Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 71 of a new online serial novel, Nine A.M., by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every week.  Click here for previous chapters.

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From the only copy of Sefer Chovos Halevavos in the camp, Shaar Habitachon, end of the second perek:

When this matter becomes clear, and understanding of the true kindness of the Creator is strengthened, the person will trust Him and give himself over to Hashem’s will. He will leave the running of his life up to Hashem, and he will not suspect that Hashem is judging him improperly; nor will he be angry regarding that which the Creator chose for him, as Dovid Hamelech alav hashalom said (Tehillim 116:13), Kos yeshuos…”

“We intentionally chose this subject,” Binyamin said quietly, raising his eyes from the small, yellowing sefer. The handful of people in the courtyard of the shul were all older than him—some by a bit, some by a lot—and yet they were listening attentively to his every word. “It’s by the instruction of the Rav, shlit”a,so that in everything that we speak, think, and do together, we should remember these things.” He closed the sefer.

Elkovitz, to his right, added in a whisper, “And everything we spoke about here tonight must remain secret, Rabbosai! Don’t forget that.”

Not another word was said. Anything relevant had already been conveyed. Now they all dispersed quickly and quietly, each one to his home.

Only the moon illuminated the path that stretched out in a straight line ahead, and Binyamin was alarmed for a moment when Mottel’s shadow appeared in his way.

Mottel stopped Binyamin. “Nu, did you finish learning?” Apparently he was coming from the clinic.

“For today, yes,” he answered. “A gut voch, Mottel. How is your little son?”

Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 70 of a new online serial novel, Nine A.M., by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every week.  Click here for previous chapters.

Copyright © Israel Bookshop Publications. 

This note is personal—please don’t tell anyone else that you got it! The offer is for a small group of people for whom it is noge’a.

If you want to join a group to learn sefer Chovos Halevavos, under the guidance of the Rav, please tell Binyamin Schvirtz. The group will probably gather on Motza’ei Shabbos to learn. Binyamin has more details.

Binyamin swallowed a yawn and read his draft for the eighth time. He deliberated whether or not to erase the secrecy warning at the beginning. Maybe it was better not to make it too mysterious; on the other hand, when their meetings would become known—and they would—it wouldn’t be good for them to be something that was open to everyone.

Some would see it as haughty on his part; others would be offended that he had not chosen them for the learning group. But he hoped they’d forgive him soon. Especially when the day would come—halevai it should be soon!—and they would also understand what was really behind this handpicked group.

He copied the note over five times in his best handwriting and glanced toward the window. Gauging by the darkness, he should get ready to go to Shacharis. Then he would climb up again to his secret place from yesterday and call Hanter. Rabbi Schwartzbrod had also advised him, just to be safe, to try to raise some matters of Yiddishkeit in the phone call, just to make absolutely sure that they were indeed Yidden and this was not some type of trap.

Elimelech Yehuda Kush had entered the shul before him; he was one of the people on the list. The list also included Yidel, Aunt Chani’s husband. Daniel Landau. Baruch Hertzlich. Yosef Posen. If all of them would want to join, of course. It was safe to assume that they would at least come over to him to find out more details, so they could decide if they wanted to join, and then they’d hear that it wasn’t only about learning.

He didn’t count himself, David, and Zeide, who would be giving the shiur.

Or Aryeh.

“Excuse me, Reb Meilech Yehuda,” he said, patting the other man on the shoulder, and without another word, stuck the small note into his hand. Appearing as if he’d long been used to getting secret notes like this, Reb Meilech Yehuda slid it naturally into his pocket and continued walking further inside.

Slowly, the people gathered for davening, including the other four men on his list. One by one, Binyamin slipped them the notes. He purposely did not keep an eye on them after that, and hoped that something about the secrecy in which he’d cloaked his words would make it obvious to them that there was something here beyond a learning group.

After davening, he spotted Uncle Yidel trying to make his way over to him through the other people, but Binyamin did not wait for him. His time was short right now; he had to speak to the man from the spice factory!

Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 69 of a new online serial novel, Nine A.M., by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every week.  Click here for previous chapters.

Copyright © Israel Bookshop Publications. 

A note on the small cradle in the infirmary:

To Reb Mottel,

It does not appear that your son’s bris will be able to be on time. The baby is too small and weak. If he gets stronger in the next two days, we will reconsider.

Shimshon Schwartzbrod

“When was Rabbi Schwartzbrod here?” Mottel asked as he studied his tiny son worriedly.

“Late last night,” Elky replied. “And I want to go home.”

“How can you? If the baby is too small and weak…”

“He has to stay for observation,” interjected Dr. Annie Katzburg from the other side of the large room. “And you do too, Elky.”

She didn’t answer.

Mottel looked at his baby’s eyes, which were open a crack. “He’s looking at me,” he whispered. “I want…I want to speak to the rav. I didn’t think he was in danger!”

“He will be fine,” the doctor said in a loud voice. “But he has to be given the best conditions possible, so that he can grow and become stronger.”

Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 68 of a new online serial novel, Nine A.M., by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every week.  Click here for previous chapters.

Copyright © Israel Bookshop Publications. 

H-A-N-T-E-R

Binyamin’s finger etched the letters deep into the ground. After a minute, he shook himself, rubbed the letters with the palm of his hand until there was no trace of the incriminating word, and pressed the top button on the device. A long, monotonous tone came through the earpiece, and he pressed the buttons of the numbers that he remembered by heart. Then he pressed the phone to his right ear. Hashem, sefasai tiftach…

The tone became intermittent. On and off. But no one answered.

Should he try again later?

By then, the Wangels might be awake already.

***

“Is it possible that the phone in the office is ringing?” Bentzy, passing by the locked door with his tallis bag, tilted his head toward the sound.

“Maybe,” his father said. “Yes. That’s the phone.”

“Who is calling at this hour? The workday hasn’t started yet.”