The Best Man

was lying on the couch in my office in Yerushalayim. I had a headache from drinking too much coffee and eating too little food, but in an hour, I’d be home, and we were having hot dogs for supper. Not just any hot dogs, either — American hot dogs. The Israeli-Americans out there know that that’s something to look forward to.

Then Rabbi Shmuel Rosenberg walked into my office.

Shmuel is a close friend and one of the best drug counselors I’ve ever worked with. “You going for the chuppah or only the dancing?” he asked.

What? “Stop,” I said. “Don’t. It’s hot dog night.”