“Happy to help,” the young man said. “By the way… are you by any chance related to Dudi Silver?”
Early in the afternoon, a man stepped over the threshold of a little store in Geula. His eyes met rows and rows of screens. Across from them were more screens. Along the third wall were
printers, mouses, ink cartridges, and little boxes holding wires and cables. The man’s cell phone rang, giving him a few moments’ respite before the inevitable plunge.
“Abba?” It was Tovi. “Ima asked me to remind you about our appointment tomorrow at the consulate.”
“For the visa to America?”
“Yes.” She didn’t sound enthusiastic.
“Cheer up, Tovi. We’ll have a nice trip to Yerushalayim.” He smiled into the phone while his face clouded over. Three visas at $160 each. That was well over a thousand shekels, which nobody was counting as part of the expenses for the surgery. In addition to the cost of passports. And plane tickets. Not to mention the loss of income during their stay there.
“What do we need a visa for?” Tovi wondered. “Can’t we skip that part and save the money?”
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