Menashe shut his eyes for a moment and waited. Then — “Not a blizzard’s chance on Venus, Rabbi!”

Rules of the Rabbinate #83: Fist bumps aren’t ideal but not worth making a fuss over.

Rabbi Menashe Kaden, in line with this freshly minted rule, leaned forward and responded to the outstretched fist with one of his own. He watched as Asher Leigin walked off, a jump in his step, and smiled to himself. Clearly, it was the right decision.

But then he glanced back at his sefer. They would be davening Minchah soon and he had to quickly prepare a devar halachah to share as they waited for the zeman to daven Maariv. Asher had interrupted to inform him that he finished preparing the chaburah he’d be delivering at night seder — and to receive a fist bump for doing so. But now, back to work. Where was he? Ah, yes, hilchos kilayim.

Menashe (Rules of the Rabbinate #1: Refer to yourself as “Menashe,” NOT “Rabbi Kaden”) always felt a rush of energy as Minchah began. Mispallelim (Rules of the Rabbinate #3: Call them “mispallelim,” not “balabatim”) came hurrying in from work: doctors in scrubs, construction managers in dusty safety boots and baggy pants, lawyers looking asymmetrical in their fitted suits and battered hats.

It was raw, sincere, and he, Menashe, stood at its helm.

He was proud of his mispallelim and they, of their rav.

A scent that was half-esrog, half-shtender rose through his nostrils, disturbing his pleasant ruminations. The smell announced the arrival of Rube Sander. Rules of the Rabbinate #2: Call him Reuven Tzvi even though no one else in the world does. It sounds rabbinical.

Rube, a lover of nature, concocted his own cologne from a blend of shrubbery that he was only too happy to describe, with or without being asked.

Menashe looked up and offered a weak smile. “Hi, Reuven Tzvi,” he said, and then, loudly, “Ashrei yoshvei veisecha….”

Minchah ended and Menashe rose to speak. From his perch at the podium he spotted a small group huddled in a corner, conversing in tones of hushed fascination. Ah, yes, the “Elite Brigade,” as his son Shloimy called them. He waited a moment for their conversation to subside — it was disturbing him. But the murmuring continued.

“Okay!” he said cheerily. “So we were talking about kilayim, let’s give a quick example. Imagine you have an apple tree growing next to a patch of peach trees and….”

KLANK!! Steel-toed cowboy boot met elegant travertine floor.

Menashe shut his eyes for a moment and waited. Then — “Not a blizzard’s chance on Venus, Rabbi!”

Menashe sucked in his breath and forced a semi-smile. “Okay, Reuven Tzvi. And why not?”

“Because!” Rube said triumphantly. “They don’t grow in the same season. Apples are fall fruit, typically growin’ from September to November. Peaches like spring and summer and are usually dwindlin’ come fall!” Rube leaned back slightly in his chair, having rested his case.

“Oh, okay, Reuven Tzvi, thanks so much for clarifying that. So I guess, let’s say, apples and pears? Does that work?”

Rube hemmed for a bit. “Ah, well I guess it could,” he said doubtfully, “dependin’ on the type of apple and pear.”

“Excellent, yasher koach, Reuven Tzvi. I, uh, so as I was saying. If you have apples and pears growing next to each other....”

Menashe completed the devar halachah and left the podium. Even after all these years, Rube’s aggressive interruptions ruffled him. He took a few deep breaths before beginning Maariv, bearing in mind Rules of the Rabbinate #11: You have a beautiful kehillah, don’t get hung up on annoyances.

Night seder followed Maariv, which meant that Asher Leigin would be delivering. A good boy, Asher. A success story. Straight-shooter computer programmer, he would have disappeared into the background in a less structured shul. Menashe, however, would never let that happen. He guided, encouraged, and bolstered the young man’s confidence. Now, he leaned back to listen to the chaburah and schep nachas.

It was a nice, neatly packaged dissertation about tosfos Shabbos and Menashe waited patiently for the pieces of Taz, Magen Avraham, and Maharshal to fall into place. Internally he’d award it a B+ but, Rules of the Rabbinate #6: Pump your mispallelim to the stars demanded some theatrics.

He leaped to his feet. “Incredible, Asher! Mamash gaonus! How in the world did you put such a masterpiece together?! And with a busy schedule like yours!” He thumped Asher on the back, sending him sprawling a bit. But Asher didn’t seem to mind. He was smiling ear to ear.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1081)