Benjy Halb was not a manipulator. He didn’t mix in. He knew people who did — and it had nothing to do with money. It wasn’t something he discussed with Naomi, but looking back, his own in-laws had been plenty controlling, even though they hadn’t been wealthy. His father-in-law had been a fine person with a small-time knitwear company that eventually was worth little more than the large box of thick yellow stationery paper embossed with the company name. Naomi’s parents had been intimidated by Benjy’s success, and they had worked overtime to “make sure she didn’t forget where she came from.” They had reacted badly to the first new house. They’d told her the renovations were too much, and tasteless. The bungalow colony, according to them, was for stuck-up rich people, and when Benjy and Naomi changed colonies, her parents asked her what was wrong with the old colony.

But he’d weathered it, even understood them. They’d seen people become too confident and lose everything. The needling came from a good place. But he still promised himself that once he married his children off, he would trust their spouses, and know his place.

This was different.

Shalom bayis was different.

His youngest child was different.

“Naomi.” He pressed a button on the intercom, but his wife appeared in the doorway of his study even before he could ask his question.

“What’s up?”

“Naomi, did Malky tell you what time they’re going in to Chacham Shaul?”

“They finished in Meron about an hour ago, but Mendy was hungry, they went to eat something.” She looked at the time on her phone, and Benjy could see she’d already switched the screen image to the post-upsheren picture of little Mendy, his eyes big, round saucers. She was hurt that Malky had told them it wasn’t a great idea to come, but she also knew it wasn’t Malky at fault.

“They’re going to stop in Zichron Yaakov on the way back to Yerushalayim,” she told Benjy, “so it should be very soon.”

“Perfect, I’m going to call Oded right now. Thanks.” He smiled reassuringly, his lips stretching all the way across his face so that he looked anything but reassuring.

Oded had his feet up on the folding table, hoping to close his eyes and rest a bit. The rav had given his shiur in the morning, then they’d gone to kivrei tzaddikim, where people had lined up for brachos under the blazing sun. The rav had been fasting all the while, and now that they’d returned to yeshivah Oded had prepared him some tea and biscuits, all the rav would eat until late at night.

Refael was also around, and Oded had noticed Nati, so it was safe to sleep. If the rav buzzed, one of them would know what to do.

Oded was just drifting off when his cell phone rang. He grabbed his glasses to see the small numbers on the screen and found them on the fourth ring.

Benjy Halb. He jammed the answer button quickly as he could. “Shalom Harav Behn-jee,” he said exuberantly, as if he’d been waiting for this call all day.

“Shalom, shalom Oded.” Benjy coughed. “How are you, and how is your family?”

“Good, Baruch Hashem Harav Behn-jee, how are you?”

“Thanks for asking.” The Hebrew was stilted but polite as always. “All is well, baruch Hashem.”

“Good, good.”

It was quiet, the courtesies taken care of.

(Excerpted from Mishpacha, Issue 744)