“This is our country. Or it would be ours if we could just get rid of the dumb Brits”
Zalman was waiting for me on the steps between the Yeshivah and the makolet, a small sefer open on his lap.
“How are you?” he asked, snapping his sefer shut as I sat down on the step next to him. “Elka came home today, didn’t she?”
“Uh huh,” I nodded, leaning my shoulder against the wall on my right. “Seems like she had a good time.”
“I’m sure she did,” Zalman tilted his head, looking at me. “Have you been back to Europe at all?”
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