“I was going to buy you chassan Bereishis,” Lieberman said. “But if I can win you over this way….”
Second days crept up on Yochi. One minute he was racing between concierge duties and program arrangements, the next minute everything ground to a halt and peace descended over the hotel.
Simchas Torah morning, he stood in the corner of the shul conference room, observing the crowd. The tables and chairs had been pushed to a side to make room for hakafos, little girls sat along the entrance wall, trading prizes and candy.
The room shook with lively singing and dancing, and Yochi couldn’t help smiling at the sight. The spirit that buoyed the circles of dancers was the magical result of a truly successful tour.
“I can’t believe we’re up to this,” he’d told Pessie the night before, as the waiter circled with desserts. “There’s a certain calm, now that Chol Hamoed is over, almost like our job here is done, even if closing up is a whole separate headache.”
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