“So you’ll call us when you land, okay, Heshy?” Bernie gripped the wheel tightly. Ruchy was checking her lipstick one final time before they turned off the highway into JFK.
“Before or after the seatbelt sign goes off? Both, maybe. And then you want me to call again when I find my luggage? And again when I get to Yerushalayim?”
“Heshy.” It was a warning. Bernie scanned the signs. There it was; Terminal 4.
“Okay, Daddy, don’t worry. I’ll call you. Ma, cheer up! I’m not going to the gulag.” Heshy flashed his winning smile.
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