“The guy’s name was Pollack. Micky Pollack,” Tamar said slowly, looking intently at Marissa. “Do you know him?”
“Gut Shabbos, Gut Shabbos, kinderlach.” Ruchy leaned over her Israeli grandchildren. She deposited kisses on the little ones’ cheeks, then laughed as she rose up on her toes to reach the two big boys, Yehuda and Shloimy. “These boys are getting so big. Real yeshivah bochurim! And very handsome, too.”
She gently straightened Shloimy’s tie. “So are you still finding some time for your guitar while you turn into a real masmid, like your father and big brother?”
Shloimy blushed. “I have to run… Minchah…” he muttered.
“Go, go,” Ruchy said. She head to the couch, watching approvingly as Miriam brought in the salads Perri was dishing out in the kitchen. “Beautiful table, Perri. So Shabbosdig.”
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