*

Good thing I was still driving through local streets, because I dropped my speed to a crawl as the familiar hard voice of my long-ago yeshivah-mate resounded in my car.

“Grunbaum! Vus macht a Yid?”

“Baruch Hashem, baruch Hashem,” I said with a reflexive coldness. “And you?”

Absently, I pulled over to the curb on a quiet street, parked my car, and got out.

“Great, baruch Hashem. I just finished first seder and figured I’d catch you on my lunch break.”

Such an innocent statement, and yet, the by-the-wayness of that one sentence brought all of Yehuda Pillar hurtling through my senses.

Just finished seder….

Let’s all immediately establish what a chashuv, serious, and accomplished avreich we were in the presence of.

Let’s chas v’shalom never suspect that he’d make a phone call any time other than bein hasedarim.

It was the same Yehuda Pillar.

The same one who had been top of every shiur in yeshivah — who everyone always knew was top of every shiur in yeshivah.

The same one who gave the most impressive chaburos, the same one who plugged away Thursday nights, making sure he was the last to leave the beis medrash, the same one who asked the hardest kashahs just to make sure everyone knew what a lamdan he was.

The same one who got engaged to Rabbi Mattis Elbogen’s daughter — blissfully unaware of the uncomfortable information call I’d suffered through on his behalf.

The same Yehuda Pillar who always, at every dumb opportunity, sought to prove to me that he was smarter. Better. The best in every way.

“So what are you doing these days?” he asked. I couldn’t mistake the smug tone in his voice.

I do first seder just like you, tzaddik, and also second seder whenever possible. I also learn before Shacharis and again before Maariv.

The phone was hot on my ear.

All my life, it had never occurred to me to brag about this to anyone. Why, suddenly, did I have such an urge to publicize my learning schedule?

Of course, after Yehuda’s seder comment, it felt banal to enlighten him. Instead, I muttered something about keeping myself busy as my footsteps fell on the quiet New Jersey street.

“Keeping busy is great,” Pillar said smoothly. “I actually switched to Rav Fryman’s kollel two years ago — I love the intensity — and I do the Daf Yomi shiur in Mishnas Avraham at night. Definitely keeps me busy.” His laugh made me shiver.

“Happy to hear,” I commented politely. Rav Fryman’s kollel, naturally. As though I’d even asked.

Finally, after the detailed report of his vigorous shteiging, Pillar got to the point. “So yeah, it’s intense. But you know how it goes… Im ein kemach ein Torah. Baruch Hashem, with five kids now, the expenses pile up…. So now, something came up for me, an opportunity. I hear you’re in business, in real estate…?”

Instantly, a memory surfaced. Shavuos morning — the second day Shavuos morning. A bleary-eyed Yehuda Pillar tapping me on the shoulder as I made myself a coffee with a few other bochurim around. “Psst, Grunbaum, think I could be yotzei with your birchos hashachar?”

He was so, so humbly grateful for my favor. Mamesh, yasher koyach.

The bitterness of the coffee from all those years ago rose in my mouth as I now recalled the incident.

“Yes, I’m in real estate,” I said tersely.

He’d neatly set up our positions — he, who gave his Daf Yomi shiur, me, the guy in business — and now he was on comfortable footing.

But then he started describing the details of his deal, and I quickly got into my stride.

“What cap rate are we talking about?” I asked.

“Uh, cap rate…. Yeah, so, you mean how much capital I need to bring?”

I coughed. “It’s the percentage of your earnings over…. You know what, skip that for now. We’ll get back to this soon. What’s the current rent and what’s the market rent?”

“Um, so the broker told me it’s two thousand three hundred fifty dollars. And the market rent, the same, I think.”

“So what’s the upside?”

“Meaning…?”

“Meaning, what’s the gadlus of this deal?”

“I’m just comparing the mortgage to the rent, so I think that makes sense, no?”

“Yes, sure, correct. But you need to take into account vacancies, repairs, maintenance…. If it’s only covering, it’s a loss. Let’s do this. Do you know the NOI?”

“Uh, just remind me what that stands for…?”

I couldn’t help the triumphant smirk that formed on my lips. “Maybe you want to send me the address of this property and I’ll do some research for you?” I offered.

“Oh, yes! That would be great! Thanks, Gershon! It’s good to have friends in business.”

At this point, I did not allow his gibe to touch me. He was the clueless one here, and I wasn’t going to let him think otherwise.

It was only after I finally sat back into my car, wondering where my ecstasy over my newly acquired address had gone, that I remembered.

Malky.

That noise.

*

It wasn’t a sprain as the urgent care doctor had originally suspected. It was an all-out double fracture, a broken tibia-fibula, and the recovery could take anywhere between three and six months.

Malky claimed there was no way she was sitting around too long, but a fighting spirit couldn’t change the fact that she wasn’t allowed to put weight on her leg for up to six weeks. I schlepped our old glider up from the basement and parked it in the corner of the dining room.

“Forget my leg,” she grumbled as she dejectedly sank into her confinement chair. “Four sixty-four-ounce containers of vegetable soup! Chopped up by hand, mind you!”

I was kind enough not to ask why she’d attempted to take all four containers downstairs to the freezer at once. Nor did I ask how in the world she’d managed to clean up that mess with her leg on fire. I was still feeling guilty for abandoning her — remotely, but still — in her time of need.

And for what? For Yehuda Pillar.

That person who always managed to bring out the worst in me.

But over the next few days, I think he brought out a pretty decent part of me.

I carved out time to call him as I headed out to Newark again. I was scheduled to meet with my contractor to discuss the construction that needed to happen at 401 Sunset Lane. The property wasn’t fully mine yet — there was one lien involving an ex-spouse that was proving to be a bigger headache than I appreciated — but my attorney was on it and assured me we’d make it to the 30-day mark. Assured me enough that it felt safe to make my construction plans so we could get to work immediately upon closing.

“The numbers definitely make sense,” I reported to Pillar. I’d done a thorough review of the property, and I had to admit, this buy would make a great start. Well, obviously. This was Yehuda Pillar we were talking about. Great was the only way he knew.

“The comps are good,” I told him. “And you said you’ll be able to get eighty percent financing, right? What’s your credit score again?”

He had a million complicated questions. I had a million simple answers. Short of telling him, “You must go into this, it’s a steal of a deal,” because there was no way I was taking responsibility for any investment, I pretty much encouraged him to pursue it.

“What about insurance?” he asked. “This lender says he could take care of it for me, but how do I know if the quote is good?”

“Actually…” I started, gears circling in my brain. “If you send me your quote, I could check on that for you. My brother’s in the business…. Maybe he’ll be able to beat it.”

Two favors with one deal — that would be neat.

My phone pinged, call waiting. I glanced at the screen: Nathan Assinder, Law Office.

And — just because I’m human and this was Yehuda Pillar — I said, “Sorry, my attorney’s beeping in, gotta take this. Let’s be in touch.”

*

It’s interesting how time falls into a pattern that works against time itself.

My schedule had always been pretty airtight. I kept my two daily sedorim in kollel, did my morning and night shiurim, and devoted every spare minute in between to buying, fixing, and managing my collection of properties. I was less committed to Yitzchok Kelner, my afternoon chavrusa, because I did often need the hours to devote to my work, but thankfully, he was okay with it and did his own thing during that time. How much longer would I be able to stick it out in kollel? I couldn’t know, but as long as it worked, I was happy.

Now, on top of this schedule, I had suddenly become in charge of an entire additional enterprise: my family.

Malky’s sister Shevy sent her teen daughter over to help whenever she was available, and I told Malky to take as much cleaning help as she could get. Our own thirteen-year-old, Devorah, was a tzadeikes, bathing the little ones every night. Still, there were so many moving parts involved in the running of a home, it made me dizzy.

“You didn’t have to go and break your leg to prove how essential you are to this household,” I mock-scolded Malky as I unpacked the grocery order I’d made after Shacharis.

“Looks like I did…” she giggled, then winced, cradling her leg. “Hello, Gershon, what’s up with us? Basic creativity. You don’t have to actually go to the store. I’ll make phone orders. At least that’s something I can accomplish from this here royal throne of mine.”

“Good point, business coach.”

A minute later, Tuli called, and I was the one summoned for business coaching services. Side gig?

“Your friend is asking if we go with a different provider, and a ten thousand dollar deduction, would his premium go down. What do I tell him?”

My friend. What a joke.

“You tell him what you’d tell any client,” I said swiftly. “Yes, why not? Unless it’s a loss for you?”

Whoa, this guy had barely gotten his feet wet and he was already dominating the negotiating table.

I wanted to help Pillar, and I wanted to help my brother. I did not want one favor to come at the expense of the other, though.

Really, I should step back at this point. Both of them were new to their businesses. They’d learn on the job, and then they’d master the art.

Meanwhile, I had my own art to master, this whole juggling act. I wanted to learn with Kelner for the first hour of seder at least. Even though this was our arrangement, I felt guilty every time I had to cancel on him. Not only for him, for myself. And after that I had an eviction to deal with, and my monthlies were due.

And then I had to figure out what to serve for supper and take three kids for well-visits. I was the Tatty and the Mommy in the house these days.

What was time anyway?

*

An unpredictable thing, that’s what time was.

Because after six weeks passed (six weeks? It felt like six months. Six lifetimes. How did Malky cope? This mothering thing was beyond a full-time job, I guess it did take a broken leg to teach me that…), Malky was not back on her feet.

First there was physical therapy.

Then there was pain.

So much pain, was this normal?

I heard her moaning during the night, pulling the night chest drawer open, groping around for the bottle of Motrin. I heard her suck in her breath many times throughout the day when she made a wrong move in her effort to reclaim her responsibilities, to get her life back.

And swelling. I would find Malky sitting in that overstayed-its-welcome glider with compresses around her elevated leg when I came home from Maariv.

“You need to go back to Dr. Arlidge,” I urged her. “This is not normal.”

So then there was the visit to Dr. Arlidge. And the discovery that the bone hadn’t healed properly. And that in order to get the bone to heal properly she was going to need surgery.

Malky didn’t crack any of her typical jokes at this news.

We scheduled the surgery for March, two months from then. “And one month before Pesach,” Malky noted.

I wasn’t going to think about Pesach. I couldn’t think about anything past the present day. I guess that was the only logical way to view time in such a situation.

All because of four containers of vegetable soup.

One day, when Malky was folding laundry in the laundry room with her hurt leg mounted on a chair, she asked me, “Hey, Gershon, no new deals in the works? I didn’t hear about anything you’re into in a while.”

“Nothing interesting,” I replied. What should I tell her? That running our household had taken over all my headspace? Make her feel unjustifiably guilty?

The truth was a little more than that, though. I wasn’t into any deals because… I didn’t have any deals. No promising leads, no off-market listings coming my way. These slumps happened from time to time, and whenever they did, I tried to focus my time on my learning. Something would come up eventually, maybe another sheriff sale? I’d keep my eyes and ears open.

A week before Malky’s scheduled surgery, I stopped in to do my duties at the Zichron Meir dinner, where my rav was being honored. After handing over my check and greeting my rav, I intended to slink right out. But as I passed one of the tables, I heard a familiar voice. “Psst, Grunbaum.”

Instantly, I was back in the yeshivah’s coffee room, facing a humbly grateful, bleary-eyed bochur.

My insides turned to jelly. It was the same metzuyan bochur, no mistake. A nice, neat beard, a matured face, but otherwise, the same Yehuda Pillar. The same slender shoulders, the same straight back.

“I’ve been meaning to call you! Hashgachah pratis that I meet you here,” he said with his same false smile. He gestured at the table. “I’m here with my Daf Yomi shiur, we’ve been trying to fundraise a bit for Zichron Meir….”

Did anyone hear me ask who he was here with and for what reason?

Did anyone hear me offer this information?

“So if I have you here, let me ask you,” he went right on. “I’m looking for a management company in Hartford. You know, reliable and well-priced. Any recommendations?”

I don’t know why that question hit me with such a slam. “I’m not in Connecticut,” I answered curtly. “Sorry.”

I was so not sorry.

I was downright… relieved.

What was wrong with me? Where were all these horrible feelings coming from?

Trying to tamp down the roiling in my system, I arranged my face evenly. “By the way, Yehuda, whatever happened with that property you asked me about? Did you end up buying?”

“Yes and no. I ended up flipping the contract before closing. Thanks for your help, takke.”

No, seriously. How easy. I knew his purchase price, and I knew the market value. It was a dream scenario. How had he managed to pull that off?

He didn’t offer more. I hoped my face didn’t expose my astonishment. I guess I was meant to rejoice. Maybe even feel proud?

“I’m actually focusing more on brokerage these days,” he volunteered. “It’s more up my alley, you know.”

These days! As though he had a whole history of all sorts of “days” in this industry.

I caught a glint in my yeshivah-mate’s eyes, a glint that projected… triumph. Exaltation. Success. On my right, my shiur — we’ve been trying to fundraise a bit for Zichron Meir…. On my left, a little karka, a little mazon — can you recommend a good property management company? I’m focusing on brokerage….

Torah u’gedulah b’makom echad.

So beautiful.

I left the hall with a weird, sour, coffee-tainted taste in my mouth.

*

The surgery did not take place in March as scheduled. Malky developed an infection and needed to take antibiotics to clear it up before heading to the OR. The new surgery date was set for the first Monday of May.

“I’m never making vegetable soup again in my whole entire life,” she declared when we received the news.

Pesach?

The most logical thing to do about it was panic. But we had Malky doing that already, so I had no choice but to take the pragmatic route. “There’s a solution, and it’s spelled c-l-e-a-n-i-n-g c-r-e-w,” I told Malky.

And that’s what we did. No spring cleaning, but the house got thoroughly cleaned for Yom Tov, and Malky even hinted that this wasn’t a bad idea, even for the future, when her leg would be fully functional.

Of course, cleaning crews wouldn’t take care of the shopping and cooking. Our families tried to help, but my parents lived in Canada, and Malky’s parents were no spring chickens and normally relied on our help before Yom Tov. Malky’s sister Esther kindly offered to do our kids’ clothing shopping, and my brother Yissachar even courageously offered to host us for the whole Yom Tov, which we turned down, because we weren’t ready to be such a burden. So we accepted two meal invitations, one from Yissachar and one from Malky’s sister Shevy, and braved the rest on our own. Malky tried her best to do whatever she was able, and I worked… hard.

“You’ll need therapy from this trauma when all this is over,” Malky told me.

Surprisingly, I was kind of sad when Yom Tov was over. I’d worked harder than most years, so the whole Pesach was more of a thing.

The only thing was, now that the roller coaster ride had ended and I was free to walk around again, at least until the rescheduled surgery, the emptiness hit.

My business had stagnated.

I did my hishtadlus. I combed every one of my realty sites, spoke to my regular brokers, checked out upcoming sheriff sales. But nothing exciting came up for me, and I was growing increasingly antsy.

Once, during my lunch break, I was sitting over my laptop in my tiny home office, aimlessly strolling the streets of Newark on Google Maps, when Tuli called.

“Can I book a session with you?”

“I’m available now, for the next hour or so.”

Fifteen minutes later, he showed up with two bulging bags from Eli’s takeout. “You didn’t have lunch yet, right?” he asked as he took out containers of sesame chicken, kishke, deli roll, corned beef, cholent, and coleslaw.

Someone was in a generous mood.

I hesitated about becoming fleishigs, for five whole seconds, then helped myself to a slice of deli roll.

Tuli licked the sesame chicken sauce off his finger and leaned back in his folding chair. “Here’s the zach, Gershon,” he started. “I need you to teach me about scaling.”

I looked at him, then at the kishke. “Nu?”

“So you know pretty well how my business was doing until now. The whole first year and everything, not easy, by far. So now, this deal comes up for me, it’s a big package, in Hartford. This guy is totally new to the industry but he figured out a unique approach, this whole idea how to buy bulk properties very easily. And… I don’t know, Gershon! Can I do this? I never did Connecticut before. Is this too much too soon? I’m terrified that I’m going to botch this.”

Everything in my tiny office seemed to turn into one blurry blob. The food, my laptop, my brother. I waited a moment for my vision to settle, and it did, directly on Tuli’s face, and I said, “Yehuda Pillar.”

He nodded.

I reached for my air conditioner remote and powered it on. The machine rumbled to life, and I inhaled the cool air.

“I see,” I managed to mutter.

Then I channeled energy from some hidden reservoir within me that I never knew existed and asked him for details.

*

I canceled second seder with Kelner that afternoon. It was happening too often lately, and I felt horrible about it, but I knew that trying to learn would be futile. I wouldn’t be able to process anything.

On my desk, the leftover food sat cold and abandoned as I leaned close to my screen and squinted.

Revach Realty, LLC.

Two properties in Trenton.

YP Equities, LLC.

Three in Hartford.

YuPill, LLC.

Another one in Hartford.

Three LLCs had fix-and-flip histories. Then there were the deals that he’d flipped while still in contract, like the first property he’d asked me about.

I felt like a criminal, nosing through his assets. But look, all these records were public, and he hadn’t made an effort to hide his footprints.

And now, this package — good for Tuli, b’emes, good for him, he’d worked hard to reach this point — I mean… a twenty-unit development.

How had this happened? How did anyone build up such an empire in such a short time? While learning full time in Rabbi Fryman’s kollel, let’s never forget. Plus giving his Daf Yomi shiur every night.

I opened my management site and clicked into Properties. I scrolled through the addresses, the tabs and hyperlinks to all deeds, closing docs, HUDs, rental incomes, operating reports, payments, insurance, and title records. My neat operation. My neat little operation, that I’d been so proud of.

What a joke.

Pillar was playing Monopoly in Connecticut. He was a tycoon.

“Ge-e-e-rshon?” Malky’s voice crackled over the intercom.

“Yes?”

“Are you busy? Can you come to the kitchen a minute?”

I flicked off my screen and left my office.

In the kitchen, Malky needed me to take down the strainer from an upper cabinet. I remembered the days when she used to hop right onto the counter and happily putter around her domain. Now, every meal she cooked was an ordeal, and when I wasn’t around, she overexerted herself trying to manage on her own.

“Thanks, Gershon. You’re a lifesaver.”

Yes, sure, anytime. My pleasure.

*

As much as Malky dreaded the thought of surgery, it was with relief that we finally headed out to the hospital early morning on the first Monday of May.

The world was in that ethereal state when we got onto the highway: half the population asleep, the other half brimming with renewed energy as they biked, brisk-walked, or drove out to their day’s work.

In the hospital, we were whisked around from room to room, filling out paperwork, getting instructions from anesthesia, then from the surgical team. Malky looked slightly nervous but was holding up pretty well.

When we settled down for the final wait before being called in to the operating room, my phone rang.

I squinted at the screen. Moshe Bandman? It took me a few seconds to place, and then I remembered. He was a broker I’d dealt with once, two or three years ago.

“Hey, a gutten, Grunbaum. It’s been a while…. How are you?”

“Baruch Hashem, and how are you?”

Malky was saying Tehillim in her seat. I motioned to her that I’d be stepping out for a minute.

I paced the hallway as Bandman chitchatted for a few minutes. Then he got to the point.

“So I have this offer for you, it’s not on the market yet….”

I listened closely. It was a twelve-family in Orange County. Vacant, recently renovated, excellent price.

When he finished talking, I asked a few strong questions. Bandman answered each one, and I felt something flutter in my chest.

“Listen,” I told him. “I won’t be able to talk for the next few hours. I’ll sit down to go over all the details later. But from whatever you just told me, I’m in.”

*

Boy, was I in.

It felt good to be busy again. It was stressful, yes, but a good kind of stress.

I explained to Kelner that I wouldn’t be too available over the next little while, using my wife’s rehabilitation as an excuse. I didn’t want to tell him about this new deal. Ayin hara? Whatever.

With Malky settled at home, I drove out with Bandman to inspect the property.

The building was an impressive brick structure, built in 1960. “Most of it was renovated, like I told you, see? It mamesh just needs a face lift,” Bandman said. “Replace a few bathrooms, one new kitchen, some repairs, and the rest is pretty much cosmetic.”

I knew to take that with a grain of salt; Bandman was a broker, after all. I wasn’t going into contract based on his say-so. For now, I nodded along and allowed him to spill his enthusiasm.

Outside, we walked to the far end of the property. “Now this is the garage I was telling you about,” Bandman said, taking me over to a small structure next to the main building. “I checked the zoning, you could easily convert this to two more apartments. You know how cheap construction is in this area….”

More nodding. That was a smart idea, but I didn’t want to get his hopes up.

I definitely didn’t want to let on how high my own hopes were.

Two days later, my attorney sent me the seller’s contract. I locked myself into my office and hungrily read each line.

Despite my excitement, I carefully did my usual work, searching for potential problems. But any way I looked at it, the deal looked sound to me. I felt quite ready and waited on edge for the next few days, to allow for the attorney review.

Finally, I got my go-ahead, along with wire instructions for my deposit.

It was premature to celebrate, I knew, but I couldn’t resist. I dialed my brother.

“What do you say, Tuli? Are you available for some work?”

Tuli was genuinely thrilled when I told him about my new project. “You’re really going places! This one’s mamesh big. Very, very nice, Gershon. But hey, do you trust me with your insurance? Ha ha….”

“I’m only asking for a quote, mister. Let’s see if you can beat them all.”

He laughed heartily, and I picked up the acute contentment in his voice. My brother had made it. He finally felt like a player in the game. It was my own special nachas to witness his newfound confidence.

“Hey, you know something, Gershon? When you close on this deal—”

“Oh, I’m not up to closing,” I broke in quickly. “I’m only going to start the loan process now.”

“I know, I know. I’m just saying. Not davkeh this deal, in general. You should post it on this site — I’ll send you a link. A lot of frum real estate people are on it. They post their deals, it’s a whole matzav. Marketing kind of thing. You should check it out.”

“Oh, okay. Send me the link.”

*

Tuli sent me the link, but less than an hour later, I realized: he shouldn’t have.

I hadn’t thought much when I clicked on it. I scrolled the platform randomly, when suddenly, a post caught my eyes.

CLOSED!

Congratulations to our happy buyer!

It was Yad Hashem at play again. Isn’t it always like that? We do our minimum hishtadlus, and Hashem leads us where we need to go.

Today, He helped me lead my client to 65 Clarkson, and I’m here to publicly express shevach v’hoda’ah to Him.

YP

Forty-two likes. Thirteen comments.

Weakly, I scrolled down and read more. It was like picking at a wound, knowing it will hurt more, but you can’t resist — you just pick and pick, read and read, scroll and scroll.

I’m actually focusing more on brokerage these days.

His “focus” translated to actual sales. One after the other.

Another half hour, and then I clicked X.

Enough.

I picked up the phone, dialed my lender, got underwriting on the phone.

Sometimes, a little pressure helps.

*

Two days after Shavuos, I finally told Malky about the deal.

It wasn’t like I kept it a secret from her until then. I’d just been very vague and casual about the whole thing, because I didn’t want to get her excited. She wouldn’t really care whether I was taking out a bridge loan or a thirty-year loan, or how the appraisal looked. The main thing she cared about was the profit — and the general idea of ownership, which she — okay, I, too — still found exhilarating.

But when the term sheet came in at eighty percent financing, I figured it was safe to make her happy.

That night, when the little kids were in bed and Devorah was around to babysit, we took a victory walk around the block. “Hasomech noflim…” Malky said with an elaborate sigh when we rounded the last bend at a nearly average walking pace.

I wondered if she realized the double meaning.

I dropped her off at home and left for night seder and Maariv. After davening, I stopped into Kesser Chedva to say mazel tov at the Appelbaum wedding.

In the lobby on my way out, a guy walked up to me and grabbed my hand. “Hey, shalom aleichem, Grunbaum! A face from the past!”

It took one squint before I recognized Binyomin Schlafrig. “What am I not seeing?” I asked incredulously.

“One hundred and ten pounds,” he said with a grin.

Wow. Wow. “Kol hakavod!”

And then the conversation went where conversations between two old yeshivah friends tend to go: What are you doing these days?

What Binyomin was doing these days was actually pretty unique. “I write biographies for people. Some families want to have their whole yichus and family’s history in a book, sometimes in honor of grandparents’ anniversaries, or for whatever occasion. So I research and draw up their family trees, interview family members, friends, whoever, and I travel to places related to their stories to gather and verify as many details as possible. Then I write it all up and take care of publishing.”

“Wow, not pashut, such work. It must be so rewarding. I’d love to make such a book for my family one day…. Good to know about this.”

Binyomin smiled. “And how about you? What’s keeping you busy?”

So here’s where I always hesitated. Do I say I’m in kollel and do some real estate on the side? Or do I say I’m in real estate and try to learn the rest of the day? How did I choose to present, and how would my listener perceive it?

This time I opted for something in between. “Nothing unique like you. I learn part of the day and I do some real estate.”

“Nice!” he said. “Remember Yehuda Pillar? We do Daf Yomi together every night, and he also went into real estate lately. He made a few investments, and then he became this whole cool broker. Look, it is one of the most foundational forms of parnassah, from the beginning of time, right?”

“Right, uh, I guess. Uh… Pillar takke told me that he gives a Daf Yomi shiur….”

“He doesn’t give it, Chaim Witriol gives it. But we’re both part of it.”

Huh?

The doors to the main ballroom opened, sweeping a gust of dance music through the lobby, and the sound whirled in my head.

“Ah… I see.”

Hadn’t Pillar told me he gives the shiur? I couldn’t remember the exact words he’d used, but it now dawned on me that I’d drawn my own assumptions when he’d mentioned the Daf Yomi shiur.

Why?

I couldn’t help thinking that… he’d wanted me to draw this assumption.

“So you’re also in real estate…” Schlafrig was saying.

Also in real estate…. Ouch.

Well, I was.

The lender had gotten the environmental report that day, and I’d been able to exhale — no flood zone issues, no oil spills or soil contamination that needed curing. That was a bit of a miracle, considering I’d gone into contract with as-is terms.

So yes, I was “also in real estate,” as Schlafrig put it.

Except that when I got home and checked my emails, I realized that it wasn’t such a clear yes anymore.

I reread the email from Avner Marton, the underwriter who was handling my loan.

Hi Gershon,

Not such good news here. We pulled your credit today as discussed, and your score is no good. Based on this, we can’t go ahead with the eighty percent we offered. The most we could do is sixty-five.

Please advise.

The only thought that held a solid form in my brain was:

Why did Avner Marton work at night?

*

It didn’t take long to figure out how I’d botched my credit score.

I’d simply missed a payment on 202 Morris.

How had that happened? I had no idea. It must have been during the whole Pesach chaos, which was… not an excuse.

So my credit score would improve over time, not even over too much time, but definitely not in time for the contract terms of 100-112 Silverton Drive. And if I wouldn’t be able to close, I’d forfeit my deposit.

The first thing I did was send an LOE to the lender, explaining that my wife had undergone surgery and I’d been preoccupied with her care.

“It won’t work in the current market,” Marton predicted. “The lenders have been rejecting almost all Letters of Explanations over the past few months, and this is a multifamily. Less than slim chances.”

He was right. At midafternoon the next day, the committee turned down my LOE, and I was left without any hope.

The rest of the day passed in a fog. I lingered in shul a long time after Maariv, a Meshech Chochmah open in front of me but the words swimming on the page.

There was no way I could face Malky.

There was also no way I could sleep that night.

I left shul and called Tuli. “I need your help,” I told him desperately.

“What can I do for you, brother?”

“Not much, I’m afraid. I’m in serious trouble. Can I come over to talk?”

“Now?”

“Please….”

It was eleven forty-five at night, I was quite aware. And yet.

“Kay, kay… sure,” Tuli said kindly. “Come right over.”

When I got to his house, Tuli stuffed a bunch of freeze pops into his pocket, and we went to his little overgrown backyard to speak. It felt like role reversal, and maybe it was, and I couldn’t take it. Why…? How…?

“So basically,” Tuli summed up my sob story, “you need an additional fifteen percent funding to rescue this deal. Is that what you’re saying?”

I yanked leaves off the fence of his yard. “There’s no way for me to come up with that. I barely scraped together the twenty percent down payment.”

Tuli pulled out his next freeze pop and ripped it open with his teeth. “Or, you could bring in a cosigner with a perfect credit score.”

“I… Hey, Tuli. That’s…. How simple! Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Because you weren’t thinking at all. You’re panicking.”

For a moment, hope coursed through my limbs. I shredded the leaves in my hand and let them rain down on the ground.

Then I frowned. “Well. Sounds genius, but who would cosign for me? Let’s not discuss how your credit score looks.”

I wouldn’t be able to see if he blushed in the dark, but he definitely had reason to. Still, this wasn’t the right time for me to mussar him.

Tuli tossed his freeze pop wrapper into the weeds behind him. “I have a gedank,” he said.

I waited.

“I don’t want to say anything before I talk to him, but one of my clients… he has a credit score of eight hundred twenty. Send me your contract, I’ll discuss it with him. And meanwhile, relax, Gershon. You’ll survive this, you’ll see.”

I didn’t know what I’d see, but one thing I saw pretty clearly.

One of my clients….

I heard the hesitancy in his voice.

I knew every one of his clients.

Tuli had a cosigner for me.

And I knew with absolute certainty who that person was.

*

I told Avner Marton that I was working to bring in a cosigner, he should give me a few days.

Then came those few days.

I tried to go about my life as usual. Learning, davening, Malky, the kids. But it was like someone else was acting in my place, while the real Gershon Grunbaum loitered in Tuli’s backyard, among the weeds and freeze pop wrappers.

I wanted — needed — Pillar to come through.

But almost as badly, I couldn’t allow it to happen. I wouldn’t be able to face myself if this deal, and my entire deposit, survived on the merit of his kindness. It just… rankled.

Not that it mattered. At this point, Pillar knew, and I could just picture his malicious joy at being my noble savior.

“So where’s that twelve-family up to?” Malky asked on the second day of the few days, when I picked her up from physical therapy.

“Progressing, slowly,” I said evasively. “How was therapy? Did they torture you?”

“It’s hard work, but I have to admit that I enjoy it. I guess I like the challenge? Gershon, tell me what’s wrong.”

I threw her a quick glance, then turned my attention back on the road. Looking straight ahead, I said, “My deal is at risk.”

She was quiet for a long moment.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?”

I told her briefly. I also told her that I was problem-solving, and that hopefully the deal would go through. “It’s just….”

“Just?”

Nothing. What should I tell her? That it wasn’t the deal that was eating at me? That I was being consumed by something so much greater, by a silent competition that made all my assets worthless?

“I think I need some physical therapy, too,” I joked to Malky instead. “Think I’ll like the challenge?”

Malky laughed.

And somehow, the sound of her laughter made something in me crack. The whole agony of Yehuda Pillar suddenly felt ridiculous. Here this guy had this crazy strange, awful air of superiority, and I, who’d been doing just fine until he came along, was allowing myself to be dragged along with this whole sickness. He gave a Daf Yomi shiur, he didn’t — why did any of it matter to me, why was I measuring my success against his?

In the tinkle of Malky’s laughter, there was an echo of her simple faith. Well, then, it obviously wasn’t bashert.

Or, sometimes, it obviously was.

Either way, it was never in our hands. Definitely not in Pillar’s.

A burst of energy powered through my limbs. Pillar had been placing me in a certain role — from way back, during our yeshivah days — and now, here in the car with Malky, with my own deal hanging on a shaky, awkward thread, I knew I did not have to subscribe to it. It was solely my choice, and I exerted my own power by deciding not to.

I turned to Malky and asked, with a tone of utter mystery, “You know what I’m craving?”

“No. What?”

I pulled into a neat, perfect parking spot right in front of our house. “Vegetable soup.”

*

The few days took two more days. Tuli’s call came just as I was sitting down to second seder with Kelner.

I apologized to my chavrusa. “I need to take this call. I’ll be right back, sorry.”

Fine, so Pillar would surely never ever in his whole life miss a moment of seder to take care of his business. He was the world’s greatest masmid, always had been, while I…. Well, one day I would be on his level — or not. Now, I dashed out of the beis medrash to the front hallway.

“Mazel tov,” Tuli said, by way of greeting. “We’re on.”

I waited for the conflicting mix of feelings to wash over me, but when I answered him, “Wow, Tuli! Baruch Hashem! You have no idea how relieved I am!” I meant it. I was truly relieved, and nothing more.

“So let me give you his contact info. Are you in front of your computer?”

I had his contact info. What was he saying?

Tuli didn’t wait for me to respond. “His name is Yaakov Shalom Berkowitz. His email address is….”

*

Funny, how undramatic closings are.

The title closer showed up at my house with his set of loan docs, sat down at my dining room table, and shuffled through the papers, showing me — and my cosigner — where to sign, and fifteen minutes later, he was out the door.

The package was scanned, submitted, and overnighted to the title company. The funding was authorized. A straightforward process. And now, the twelve units plus the garage structure of 100-112 Silverton Drive were mine.

I spent a few minutes schmoozing with Yaakov Shalom Berkowitz, a person I’d met for the first time in my life, thanked him profusely, and escorted him out.

“Closed?” Malky asked the minute the door closed.

“Closed.”

We had coffee and chocolate to mark the occasion.

Then I locked myself into my little office and pulled up that link Tuli had sent me.

Yehuda Pillar had put up a new post. A single-family home he’d brokered, also in Hartford. There was a whole cheesy blurb to go with it, all about the Yad Hashem he’d witnessed, and how this experience humbled him.

In my mind, I formulated my own post.

Closed — twelve-family in Orange County. This one was a close call, with lots of headache and heartache involved, but also with lots of siyata d’Shmaya. Now that the keys are in my hands, I have to admit; it’s not the property that calls for celebration. It’s the serenity I acquired along with this purchase that made this the sweetest deal.

GG

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1033)