Through the phone, his mother’s sigh sounds like a storm wind. “I still don’t understand why you needed to do this trip over Succos, Zevi,” she says
Zev rolls down his window, lets wind and noise rush in, hit him in the face. He’s clocking just under 75; they’ll be there in an hour.
“Could you maybe close the window a little?” Meir asks from the passenger seat. He’s gripping a Chumash with both hands, pages rebelliously fluttering in the whirl of wind. “It’s hard to learn like this.”
Oh, right, I’m not the only one in the car. He’d agreed to take Meir and the others as a favor to Moish, but honestly, he wishes he hadn’t.
If not for Moish, you’d be helping Ma prepare the guest rooms for your sisters and their families, he reminds himself. You certainly wouldn’t be spending Erev Succos flying down Route 17, heading for the country.
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