“Okay, so I started telling you that I was worried about Miri. She’s very subdued.”
“You told me, and I’m surprised. She’s not quiet at home. Like, really not.”
“It’s more than just quiet. I almost feel like she’s avoiding her classmates, like she’s afraid of them or something.”
Deena twisted her ring. “So what do you think we could do about it? Maybe I should invite some girls over so she warms up in their company?”
“That might be a good idea. But honestly, I discussed this with Morah Batya, and both of us feel that she might benefit from something more. Did you ever consider getting her some help?”
“Uh… no. Why would Miri need therapy?”
“To teach her some skills. Help her feel more comfortable in the classroom, less afraid. I’ve seen tremendous results in students who got help in the past.”
Deena walked into the girls’ room and sank into Miri’s bean bag.
“I hear you,” she said slowly. “But really, it sounds a little extreme. Miri is a regular kid. She never had any social issues. Do you think someone’s bullying her?”
“I never noticed any bullying, no.”
“So maybe something else is bothering her. Maybe I should try talking to her. How long has this been going on for?”
“Well, she was always on the quieter side, but it got worse the past few weeks. She lives in her own world.”
Deena’s brows leaned in. “I… hear. Interesting. Look, let me think about this. I’ll talk to her, try to feel her out. Let’s talk again next week, okay?”
Deena hung up in a daze.
This teacher’s report was surprising, but not confusing. She wanted to ask this morah if she noticed a pattern, if Miri’s behavior was different the week leading up to a Bubby Lizman Shabbos.
Because Miri didn’t need therapy. She needed stability. And spending Shabbos away from her mother every other week was a very unstable thing in a five-year-old’s life.
Deena stood up from the bean bag and returned to the dining room.
That’s when she noticed the candles. They were still burning, but now an inch shorter.

Mendy Kraus’s eyes were question marks when Yochi passed him on the way out of the building.
That’s what happened when lunch was on the house every day. People forgot that lunch breaks were built into their contracts, and if a guy walked out in middle of the day, it was breaking news. Yochi Hersko? Of course. Why should he take his work seriously?
Yochi shrugged. Let them talk. In a strange way, it was fun to make everyone wonder. The boss’s son-in-law, what happened?
Five minutes later, when he walked through the door of Touring Together’s office, he felt like shouting, “This!” This is what happened.
He drank in the scene. It could hardly be called an office. There were no cubicles, no hushed voices, and mainly, there was no tension. The place was flying, but it was an inviting mess. Brochures and flyers littered the surfaces, fanned out between open pastry boxes and bottles of iced coffee. Hats and jackets hung everywhere.
What struck him more than anything, though, was the people. The people sitting around and leaning on tables were real. Alive. Laughing and talking and moving and doing. The place was buzzing with action, and it felt right to shake off his jacket, drape it over a box, and settle into a chair.
If Pessie could see this, she would get it.
“All right,” Binick announced. “It feels strange to talk about Succos before we even get to Pesach, but that’s how it is. People and places get booked, we have to plan in advance. So! The Succos tour, Corvara in the Dolomites. Where do we start?”
“I think the best place to start is with lunch,” an orange-bearded guy replied, his face exaggeratedly somber.
“Zeitlin, did you even bentsh after breakfast already?”
Yochi laughed. “He’s got a point, you know. Food is the best place to start.”
Binick was eyeing him. Yochi picked up a trifold brochure and opened the flaps.
“I have this thing,” he started.
Suddenly, he felt shy. But he cleared his throat and continued. “I have this thing, that as much as people love talking about the amazing stuff they did on a tour, at the end of the day — and at the beginning and middle of it too — they want good food. And a lot of it.” He leaned back in his seat. “I’m actually thinking, if we could do something really massive with the food, up the game somehow, it’s going to spell the success of the tour. Don’t you think?”
“Of course,” Meir said. “But we’re on that already. We’re using Eli T Catering, it’s a key point in our marketing.”
“Right, definitely. But I’m thinking more. Why don’t we feature a cooking show?”
“What?” Zeitlin asked.
“A cooking show. You know, a food demo, by some chef or whatever. All the tours are doing it. You take someone with personality who will entertain the crowd.”
“Hmm… More of a women’s type of program, I think. No?”
“Yes,” Yochi agreed. “For the women, obviously. And that could actually be a selling point. We’d call down one of those popular recipe people to host it, a food influencer.” He swayed in his seat. “And think what kind of marketing that will bring. This influencer pushes the tour to her followers, it’s win-win.”
Binick played with the sprinkles in an empty box of bakery cookies. “It’s growing on me,” he said. “Sruli?”
Zeitlin nodded. “I like.”
Yochi winked. “As long as you get to taste the stuff, huh?”
Binick nodded in the direction of his secretary. “Miss Schwartz, what do you think?”
“Yes, definitely. It’s an amazing idea. I love it!”
Yochi tried to keep his face impassive, but it was hard to hold back a smile. And then he realized he didn’t have to. He could smile. He could beam. He could do cartwheels if that’s what he felt like.
This was what a job was supposed to feel like.
No endless number crunching. No mind-numbing reports. No audits.
People. Action. Creativity. Purpose.
If only Pessie could see it. Feel it.
Binick drummed on the table. “Nu, so tachlis. I don’t know the first thing about food influencers. Any recommendations?”
“We’d need to do research,” Yochi said.
“Right. And this is a woman thing. Ask your wife?”
Yochi’s mouth went dry. He gripped the brochure, folded it in half sharply, and swallowed.
“I guess,” he mumbled. “Maybe.”
to be continued…

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue  740)