They had seven bochurim, most of them too tired or unmotivated to look for somewhere more exciting
Akiva was sitting at the table, staring glumly at what Rina thought was a nice supper. Maybe it wasn’t her best, but it was decent.
He had apologized, and then apologized again. She knew he would share what was bothering him when he was ready, and it was smarter not to push him.
He finally started to play with the mashed potatoes, then took a forkful and tasted it hesitantly, as if he was considering trying food again after all.
“You know, Rina,” he finally said, “there’s the job and then there’s the real world, and a person likes to think it’s all the same thing, that it’s not just make-believe between nine and five. Know what I mean?”
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