Whew. He and Tziporah were lucky that they’d found this rental back when the prices were normal

Benny dashed up all three flights of steps and opened the door, panting.

“Hi, Tzip, you’re almost ready?” he asked.

Tziporah’s voice came from the spare bedroom-turned-office. “Almost.”

Benny downed a cup of water, then another. It was hot outside. Spring had been nice during the few short weeks it actually existed, but summer was rapidly overtaking the country. And this being the Middle East, you had to make your peace with the heat, because it wasn’t going to make any unilateral concessions to pampered Americans.

“Okay, Benny, I’m just sending out an email to Maury with the final version of the Nathan file. Then we can leave,” Tziporah called.

There was an advertising circular on the dining room table, and just for the fun of it, Benny flipped to the real estate ads. Two-bedroom apartment in Ramat Eshkol for sale, gorgeous view, needs renovations, 3.6 million shekels. Three-bedroom apartment for sale, new kitchen, huge living room, two porches. Exclusive! 4.3 million. One-bedroom apartment for rent, four flights up, 4200 shekels.

Whew. He and Tziporah were lucky that they’d found this rental back when the prices were normal. Kroizer was a decent landlord, not the type to exploit people just because they were clueless Americans. True, he had no patience to deal with leaks or faulty wiring, but he was fine with Benny hiring a handyman and subtracting the money from the rent. And he didn’t care about the kids denting the avocado-colored kitchen cabinets or scribbling on the walls that probably hadn’t been painted since Ramat Eshkol was built, right after the Six Day War.

“Okay, I’m signing out,” Tziporah said.

“Wait, just a sec, don’t turn it off,” Benny said, walking swiftly to the computer.