O

n Thursday morning, Chanoch Rubin popped in to visit his parents. There was some fresh babke waiting for him to sample. Between bites, Chanoch remembered that he had to speak to Itzik about the tenants. The phone rang once, twice, then Itzik picked up.

“Hi, Itzik,” he said. “We deposited the rent checks in your account like you asked. And about the apartment you rented to those foreigners —”

“You mean my tenants,” Itzik corrected him.

“Whatever you like to call them.” Chanoch sighed. “So the foreign gentleman left. He said he’s got final exams in Papagenia—”

“You mean Papua New Guinea.”

“Whatever. Back home, where he came from. His sister is still here, and some other foreign— um, I mean female tenants will be coming soon to share the apartment with her. The brother needed a signature on the form that says he’s leaving the apartment. We signed for you.”

“Good, thanks.”

Itzik heard Faigy’s voice in the background. “Why is Faigy in Abba and Ima’s house?” he asked.

“Same reason I’m here, to taste Ima’s fresh babke and take some home with her,” Chanoch answered.

The answer may have been said with a smile, but it hit Itzik hard. What he was doing there, on the Aravah Road, next to two wild animals that were probably soiling his car badly? Why wasn’t he in Yerushalayim, eating Ima’s babke with his siblings? Why wasn’t he davening Shacharis in Zichron Moshe, or learning for three hours straights in Skver, or buying kugel in Hadar Geula? Suddenly he felt homesick.

“How are you, little brother? Do you want me to come visit you again?” That was Faigy. She was so emotional… he tried not to laugh.

“Thanks. Actually I… I think I’ll come back to Yerushalayim for Shabbos.” As soon as he said those words, Itzik remembered the Levis, who blamed him for the trouble their sons were in. The arson. The arrest. The people pointing and staring. The demonstrations. Going back home wasn’t such an attractive proposition after all. But it was too late.

“Abba, Ima!” Faigy was calling out jubilantly. “Itzik is coming for Shabbos. You’re invited to me for both meals,” she added immediately.

Itzik yawned. It was still morning, but it had been a long day already. The deer beside him was breathing heavily, and Yotvata was nowhere in sight yet.

“So what’s happening with you?” his sister asked inquisitively. “Anything new?”

Smiling wickedly, Itzik decided to have some fun. “Yes, as a matter of fact, there is something… or I should say, someone. Someone I met.”

“Hey!” Faigy was all excited. “A girl from the Aravah? Who set you up? Are there any chareidim down there at all?”

“Yes, someone from the Aravah,” Itzik said in a serious tone, smiling at the doe crouched on the passenger seat. “She seems very refined, very aristocratic.”

“Wow.” Faigy was at a loss for words.

“She has a daughter who lives with her. I met her, too. A sweet little thing.”

“And you think… Nu, tell me more! You think this might turn serious?”

“I can’t tell. She’s not the talkative type.”

“What else? We’re in suspense here.”

“We? You mean you’ve got the speaker on?”

“Yes, and don’t change the subject! Tell us more about her.”

“She’s gentle and delicate.” He looked over at the injured animal. Even crouched and wounded, she definitely was an aristocratic-looking creature.

(Excerpted from Mishpacha, Issue 704)