Heshy had lost weight again, something he did with increasing frequency — gain weight, and then make a big production about losing it, so it was always a topic.

Now, he was so skinny it made his smile look a bit eerie, and it meant that his wardrobe had changed again too. He was wearing a skin-tight burgundy V-neck sweater and looked, Avi thought, like a flight attendant.

“Brother,” he said, embraced Avi, and they walked into the restaurant together.

They did the small talk first. Their parents were friends and they’d been in yeshivah together, so they ran through Barry’s new insurance business, Frankel’s moving to Eretz Yisrael, and the mashgiach’s heart surgery.

They discussed their children, Heshy’s new mechutan who had more money then he knew what to do with but still couldn’t find it in himself to spring for a stroller for the new einekel.

“It’s a sickness,” Heshy said as he shook his head back and forth in sympathy and speared pieces of antipasti, “a real sickness. So much money he can buy strollers for every kid in Bnei Brak, but it’s the principle of the matter, he says, imagine.”

Avi Korman imagined, nodding along. He’d eaten too much bread and he already had a stomachache. It had weird spices on it, like someone in the kitchen was trying an experiment.

He wanted to talk about the yeshivah and find a solution. He didn’t care about strollers or weight loss. Avi Korman had a yeshivah to carry and it needed an injection of funds soon or it would collapse. He knew Heshy could be brash and over-confident, but he also knew that Heshy Labinsky had done this before, more than once.

He didn’t get to it until after the main course.

“Biking.” Heshy leaned forward to say this, as if someone in the restaurant might steal the idea from them. “Biking. You know, it’s hot right now, and you can still pull it off for a few more weeks before the weather changes. It’s healthy. It’s fun. And if you get the right people, you can make serious money.”

He reached for his phone and scrolled to the pictures.

“Look here.” The whole screen was covered in similar images. “This is right before the Wheels Turn for Chesed ride, and look what kind of chevreh showed up.”

Avi couldn’t really make out who he was looking at, interchangeable faces covered by sunglasses, helmets low, expressions serious.

“So you guys actually have a good gimmick, and hear me out.” Heshy pushed his plate forward. “You guys have a yeshivah in Modena. Most people don’t even know where that is, so already, they’re intrigued, right? So you brand it, maybe something like Make It to Modena, and you get a team of relevant balabatim to bike from Monsey to Modena, and it ends up at the yeshivah?”

Avi tried to maintain a polite, interested expression.

“Imagine, we do the ride, it’s what… let me check, hold on, 50 miles, that’s perfect. Great, great number. And then the ride ends at yeshivah, we rest up, refresh ourselves, and then the rosh yeshivah could say a little shiur — something really short, that’s crucial, maybe a bit of halachah related to biking, and then a kumzitz with the boys, you know? It’s powerful, I have a guy who can be there and video, it’ll be viral within five minutes.”

He paused to wave over the waiter and ask for more drinks. As if he were celebrating.

“Hesh,” Avi said tentatively, “that does sound so cool, maybe down the road or something… I don’t see the rosh yeshivah going for a bike-a-thon into yeshivah, you know? I need a short-term solution. It’s too soon for a dinner, there are no alumni, just some kind of small event that can carry us for a few months. Hopefully things get simpler for me by then and I can make it work. I need you to give me an idea, nothing so elaborate, though, yah?”

Avi smiled playfully, just one old friend teasing another.

He saw disappointment in Heshy’s eyes. But his friend didn’t give up.

“You’re not hearing, Korman,” he insisted. “Listen. Don’t use the word ‘fall’ — that’s a downer, use the word ‘autumn,’ it’s nicer, and talk about the — whatever the fancy word is for leaves when they change colors — you know, you’ll have a great group of balabatim if you do that. Trust me. This is my zone, Korman.”

Sensing an opening, he forged on. “And regarding the rosh yeshivah, explain to him how important this is for the boys, they need to see achrayus, not to mention healthy living. It’s win-win, Korman…”

Avi opened his mouth, then paused. Heshy Labinsky was a good guy. He meant well. This had to be handled wisely.

“Okay, Hesh, let me talk to the rosh yeshivah, ultimately it’s his decision. I have an achrayus to help him, but it’s not my yeshivah, you know?”

Labinsky nodded, looking pleased again. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate it. Trust me on this one.”

Avi Korman smiled gamely, but he felt his heart sinking.

There wasn’t much time to spare.

to be continued…

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 818)