line was thinking, Shuey Portman, Shuey Portman, Shuey Portman… I know that name from somewhere

S

huey Portman knew what time it was and he knew that he had to go to work, but he was pretending that he didn’t. In five more minutes, he would head off down New Hampshire Avenue, his heart sinking a bit lower every mile, before he finally pulled into the long driveway behind the warehouse. He would sit in his car for another few minutes listening to music, then sigh and shuffle across the cracked pavement into the sales office, where he would sit behind a messy desk and count down the hours till the end of the day.

He could be forgiven for lingering over his breakfast, right?

Henny wasn’t in a chatty mood, so he reached for the mail, looking for something to do as he played with his Fiber One, a cereal he hated, but which made him feel like he had a handle on his life. He didn’t get to the gym or run for any organizations, but at least he could eat a healthy breakfast.

Bills, receipts, a glossy brochure for a kriah specialist who could “teach your child to see!!!”; a bar mitzvah invitation; and yet another free newspaper, this one with a special kids section, three pages filled with color pictures of gedolim, a column called “Talking Truth about Tech” and another one on “Lakewood Vendors, Up Close and Personal.”

Shuey turned the pages aimlessly, more intent on extending his breakfast than anything else. He was aware that Henny was looking at him, and he wanted to acknowledge this, but didn’t have much to say.

He lifted the magazine. “Opportunity of a lifetime, available immediately,” he read the advertisement out loud. “Be part of making real change for Klal Yisrael! Seeking responsible, experienced, dedicated person with real leadership experience to spearhead new project. Generous salary and benefits.”

He intoned the words with mock seriousness, holding up the half-page ad with plain, formal lettering and no graphics. “What do you think, Henny? On one hand, this seems tailor-made for me — a dedicated leader, right? But how can I turn my back on the opportunity at Three-Star Kosher Snacks, where I get to sit in an overheated office with uptight bosses and crabby co-workers and try to sell packages of peanuts and sunflower seeds all day?”

Henny laughed and picked up his coffee mug, ostensibly to go wash it, but really, he knew, as a way of signaling him that he really had to get moving to be at work on time.

“What, Hen, don’t you think I should find out how I can make real change for Klal Yisrael?”

“Oh, for sure you should,” she said, trying her best to not say the words that were written on her forehead as if in neon letters. Go. To. Work. Now.

As if he was humoring her and not himself, he dialed the number at the bottom of the advertisement. A man answered, and Shuey wasted no time.

“Hi, I’m calling about the job opening you advertised — there really isn’t much info here, and I’d love to hear more.”

The man seemed overwhelmed by the request, as if he hadn’t gotten that far yet. After a few seconds of quiet, he said, “Sure, of course. Perhaps it’s worth meeting in person, though. Do you live in Lakewood?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Okay, perfect, I do too. My name is Avi Korman, let’s sit down when you’re able. Can I ask your name?”

Shuey felt a sudden surge of energy. “Yes, it’s Portman, Shuey Portman.”

He was quiet after saying his name, waiting… knowing that name would ring a bell, a vague sense of familiarity, but nothing more. He knew that the man at the other end of the line was thinking, Shuey Portman, Shuey Portman, Shuey Portman… I know that name from somewhere.

(Excerpted from Mishpacha, Issue 786)