"All we knew was that Daddy had a brother who’d gone off to America, and they weren’t much in touch with each other”
n Thursday evening, Yonatan Eliav sat bent over his laptop in the hotel lobby, typing a list of instructions to the draftsman. Plans for the house renovation project lay on the table to his left, and a cup of coffee to his right. He would send the list to the office tonight, and on Sunday morning they could already start working up the plans in AutoCAD.
“Thank goodness I don’t have to write this in Hebrew,” he murmured to himself. “The clients for these high-end jobs probably know even less Hebrew than I do.” Yonatan completed his list and reviewed it. It looked good; he could send it off now and forget about work until Sunday. Midafternoon tomorrow, he would travel to Ramat Beit Shemesh to spend Shabbos with Tante Hindy and her family.
His phone rang as he shut down the computer and gathered the papers into a folder. It was his sister Judy.
“Yonatan?” Her voice sounded a little uncertain, less confident than unusual.
This one’s in print. Some of our best stories live in the magazine — subscribe to get Mishpacha every week.
