Did Nechemiah learn there? Was it a yeshivah? He spent a lot of time there, and she knew he was learning chassidus (“mindblowing stuff,” he liked to tell them)
He delivered this line like he’d done months of testing and was happy to share the diagnosis.
Yossi knew he should smile and just say thank you. That he should be grateful that Nechemiah had somewhere to hang out, a place other than the bedroom where he used to spend twenty-two hours a day. That there was light in his son’s eyes and purpose to his days and—
“He’s one of our superstars.” Deringer was still tapping, like Yossi’s arm was a drum. “But it doesn’t surprise me. You know, Rabbi Grabner, the first time I met Nechemiah, I knew he had what it takes… The other ones along his journey unfortunately missed it, but”—and here Rabbi Deringer lowered his voice conspiratorially—“that doesn’t surprise me either. That’s what they do best.”
Sorrow seemed to flow through him, a river of sadness washing away the last remnants of the wide smile.
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