Faye Kellerman - Sanctuary

Her sons had no such qualms. Suitcases in hand, they marched into the room, each one headed for a different bookcase. Sammy scanned the volumes of the Mishna Torah authored by the Rambam. Yonkie went straight for a set of Shas-the Talmud.

Rina watched her sons from the doorway. Sammy was actually more tall than big, but his shoulders were starting to widen, his musculature beginning to fill out. Rina thought him objectively very handsome. A mop of sandy-colored hair surrounded an unusually clear, adolescent complexion napped by peach fuzz. His eyes were dark and alert, and though his teeth were encased in braces, she could make out the future man in the teenager’s face.

Jakie was still a boy. He had just started his growth spurt, but his arms and legs continued to be thin and bony. His complexion was baby-smooth peaches-and-cream; his blue eyes held a mischievous sparkle.

Both of her sons wore untucked, long-sleeved white shirts that fell over dark pants. Their feet were protected by high tops. Neither was wearing a hat, which immediately marked them as visitors rather than live-in students.

Rina felt a presence behind her. She turned to see Rav Schulman walking down the hallway some fifty feet away. He was walking by himself-a rarity-and headed toward the Bais Midrash. Right on time. Rina straightened her spine and, without thinking, cast her eyes downward. Some habits were impossible to break.

A twinkle in his eye, he nodded to her as he entered the study hall, and she nodded back. It wasn’t that he was ignoring her. He didn’t want to embarrass her by being overly solicitous. The students in the room immediately stood upon the old man’s arrival and the great Rav motioned them to sit back down. He crooked a finger at Sammy, then at Yonkie. The two boys came over, their heads lowered, hands straight down at their sides.

Stroking his long, white beard, Schulman welcomed them with a warm smile. Rina always felt his kind expression combined with crinkly, alert eyes opened up the Rosh Yeshiva’s face, made him seem younger than his eighty years. Yet he was an old man now. His spine was bent, his fingers, once long and graceful, were now spindly and misshapen. But the great Rav still had spark left in his earthly body. As usual, he was dressed immaculately-a dark suit, starched white shirt, and shiny black oxfords. A new, stylish homburg covered his snowy hair.

Sammy stood up straight, then realized his shirttail was untucked. Quickly he remedied the situation only to realize he wasn’t wearing his hat.

“I left my hat at home, Rav,” he said, softly.

“Is your head cold, Shmuel?”

Sammy stifled a smile. “No, Rav. I just…”

Schulman placed his hands on Sammy’s shoulders. “You’ve grown into nearly a young man, Shmuli. If you’d like to wear a hat, I’m sure I have something to fit you at home.”

“Thank you, Rav.”

“You’re welcome.” He turned his eyes to Jacob. “And you too, have grown, young man. It’s so good to see you both developing and in good health.” He placed his right hand over Shmuel’s head, his left over Jacob’s. Closing his eyes, he said a prayer for their well-being.

Afterward, Schulman opened his eyes and smiled. “So what are you two learning. Yonkie first.”

“Baba Kama.”

“That is a difficult masechet for sixth grade.” Schulman tousled the boy’s hair. “It is a difficult masechet for any grade. I am happy your new school is challenging your mind. Now you, Shmuel. How is school taxing your gray matter.”

Sammy lowered his eyes. “We’re learning Makkot and…Baba Basra. We just started Baba Basra.”

“A good choice. I miss you both but I can see you two are in able hands.” He turned to Rina, then turned back to her sons. “I’m sure your eema made sure of that.”

Both boys nodded. The Rosh Yeshiva looked around the Bais Midrash, always interested in who was learning when it wasn’t required.

“You boys seem anxious to learn. It restores my faith in the school you attend. But even scholars must have food in their stomachs. Go into the dining room and have some dinner. If you two have eaten, go anyway and catch up with old friends.”

Sammy and Jacob exchanged looks.

“Go, go!” Schulman shooed them away. “You’ll have plenty of time to learn tomorrow.”

Sammy said, “Should we take our suitcases, Rav?”

The Rosh Yeshiva nodded. “Come to my house after dinner and we’ll do a little head-sizing, then a little Gemara. I’ll see you both later.”

The boys picked up their suitcases and scampered off, calling out a bye to Rina. She waved her fingers at them.

Rav Schulman motioned Rina to come walk with him. She waited for him to leave the room and start walking, but kept a few paces behind him. Schulman stopped and beckoned her forward. Quickly, Rina took a place by his side. They walked down a long hallway of the building until they found the door leading to the grounds.

The yeshiva had been built into the valley’s mountainside, and the perimeter of the school was still marked with much of the original terrain-rocky terraces naturally landscaped with wild vegetation and flowers. The grounds themselves had been bulldozed and leveled for the buildings. The dozen or so structures were separated by rolling lawns scored with cement pathways. Rina walked with the Rav in silence as they headed toward a grouping of private houses.

Rav Schulman and his wife lived in the largest house in the tract. Not because his ego demanded it-although that would have been fitting-but because the couple was always entertaining guests. Sammy and Jacob were just two of the many people who revolved through the Schulmans’ doors. The house had six bedrooms upstairs and a downstairs with no living room or den. Most of the bottom level space had been converted to a communal dining room dressed with long, linen-covered tables. What space was left had been allocated for a kitchen, a service bathroom, and the Rav’s study.

The old man swung open an unlocked door and waved Rina inside. As she came in, the smell of homemade chicken soup opened her nostrils. Schulman sniffed deeply.

“Smells good.”

“Very,” Rina answered. “The Rebbitzen is a wonderful cook.”

“I have been truly blessed. Not only is the Rebbitzen a eshet chayil, but a superb chef, Baruch Hashem. Me? Maybe I can boil an egg.”

The old man took a seat at one of the dining tables, keeping the front door wide open. In Jewish law, it was forbidden for a man and women who weren’t married to each other to be alone in a closed room. From the Rav’s action, Rina surmised that no one else was home.

Schulman folded his hands and set them on the table, inviting Rina to sit across from him. He said, “As I recall, Rina Miriam, you were quite a cook yourself.”

“With time, I improved.” She smiled. “The first time you and the Rebbitzen ate over our house, Rav Schulman, I burned the roast.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“I do very much. All of us ate leather that night. I should have brought in take-out and made wallets out of the meat.”

“And what did Yitzchak say to you after the meal was over?”

“He told me I prepared a lovely meal and that the roast was delicious.”

Schulman smiled sadly. “He was a good boy, my Yitzchak, alav shalom. I miss him still.”

Rina nodded but said nothing.

“Akiva is a good boy as well. Different those two, but similar in character. Both were endowed with a strong moral fiber.” He smiled again. “And with a strong love for you.”

“I’ve been very fortunate, Baruch Hashem.”

“Tell me how my Akiva is doing? As tormented as ever?”

Rina let go with a small smile. “He works hard.”

“That disappearing Israeli family…that is Akiva’s assignment?”