“Rabbi Putterman,” she said patiently, “the families in Alameda Gardens, as you’re no doubt aware, don’t generally have little children. We need to talk about something else. How about ‘New Stages, New Vistas to Marriage’ — would that work?”

“Mrs. Walburg,” he said evenly (he wasn’t mispronouncing her name on purpose, but it also wasn’t a complete mistake. A mild psychological advantage isn’t a terrible thing), “even parents of older children have chinuch questions and decisions to make, of course. Why not address that?”

She was quiet, and then took a deep breath, as if she’d decided to answer his question.

“Okay, I’ll tell you, it’s like this,” she said. “The women in this community have given blood, sweat, and tears to the chinuch of their children, whatever the results are, some successfully and some less so, but they’ve tried. They went to all those shiurim for so long, and we’d like Alameda and its culture to be different — new beginnings, time to sit back and relax, etcetera etcetera, you know what I mean. I don’t want to use the word ‘chinuch.’ Let’s find another term, and then you can address that topic, does that work?”

It felt inauthentic to Akiva, and he would have liked to hold fast to his principles (No Principals without Principles had been one of his most effective presentations, actually), but he saw Rina’s face and he didn’t want to disappoint her. She wanted him to give the shiur and he owed it to her. (Kesubah over Contract was another strong presentation, on putting your family first even if you worked for the public.)

He didn’t think a shiur in Alameda Gardens would get him consultancy gigs, but making his wife happy was most important. Feeling virtuous, he said, “That sounds amazing, okay. How about ‘Parenting from a Distance’?”

She was quiet again, and then said, “Let’s avoid the word ‘parenting’ please.”

“Sure, sure, how about ‘Learning your Lines,’ or something, you know, like this is a new role we’re all learning together?”

“That’s perfect, Rabbi Putterman, thank you. We’re looking forward to Tuesday.”

“So am I,” he said, back to being crisp and professional. “I appreciate the zechus. Gut voch.”

“Gut voch. And Rabbi Putterman? It’s Walburger, not Walburg.”

All Reuven Stagler wanted was to play tennis, just like he used to on Sunday mornings in Queens. There were two hard courts here at Alameda that always seemed to be empty and locked, and he wanted to know how it worked. Did residents get a key? Did people find their own partners?

On Monday morning, he parked outside the Second Stage Developments office in what he thought of as downtown Lakewood and walked in.

The front desk was empty, but a few men sat at a desk in the back and they waved him in.

A huge sign dominated the wall: “Second Stage Living: Alameda Gardens, Magnolia Court, and Aspen Creek. By the Lauer Group.”

Shloimy, who looked like he could be 18, removed his legs from the large round table and came out to greet Reuven, his hand extended when he was six feet away.

“Hey, shalom aleichem, how can we help you?”

“Hi, we just moved in to Alameda,” Reuven said. “Name is Stagler. And I’m just wondering about the tennis courts, how it works. Is it always open? Nights too? Do people generally come when they want to play without partners and find people there? Forgive the questions, I’m new.”

It was clear from Shloimy’s expression that Reuven was asking questions completely out of his zone.

“Look.” Shloimy kept smiling as he spoke — maybe that was something the Lauer Group insisted on in all their new hires: no matter what happens, keep that smile going! — “as you know, the whole Alameda is relatively new, less than a year old, so lots of stuff are getting worked out in real-time.”

He sat back down and opened up a spreadsheet on his computer, scanning it as he spoke.

“Okay, Alameda, Alameda here we go, you need the neighborhood council, we’re more about the bigger issues, financing, structural stuff, you know… tennis isn’t exactly in our wheelhouse.”

So sorry, Reuven thought, but he said nothing.

“So I’m just checking who’s your neighborhood council, because typically, like in our other developments, this is the sort of thing that the residents decide themselves. It’s a group of volunteers, no special requirements, and they work these things out based on what most people want.”

Shloimy was still talking, but he was motioning to the other men, and Reuven caught a look of confusion on his face.

“Give me one second, sorry,” Shloimy finally said, and he stood up to consult with the others.

He came back after a minute.

“So the one who ran the neighborhood council in Alameda, Adler, isn’t feeling well and he can’t do it anymore,” he reported. “He stepped down last week and we need a new council president. Listen, you can get the tennis court first thing in the morning if you take the job, think of the perks,” Shloimy laughed again, and that’s when Reuven realized he was being offered the job.

to be continued…

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 884)