Benny shrugged. “Listen, I’m in the beis medrash every day. I’ve seen a lot of guys over the years. I don’t know everything, but I could tell you weren’t happy”

Benny hurried home, turning Avi’s words over in his mind. This is what you do. You make sure he doesn’t get on the plane. Bring him back to Yerushalayim.

How was he supposed to make that happen?

He opened the door to the apartment gently. Tziporah was folding towels at the dining room table. There was a decided tension in the way she snapped each one into soldier-like symmetry.

“Hey, Tziporah,” he said. “I spoke to Lederberg, you were right. He got me in touch with some guy who seems to know all about these dealers and their system. The guys in the dorm said Meir wanted to get to the airport early, so it looks like I’m going to have to go to Ben-Gurion and try to get hold of him there.”

She nodded, lips pressed tight. “Okay. I guess you’d better go.”

“You’re sure?” he asked. “You’re okay doing another long night without a husband around?” He tried for a self-deprecating tone, but his voice cracked midway through.

She must have caught the crack, but she kept her tone steady.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll call you a cab. Hopefully you’ll be home soon,” she said.

She ordered the taxi, went to the closet in their bedroom, and returned with four 100-shekel bills. Then she grabbed a bag from the freezer and thrust it at Benny.

“Here, take the money, and here’s some biscotti. I know Meir likes it.”

Benny stowed the biscotti in his jacket pocket and marveled at his wife. She was so grounded, so sane. Much more than he deserved.