“This isn’t about what I do or don’t like,” Gedalya went on. “I have a job here, and I take my responsibility seriously"

That expression was too slangy.

Gedalya brought his red pen to the printed paper and crossed out the words. Then he sighed and turned to the screen. Typing with one finger, he entered his comment: “Inappropriate expression. Remove.”

“You’re remembering to keep ‘Track Changes’ turned on, yes?” said Chilik the production manager, stopping for a moment in Gedalya’s doorway. Chilik had been appointed Gedalya’s mentor in matters of digital word processing. “And by the way, did you know that because of you, we’re missing an article that’s supposed to go to print tonight?”

“Because of me?” Gedalya looked up at him. If that was a joke, he didn’t get it.

It wasn’t a joke.

“You deleted a whole scene from Carniol’s serial. She’s sitting at home crying now, claiming we’re ruining her story. And of course she’s not sending in the feature story she promised to finish today.”

This kind of emotional blackmail disgusted him. First of all, that article should have been sent in last week. How many times had they asked the writers to keep their deadlines? And secondly, what did the serial have to do with the feature story?

“Our writers are always talking about how morale affects their creative abilities,” Chilik pushed on. “Whether or not that’s true, I know I need that article about the postpartum care centers, and I need it now. The graphic artists aren’t going to be willing to stay late again, like they did last week.”

“Can you explain what all this has to do with me?” With his red pen, Gedalya marked the next correction, then laboriously typed it in. Pen, type. Pen, type.

Chilik ran a thumb uncomfortably across his clean-shaven chin. “I don’t know. What do I know from editing? I barely even read the paper myself, and I never look at the women’s supplement. But isn’t there any way of saving that chapter of Carniol’s? Couldn’t you just delete the sentences you don’t like and let the rest through?”

“That’s exactly what I tried to do!” A note of exasperation jumped into Gedalya’s voice. “And then they say the chapter is ruined, the story is ruined, the whole point is lost. All I did was explain that we can’t publish a scene that paints a school faculty in such a bad light.”

Chilik listened. He had no answer.

“This isn’t about what I do or don’t like,” Gedalya went on. “I have a job here, and I take my responsibility seriously. The rabbinical board relies on me, and we have clear policies.”