Calm, Benny, keep calm. He twisted the edge of his jacket and forced his voice to stay measured, his mind to stay on script. “So, the thing is,” he said, “the thing is that until now, we’ve managed to cover our rent and living expenses, plus the expenses of all the hosting. We do it with full hearts, because we really believe in what Ner Olam is doing.”

The Rosh stared at him suspiciously. Oh, man, bad move, he couldn’t talk like a professional fundraiser. Everyone knew that the Rosh had no patience for frilly language.

“My baal dirah just raised the rent,” Benny blurted out. “I’d love to stay where I am, close to the yeshivah, and keep hosting the guys. But the rent is going to be way too high for us. I thought maybe the yeshivah would help cover the shortfall. Or at least part of it.”

The Rosh leaned his head forward and pinched the bridge of his nose. Benny remained standing for what felt like forever. Finally, the Rosh lifted his head up again.

“We were very happy to bring you on staff, Benny,” he said. “It’s a real nachas when a former student can take on that kind of role. It’s expensive to run a yeshivah, as I’m sure you realize, especially with inflation and the rising food prices. I’m grateful that I can pay my staff every month — it’s not something you can take for granted in this economy.”

Benny understood the unspoken reprimand.

“I’m very grateful for the paycheck, I’m sorry if that wasn’t clear,” he said hurriedly.

“Of course,” the Rosh said. “Of course, you’re grateful. Hatzlachah with the rent, I hope you work something out.”

***

“Tzip, you wanna go for a walk?”

Tziporah looked at Benny quizzically. He’d been acting weird the entire day, and this was out of character too.

Benny usually learned with Borenstein at night in the Mishkan Esther shul. That had been his condition when taking the Ner Olam job — morning seder and night seder had to remain untouched, so he could continue advancing in his own learning. He was not, he had told Tziporah, one of those guys who spent the night hours sitting on the couch or browsing the Internet or wandering around Ramat Eshkol.

Still, they were the Best Couple, weren’t they? She wasn’t going to be like Ima, telling her husband where he should be and what he should really be doing. If Benny wanted to take a walk, she wasn’t going to be his mashgiach.

“I’d love to,” she said. “We just need a babysitter. Let me check if one of the Marcus girls can come over.”

Five minutes later, Tzippy Marcus was studying on the couch and Tziporah was walking alongside a quiet Benny in the direction of the Gan Eshkolot park. His tight jaw and purposeful, almost angry stride made it clear this was no leisurely stroll around the neighborhood. What was bothering her husband?

Benny led her through a leaf-enclosed path toward the park. He found a bench and sank into it. She sat alongside him and waited.

“Okay, so here’s the deal,” he said. His voice was flat, defeated. “I went to Kroizer last night, to pay the rent. He said he decided it’s time to raise it.”

Tziporah felt a sudden chill. She hugged herself and tried to keep calm.

“Look, he’s right, there’s major inflation,” Benny went on. “Real estate prices for sure went up in Yerushalayim. But listen, Tzip, he wants to raise us to 10,000!”

“Ten thousand?” Tziporah’s arms abruptly dropped to her lap. “For real?”

“Yes. For real. From 6,500 to 10,000. Is that normal? And he said — he said it very nicely, like totally passive-aggressive — that if we don’t come up with the money by Elul, he’ll find someone else to take the apartment for even more.”

Tziporah swallowed hard. “I can’t, I can’t, I just can’t believe it,” she moaned. “I mean, I know the real estate in Ramat Eshkol is going up, Mindy Lewin just got raised and the Sternbergs on Paran did too. And Shaina Rosner told me the apartment she bought for 3.7 million three years ago is now worth at least 4.2.

“But still,” she said, shaking her head. “Kroizer wants 10,000? For our third-floor apartment that hasn’t been renovated or painted in decades? How can he do this?!”

She hugged herself again as her brain began computing numbers furiously. “We need to figure this out. The rental in Houston… could we raise the rent there? Probably not, your dad was just kvetching to me about federal rent protection programs and landlords losing out on the profits they deserve. You know, his whole speech about liberal politicians who want to force the working class to fund the lazy class.”

Benny nodded. He knew the speech.

“Okay, so what about my own salary?” Tziporah said. “Let’s say we put a little less into savings and I wait another year to buy a new sheitel. And maybe we can eat less fleishigs during the week? It might get us closer to 10,000. But still.” Her shoulders dropped. “It won’t be enough.”

“No, it won’t,” Benny said. “And we’d have to make it happen every single month, it’s not a one-time thing.”

“Right. So maybe I can ask Maury for more work hours?”

Benny shook his head. “When exactly would those work hours be? You work until three every day, then extra hours at night during busy season. The kids need a mother. And you need to breathe.”

Tziporah let those last few words linger. They meant a lot.

“You realize what this means?” Benny said. He looked angry, and it scared her. “It means that Yerushalayim is becoming a city for rich people and rich people’s kids. Look at us — you have a good job, I have a not-so-good job but at least it pays something, we have some steady money coming in — and still, we’re not going to be able to cover our rent. What does that mean for all the people who are dreaming of living here, or at least starting out here? They’re willing to scrimp and sacrifice, but they can’t even get to first base, because the rent is so insane!”

“Insane,” Tziporah echoed. Then, after a long pause, she ventured timidly, “Would Dad help out?”

Benny’s eyes narrowed. He snorted. “Dad? You heard him, don’t you remember? He made it clear he would pay for a college degree or some sort of professional training. No way would he do anything to help me stay in kollel. That’s like, the ultimate lazy class. Worse than a tenant with federal rent protection.”

“But we’re desperate,” Tziporah said. “We might lose our apartment. He’s your father, he has the money. Can’t you ask?”

“I am not. Asking. Dad. For anything.” Benny breathed in, then out, but his jaw remained clenched. “Dad walked out on me, you know that? He left his wife with two little boys and nothing to live on. Until a few years later, when he realized he actually did want to be our father.”

Tziporah shrank from the raw anger dripping from her husband. He was always telling the guys at their Shabbos table about his positive relationship with his dad, how two mature people can get over the past if they focus on the present. So much for that.

She looked around the park, at the swings drooping sadly and the empty slides. It looked like Yerushalayim was saying goodbye to them.

“The Mendlowitzes moved to RBS last year,” she said. “I can call Chani Mendlowitz and ask her about the pricing there. I’m sure it’s cheaper than Yerushalayim.”

Benny jerked his shoulder dismissively. “Too far,” he said.

“So maybe Givat Ze’ev Hachadashah?” she forged on. “Rochel Leah Stern from up the block has two sisters who live there. I can get their numbers and find out more details. It’s really not far from Yerushalayim, as long as there’s no traffic.”

Benny shook his head. No.

“Or maybe Beitar? I’m sure it’s a lot cheaper. But it’s far.”

Benny stood up and faced Tziporah directly. In the dark, his mild features looked fierce, almost menacing.

“I don’t want to leave Yerushalayim,” he said. “I can’t do that. I need to be here.”

He began to walk up the dark path. Tziporah followed him through the shortcut to Ramat Hagolan Street.

“I don’t want to leave either,” she said when she caught up to him. “I love this place. It’s the best neighborhood.”

“It’s not just the neighborhood,” he said, walking quickly. “It’s the yeshivah, the guys. And how our house is the place for them all. The place where everything happens.”

Tziporah closed her eyes for a second and tried to visualize what he was imagining: a spartan new apartment in some windswept neighborhood still halfway under construction, far from the vibrancy and action and hock and energy of Yeshivas Ner Olam. From any yeshivah.

She imagined their Shabbos table in that new apartment, an extendable table that wouldn’t need to be extended, because who exactly was coming? The room wouldn’t thrum with the sound of ten full-throated male voices pouring heart and soul and harmony into “Kah Echsof,” or the passionate conversations about the yeshivah as a source of meaning and purpose and transformation.

“I hear you,” she said. “I love hosting the guys, I really do. But I’m also wondering — let’s say it’s just you, me, and the kids on Shabbos. I know they’re little now, they can’t sing the way your guys do, they can’t have a really deep conversation the way you like. They wouldn’t even fill up the table.”

But maybe, Tziporah thought, she could find a different Benny there at the table — less of a showman, not quite as slick, not out to prove or sell anything. More like the Benny who’d sat on a bench in Gan Eshkolot five years ago and asked her to stay here in Israel, so he could keep learning and growing.

“If we had to leave Yerushalayim, it wouldn’t be the same. But Benny”—she kicked aside a rock with more force than she knew was inside her—“Benny, we’re your family. For sure it would be quieter, but maybe it could be enough?”

Benny didn’t answer. He couldn’t answer, Tziporah realized. So much of his identity was wrapped up in the yeshivah, in what he did for the guys, in his amazing meals with the crazy food and awesome singing. If you took all that away from him, he wouldn’t know who he was anymore.

to be continued…

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 932)