Driver’s Seat

The streets of Yerushalayim were clogged with the usual midday traffic. Tzvika’s hand brushed the Tefillas Haderech hamsa dangling from his rearview mirror as he gestured at the young men sitting in the back of his cab.

Driver’s    Seat
“So you learning in yeshivah nachon? Which one the Mir? Brisk? ToMo?” One of them answered something he couldn’t quite catch but lo meshaneh he went on. In his car he was king. “See I know yeshivot and where you bochurim America’im like to learn. I drive a lot of them. I even let them speak Hebrew to me and not laugh at their mistakes though my English is very good. I ask them what they learning and to tell me a devar Torah.” He grinned as he saw one bochur raise his eyebrows at the other. “Ah now I see you with the look of  — eich omrim? — surprise. They too always with the surprise. Mah you think because I no wear kippah I can’t learn a bit of Torah? Torah she is the most chashuveh thing in the world! Now you thinking wow listen to that chiloni! Rak b’Yisrael! Nachon? I am right?”

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