There’s no warmth in his voice as he dismisses that fantasy. What’s the matter with Tovi? She’s supposed to be a smart girl. “By the time a ship reaches the West Coast of the United States, your surgery appointment will be long past. And Ima isn’t allowed to travel, even if we could go by ship.”

“Oh.” Tovi is disappointed.

“Are you helping Ima?” He feels terrible. The kids aren’t supposed to be taking charge of everything.

“We sure are,” Tovi says cheerfully. “Mordechai put the little ones to bed. He’s telling them stories now. Chaimke already has the Pesach dishes packed — Ima told him how to organize them. And I’m taking the contact paper off the counters.”

Three engagement notices land softly in his inbox. He approves them without checking. He doesn’t care. Nothing could be wrong with an engagement notice. Approved, bye-bye.

A message comes in from his brother Dudi. Gedalya deletes it without blinking an eye.

On second thought, he calls Dudi.

“Did you see my message?” Dudi is excited. “About the…”

“I didn’t read it. My email is only for work purposes. It’s about time you understood that.”

“You take everything too far,” his younger brother informs him.

“And this is what you wanted to say to me now, when I’m stuck here in the office and my kids are putting away the Pesach dishes without their mother able to help them?”

Gedalya’s finally exploding. The isolation has gotten to him. He’s not exactly alone, of course. There are people around him, and he has a wife and family at home. But he’s never felt so lonely. He’s worried. He’s pressured. Shifra is a world away, wrapped up in her worries for the baby. He’s trying to play the part of the supportive husband, and clearly, he isn’t a very good actor.

“No.” Dudi retreats. “It’s nothing.” Go ahead, be a grouch, and nobody will bother you, he thinks and doesn’t say. Take your daughter to America alone, and get stuck there not knowing the ABCs. Who cares?

•••

“Silver, what’s with that Motzaei Yom Tov item with the fervor and elevation? Is it ready?”

“Not yet.”

Hundreds of thousands of batei Am Yisrael celebrated Shevii shel Pesach in deep elevation, he writes.

He stops. Batei Am Yisrael? That’s not a normal phrase. Bnei Yisrael? That sounds clumsy. Hundreds of thousands of chareidim? No, that’s too parochial. Hundreds of thousands of Jews? There are millions of Jews, actually.

Who would think someone really toils over these generic articles, struggling to find the right words?

He deletes the main clause. “Hamonei Amcha Beis Yisrael celebrated Shevii shel Pesach,” he writes. He still has “deep elevation,” and it still bothers him. It’s an oxymoron. Elevation goes up. Depth goes down. You can’t rise to the depths. So maybe he should say they rose to the heights?

His mobile phone is on the desk, and Gedalya abandons the Motzaei Chag piece to scroll through the recent calls. It’s been twelve minutes. He can still call back.

“Kayitz bari,” Dudi greets him.

“A gezunte zummer,” he answers.

And then silence. To go on talking as if nothing happened is an option. Gedalya chooses differently. “Dudi, I want to apologize for the way I acted before.” His ears are burning. “You… it really was good of you to offer to come with us. But…”

“But what?” Dudi asks. “The ticket’s on me. We decided, Yaffa’le and I, that it shouldn’t come out of Tovi’s fund.”

The fund is empty now, anyway, and even the last few thousand for the procedure didn’t come from there.

“No, that’s not it.” Gedalya crushes a too-sugary coconut cookie.

“You’re afraid I’ll corrupt your daughter, that I’ll expose her to things you don’t want?” Dudi was always a sharp one. “Don’t worry, I won’t show her anything without your agreement.”

“No, that’s not it.”

“You… don’t want to spend a whole week with me?” Dudi’s voice sounds weaker now. “We don’t have to talk. I’ll be busy with my own stuff, on my computer.” With my projects that you’ve never taken an interest in.

“No!” Gedalya gets a grip on himself. “I’d be happy to spend time with you. And to talk.” It’s been a long time since we talked. We’ve done plenty of arguing. We’ve yelled. We’ve fought. “It’s just that…”

Dudi waits patiently.

“I’m at the end of my rope. The pressure is destroying me. Tovi’s on edge, the house is a mess, and the loan I took to pay the advance is weighing on me like an African elephant. I’m practically alone here at the office, and they’re piling up more and more work on me. I can’t even get a decent cup of coffee here, and I just ate about ten disgusting coconut cookies.” Hamonei Beis Yisrael ended the chag with a sense of deep elevation. And where am I? “And… it’s just… I’m having trouble with the idea that you should be the angel that comes to rescue me.”

“I get it,” says Dudi. “I’m supposed to be the bad brother. The one who strayed from the path and became modern. You’re wondering what happened, who gave me the right to play the good, helpful guy in this show.”

“No, I didn’t say that,” Gedalya protests. He knows his brother read him perfectly.

“Let’s leave that subject alone for now, Gedalya. Tell me what’s going to be in the Mehadhed tomorrow, on the lower right corner of the front page. ‘Thousands of Beis Yisrael finished Chag haPesach in a spirit of uplifting festivity’?”

“Uplifting festivity!” Gedalya cries. “That’s it! Thank you, Dudi. I’m writing that down.”

“Hahaha! Are you really writing that item? I thought they just copied and pasted it every year.”

“Mah pitom, copy and paste? Of course not. A human being sits and writes it every year.”

“Well, we’d better let the human being get on with it, then. Just tell me… do you think, after all, we could really swing this? Because if so, I need to start making arrangements. Your flight is Motzaei Shabbos, isn’t it?”

“Sunday morning.”

“So what do you say?” Dudi is eager.

“It sounds like you really want to be the good guy.”

“Very much.”

“So… first of all, thank you. Really. I appreciate your offer very much.” Gedalya swallows hard. “I know it’s no simple matter, leaving home for a week.”

And leaving my work and my courses, Dudi doesn’t say.

“So here’s what we’ll do,” Gedalya says. “We’ll ask Tovi what she thinks. If I know her, she’ll jump for joy, and she’ll want you to start preparing jokes about her procedure for the whole outbound flight.”

“Right away. I’m putting it on my list. And what kind of jokes should I prepare for the trip home?”

“Ah… I’ll check with her and let you know.”

•••

In the morning, Moishy Shpinder comes home from davening, opens the paper, and smiles. “Gedalya must have been tired last night,” he announces. “It says here that Meir Cohen is engaged to Meir Cohen.”

“Ouch.” Chaya comes and looks over his shoulder.

“Never mind. The main thing is, hamonei Beis Yisrael ended the chag in a spirit of uplifting festivity and deep elevation.” Moishy closes the paper. “How would you like to take a trip today?”

“A trip?” She thinks of the pile of work waiting for her, the clients whose patience is growing thin. And she knows it makes no difference. If Moishy wants a tiyul, she’ll go with him. She won’t even hint that she has work to do.

“Yes,” he says firmly. “I do want to take a trip, to Neve Tzinnobarim. I have three friends there from yeshivah, and another one who’s planning to move there.”

“What’s there to do in Neve Tzinnobarim?”

He’s got it all worked out. “We’ll go by train,” he says, “and then there’s a really nice walking path, with a gorgeous view. It’s about a forty-minute hike to the housing project.”

“And when we get there?”

“We’ll drop in at my friend Malik. He says you know his wife. Maybe she’ll invite a few other friends of yours who live there. We’ll pick up something light for lunch, walk around the neighborhood a bit, and come back.”

“What is there to see, walking around in Neve Tzinnobarim?”

“Stam. Just to have a look at the place. Maybe we’ll want to live there.”

“You mean you might want.”

“I mean we might want,” he insists.

“If you want it, that’s what’s going to be,” she informs him. “So it doesn’t matter whether I want or not.”

“What are you saying?” He’s bewildered. “If I want to live there, we’ll talk it over, and if you don’t agree, we won’t live there.”

“I’ll do what you want,” she says. Her tone implies finality.

It was supposed to sound so noble, so saturated with Jewish values. So why did it sound bitter?

to be continued…

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 900)