Avrumi just doesn’t get it. He sees it as new-age coddling, too many chinuch panels and not enough simple deretz eretz
Chaim’s arms were crossed. I couldn’t see his ankles under the table, but I’d be willing to bet they were crossed too. His cowlick stood on end after he’d nervously run his fingers through it so many times. He always tries to play macho, but he’s such a teddy bear at heart.
Avrumi sat across from him; I sat at the head of the table. Avrumi cleared his throat. It sounded so official, like he was about to make a statement to the press.
“Your Rosh Yeshivah called.”
That’s all he said. Was Chaim supposed to fill in the blank? Was I supposed to jump in?
“Do you want to say anything before I continue?”
This one’s in print. Some of our best stories live in the magazine — subscribe to get Mishpacha every week.
