It was that line that effectively ended the conversation, the menahel using Heshy’s own words to checkmate him

T

he room was heavy with the sort of quiet that follows an argument in which there are no victors. Both sides had spoken their piece and let it all out. There was nothing left to say.

Heshy Brucker stood up and smiled. Might as well be gracious, even in loss, he thought.

“Thank you for making time to see me. I know you’re busy, and I appreciate it.”

The menahel’s face colored and Heshy felt a stab of satisfaction at the small win.

“No, no, chas v’shalom, Rabbi Brucker, I davka gained a lot from hearing your approach. Aderaba. I thank you.”

There, the menahel was back to being proud of himself; a little bit of politeness was enough to restore camaraderie in the room. Heshy felt like the menahel was a moment away from coming around the desk to hug him and remind him that even though he didn’t think Heshy had much to offer as a member of the staff, they always needed tutors — oh, they didn’t call them tutors, they called them private rebbeim, of course — and he could fill out an application if he wanted to. The pay was very decent.

Heshy figured it was best to think of this attempt as his hishtadlus. It had taken him long enough to decide what he wanted to do, and Mishkan Gershon seemed like the yeshivah most aligned with his talents. He had spent enough time doing research — schmoozing with teenage boys around Lakewood — to get the sense that it was a fit for him, and when he had breezily walked into the office of the menahel, he was sure that he would be welcomed.

He was a proven connector, he’d explained, with several years of real work with bochurim under his belt. But the menahel had looked bored, then annoyed, as Heshy had gone on for too long about what was wrong in the system. Nobody, he realized a moment too late, wanted to hear what they were doing wrong. He should have come in and complimented the work that Mishkan was doing and then offered his services: He knew exactly what he brought to the table. He didn’t want to become rosh yeshivah or even say shiur, but he did want to be able to be a real guy on staff, there to listen — really listen — and help the boys themselves understand what they were saying.