The first two rows of seats had been left conveniently empty. As Tomer maneuvered his big bus through the narrow streets of Geulah, Benny dumped his backpack in the first empty seat, put the guitar in the overhead compartment, and removed his hat and jacket. He suddenly felt alone. Was he really supposed to sit himself?

He’s always been one of the guys. That was his brand — a Ner Olam guy just like you, someone who follows the same sports and songs but happens to know the Gemara a little better. Now, as the one in charge, he felt off balance. He wondered how the rosh yeshivah envisioned his role.

Honestly, the rosh yeshivah had seemed pretty lukewarm about the Friday programming in general. Benny had jumped at the chance to get the beis medrash rocking on Friday mornings, but all his ideas and suggestions had met with refrains like “whatever you think, sounds good, nice idea.”

Last week, when Benny had requested a meeting to discuss the trip, the rosh had given him all of three minutes — “Here’s your budget, speak to Mrs. Maryles in the office about the bus company we like to use, make sure to get home at least two hours before Shabbos, keep it safe and appropriate, hatzlachah.”

Benny had been wondering whether Ephraim Grossman, the first seder shoel u’meishiv, should come along too, but the rosh just raised his eyebrows at the suggestion. Obviously Ephraim Grossman wasn’t the type to spend his Friday mornings on a hiking trail with a bunch of rowdy bochurim.

But that was okay. Clearly the rosh trusted Benny to take his idea to the finish line. He could do this.

It was good Benny had bought so many rolls and bourekas. The guys were packing in breakfast like they hadn’t eaten in years.

“Yitz, do me a favor?” Benny pulled a roll and two bourekas out of the bag. “Go back to the parking lot and ask Tomer if he wants some breakfast too.”

“No problem,” Yitz said.

Benny returned to his seat. He had to eat, there were hours of hiking ahead. And honestly, he was starving — he’d been so busy with all the shopping and last-minute prep yesterday that he’d barely had a chance to take a bite.

He eyed his watch. They’d have to bentsh soon and start the hike.

“Guys, bentshing in three, okay?” he said. The guys nodded or grunted. “Wait, where’s Yitz? Still in the parking lot? Someone call him, okay?”

Back on the bus, Benny took the mike.

“We’re starting our hike in few minutes,” he said. “Everyone needs sneakers, some sort of cap, and cold water.”

In the back of the bus, a knot of guys in bright T-shirts were rolling up their pants. Benny had arrived at yeshivah in his Adidas NMD sneakers — it was important to be current with this kind of crowd — but hadn’t yet changed into a T-shirt. Ten years ago, he totally would have davened Shacharis in hiking clothes, but now he was in a different place.

The bus pulled up at the entrance to Nachal Amud. The guys filed off, and Benny took in the colorful crowd. Never in his life had he hiked in a white button-down, but he just couldn’t figure out a casual way to make the switch to the T-shirt inside his backpack. Tomer turned off the engine and settled in with his phone. Benny glimpsed at it quickly — he hadn’t been joking when he said he watched a lot of TV.

“Nu?” Tomer said. “Aren’t you the boss? Go take a hike.”

He for sure felt very clever with that slick English. Benny tried to smile. He grabbed the baseball cap from his backpack and decided to suffice with untucking his white shirt. Hopefully that could convey a fun-but-this-is-still-a-yeshivah-trip look. And he did have the NMDs, he was still one of the guys.

“Hey, Meir, is that you?” Benny approached the figure sitting on a rock under some trees.

Meir Elbogen looked up, startled.

“What’s wrong, Meir, you don’t want to go into the water with all the other guys? That’s the best part of the hike, getting to splash around in the cold water after sweating on the trail.”

Meir flushed. He was holding something — was it a sefer?

“I’m good, Reb Benny, just trying to finish up something.”

Benny nodded. “Very impressive, Meir, very impressive. We’ll have to give Reb Motti a report about what an amazing masmid you are. Just don’t lose track of the group, okay? We’re heading back up the trail in a few.”

Benny returned to the natural pools where the other guys were splashing.

“Hey, here comes Reb Benny! The head of the Friday program! The guy who gets us out of bed and into the beis medrash! Guys, let’s hear you! Yamim al yemei melech….”

The singing started with Yitz, but Akiva and Chaim and Eric soon joined in. Benny grimaced, but a bubble of pride spread inside of him. He had made this happen, proved himself worthy of the rosh yeshivah’s trust.

Imagine if Dave Rothman could see him now. There would be none of that subtle condescension once Dave could see him in the right place doing the right thing, a thing he was very good at.

“Okay, everyone, two more minutes and then we’re back on the trail. It’s Friday, don’t forget — Shabbos is coming and we have a lot to do before the trip back to Yerushalayim.”

By the time the group reached the Tzfas Cemetery, not a sign of their watery break remained. The sun was high in the sky, and everyone was hot and flushed. They’d been hiking for hours.

“Here we are guys, you made it!” Benny announced. “This is the end of the road.”

“You’d better believe it,” Yitz said wryly. “Just in case we weren’t feeling completely dead by now. Just your standard friendly hike to a cemetery, huh?”

Benny laughed. He noticed that no one else did. Okay, no need to belabor things. “We’re heading up from here to Rechov Yerushalayim in Tzfas, where Tomer’s waiting for us in our nice air-conditioned bus,” he said. “Then we’ll have lunch.”

Benny kept his voice upbeat but noticed that once again, he was alone. The guys moved in a loose pack behind him, talking in low tones as they trudged forward. What was absorbing them? At his Shabbos table or in the beis medrash, he’d never had a problem connecting. Benny understood where they came from, what excited them, how to get them to plug in to learning. He was a Ner Olam guy just like they were. So what was pulling them away now?

“Eddy’s gonna win, for sure,” he thought he heard Chaim say.

“Nah, this is his last round,” Akiva countered. “Were you watching Lila’s face last time? She wants him out.”

“I have the update,” Yitz told them triumphantly. “Fresh from this morning. Eddy’s still in, Madison got chucked.”

What were they talking about? And where had Yitzy gotten his update?

Benny kept walking and wondered.

The barbecue took a while to get going, but once Akiva volunteered to help, it went well. Tziporah had done a great job packing the cooler. She’d even remembered to score the hot dogs.

The guys’ stomachs were full now, and their punctured sleep of the previous night was started to catch up with them. They spread themselves out on the grass, some sitting, a few lying down. Benny strapped his guitar around his neck and began picking out an A minor, then a D minor, a G, back to A minor.

“Ki karov,” he sang softly.

Chaim Markowitz joined in, eyes half-closed, and Akiva began the answering harmony on the second round. Tens of voices swelled as the melody hit the chorus, and Benny strummed harder. The sun had tipped past its midpoint by now, outlining the trees in gold, and a hardy afternoon breeze was picking up, rippling everyone’s hair before setting off to caress the green-carpeted mountains in the distance.

Benny’s trusty guitar held its mellow tone as he moved from song to song. He looked at the faces around him — fresh, open, seeking — then back at the mountains. The right person in the right place.

There was time for one more song before the trip back. Shmueli’s “Yirei Shamayim” was perfect, the guys’ voices urging and begging, then fading as the Benny brought the song to a close.

“Sorry, guys,” he said as he zipped the guitar back into its case. “We have a long trip back, and everyone needs to shower before Shabbos. Maybe we can continue on the bus. Come, let’s clean up.”

The boys gathered up the plates, cups, and empty bottles. Chaim was still humming the refrain of “Yirei Shamayim” as he walked up the hill. Benny surveyed the eating area — good, it was clean, no cups left behind — and followed his guys up the hill.

He stowed the last remaining bottles of soda under the bus and then started climbing up the steps. Why was Yitz leaning over Tomer’s shoulder? When had they become such good friends?

“The rabbi’s back,” Tomer announced, giving Yitz a friendly slap.

Yitz straightened up suddenly. His face looked guilty for a second, but then he smiled boldly at Benny.

“Long live the rabbi!” he said. “Nice sneakers, by the way.”

He smirked, then strutted to the back of the bus.

Benny didn’t put the guitar in the overhead this time. He wanted to pick up where they’d left off, recapture the magic he’d created in a green valley just outside Tzfas. As soon as they were on the highway, he’d start playing. And this time he’d move to the middle of the bus, with his guys, where he belonged.

Tomer pulled onto Highway Six. It should be a smooth ride — Friday afternoon traffic wasn’t heavy in these parts. Benny cradled the guitar as he headed down the aisle, keeping an eye out for the right seat.

There was Meir Elbogen, silently mouthing something as he peered into a sefer. He was sitting alone, and his shirt looked very white in the sea of color around him. Benny kept walking.

There, right near Eric and Akiva was a good spot. Benny sat down and began strumming the chords of the “Yirei Shamayim” chorus and hummed along softly. That was the way to get a kumzitz going: don’t put on a concert where you’re the star, just let the music invite them in.

Only this time the guys were already occupied. Chaim and Yitz were laughing and talking — was it about Madison and Lila again? — and the guys around them were leaning in, hungry to be part of the elusive conversation.

Benny’s strumming slowed, then fizzled to tentative arpeggios, then silence. No one seemed to notice.

He leaned his head into the seat in front of him and closed his eyes. He was tired, so tired, after holding so much responsibility for so many hours. But he couldn’t relax enough to fall asleep.

And why hadn’t he realized that not one guy in Ner Olam was still wearing Adidas NMDs?

to be continued…

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 928)