Akiva had been both offended and intrigued at the bluntness.

“Money,” he’d said, shrugging.

Baruch had laughed and pointed to his old, scuffed sneakers. “Don’t even have to ask me, huh?”

And that had been it. Best friends. Through thick and thin.

Was that all about to change?

Baruch slid into the booth, looked at him across the table.

“Hey, Keevs.”

“Hey, Bob.”

Baruch picked up a sugar packet. “So Menashe’s coming back to earth, huh.”

Akiva nodded. Was his collar too tight? It felt too tight. Stupid dry cleaners must have shrunk his shirt.

“He is. And, uh, you know… you know how much FC values you.”

Stop, mouth, stop.

“It’s just—”

“Save it,” Baruch said tiredly. “Please, Akiva. Don’t patronize me.

“Daddy Frankel is giving Menashe, of the zero experience and zero drive, the position he’s been dangling in my face for seven years. Chaykie told me he wouldn’t. She said people don’t treat other people like that. What can I say, the woman’s always right, but I guess her streak had to end sometime.”

And Akiva wanted to laugh and say, “Are you kidding, no, Daddy wants to offer you the position, it’s all yours,” but he couldn’t, because he was a Frankel, and Frankels do what needs to be done, and all he could do was nod, while his collar grew even tighter, and his best friend of 21 years slowly slid ungracefully out of the booth bench and walked away.

Baruch didn’t look back.

Later, between dinner and bed, when the house was winding down, and Libby was going through the rooms like a coiffed drill sergeant — demanding Binny to put on pajamas, Eliana to brush her teeth, and Mali to come out from the tepee, there’ll be plenty of time tomorrow to play Indians — his phone pinged.

Cute, Nachi Miller from their Israel days. He’d been an amazing chavrusa, Nachi — the two of them had spent many a Friday night cracking garinim and learning while the women chatted on the couch over some sparkling soda-wine, giggling as only shanah rishonah wives could. It felt like yesterday, and it also felt like a different lifetime.

Was it a better lifetime? After today, he wondered….

He smiled as he clicked on the email. Who used email? Typical Nachi to not have Whatsapp or Voice Note.

Shalom Reb Akiva,

How are you?

Long time! We miss you here in Eretz Yisrael. Baruch Hashem, we’ve just purchased our first apartment. We got a good price because it was a dump, and now we have to make it livable. It’s a big job and a hefty expense. I was wondering….

A loan.

Of course he wanted a loan.

Akiva didn’t know why he felt so let down; what had he been expecting? A bar mitzvah invitation?

There had been bar mitzvahs, the Millers had had twin boys all those years back; Akiva hadn’t been invited to that simchah. Sorry, Reb Akiva.

He’d expected more from Nachi Miller. He’d wanted more from Nachi Miller.

Double standard, he knew; it’s not like he’d ever reached out to Nachi.

The email back was quick: Mazel tov, should be a yishuv tov. Contact Yosef, my assistant, to set up the loan terms.

Of course he gave. He always gave. He loved to give.

So why did he suddenly feel like throwing the vase Libby kept filled with freshly cut peonies gracing the end table to the floor in a satisfying crash of crystal and petals?

A door slammed, echoing cavernously through the foyer, followed by the thump of a designer school bag being flung across the room.

Libby’s voice, so calm and methodical moments ago, was now high and tinged with something he refused to call anxiety.

Deena was home. And judging from her behavior, she had not had the best day at Toras Ohr: A commitment to excellence in all areas.

It was hard to say who had been more excited on the first day of school: Libby or Deena. Okay, that was a lie; it was obviously Libby.

“I used to dream of going here as a kid,” she said, and there was something there, something in her voice that made Akiva want to dive in, but Libby didn’t really do deep dives. She was more of a butterfly-stroke person; gracefully, effortless, topical.

However, Toras Ohr was not working out well for Deena, who definitely did not dream of attending the elitist school.

He hurried up the stairs, intent on comforting his eldest.

“—failed!” she was shrieking. “Failed! Because my pen broke halfway through, so I asked Michal Lowenstein for a pen, and Giveret Shneider had said no talking, but I needed a pen and now my GPA is gone, and then Mrs. Applebaum said”—snuffle snuffle—“and I hate them, I want to rip their stupid little attendance books and”—snuffle snuffle—“told me! Of all people, me? Can you even? And then—”

Akiva put his arms around her; she melted into him, sobbing.

Libby sighed gratefully.

Tatty was here, Tatty would make it all better; his princess would not fail, that’s for sure.

And then his phone buzzed.

Rav Edelson is here. Come.

Daddy.

He pulled back gently, wiped Deena’s face. “I need to run, sweetie, everything will be okay.”

His daughter’s eyes widened at his betrayal. “But!”

Libby glared at him; he shrugged. “Rav Edelson is here.”

She sighed again; this time there was nothing grateful about it.

The Tesla had lost its appeal approximately two days after he’d bought it. Especially since every macher in Lakewood these days was driving one.

He needed a new car. Something sleek, fast, and understated. He sent a quick voice note to Yosef to make him an appointment at the dealer and sped off to Daddy’s.

Three point four minutes. A personal best.

Shirt tucked in, cuffs rolled down, tshup smoothed down, hat on. Rav Edelson was no ordinary visitor. He was rosh yeshivah of the second largest yeshivah in Eretz Yisrael, and a respected posek as well.

Daddy had the Rav on speed dial; all major business decisions went directly to the Rav.

Ma opened the door, kissed his forehead and patted his cheek.

He noticed the baby bassinet behind her.

“Are Menashe and Dassi back already?”

“Tomorrow,” Ma said happily. “They’ll stay in the guest suite until they find something more suitable.

Ahh, suitable, the Frankel family motto.

Everything, always, at all times, needed to be suitable.

“Great,” Akiva said, trying to inject some cheer into his voice.

Libby was fuming, Deena was crying, and his youngest brother was landing soon. One had nothing to do with the other, except that all three annoyed him.

Daddy came hurrying out. “The Rav received an important call,” he said in a hushed voice annoyed Akiva. “We’ll go back inside in a minute.”

Akiva clapped/shook his father’s hand.

“Menashe and Dassi are coming tomorrow.”

“So I heard,” Akiva said dryly.

His father gave him a sharp look. “Did you speak to Baruch yet?”

“I did.”

“And?”

“And it went like I thought it would.”

Daddy clapped him on the back. “Sorry, Keevs. It’s a hard thing, balancing friendship and business. Heaven knows, that’s why I don’t mix the two. It’s a lesson learned, right?

“Make sure Donna sends him the severance paperwork. And a meat board for Shabbos. Something nice.”

One of the Rav’s gabbaim came out just then, motioning them to come back into the conference room.

Akiva dutifully followed his father. But the only thought he could focus on was something needs to change.

to be continued…

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 970)