07-30-2019, 05:27 AM
(This post was last modified: 07-30-2019, 06:13 AM by Zechariah Meijer.)
Zechariah sat down while taking a deep breath, and then let out in a barely intelligible rush that might have had a melody absent hammered down into seven seconds:
“BaruchatahAdonai EloheinuMelech’aolamboraip’rihagafen baruchatahAdonai EloheinuMelech’aolamasherkid’shanub’mitzvotav’ratzahvanu v’Shabbatkodsho-” breath “b’ahavahuv’ratzonhinchilanuzikaron’lmaaseihv’reishit kihuyomt’chilahl’mikra-eikodesh zecher,” side-eyeing Uriel, “litziat Mitzrayim kivanuvachartav’otanukidashtamikol haamimv’shabbat kodsh’chab’ahavahuvratzonhinchaltanu baruchataAdonaim’kadeish’aShabbat.”
Zechariah had been quite the know-it-all as a kid, and while subdued, there was still an edge of that what with using the extended evening prayer rather than just blessing the wine and getting on with it like their father preferred. He poured wine for himself, took a quick sip (as Uriel might recognize as traditional), and started pouring for each of them with a quick glance to see if they seemed opposed.
He served himself and left the others to do the same, heading first for his brisket. This was not the start of a quiet night. Zechariah ate, for once grateful that his brother had more to say.
He waited for him to say something.
He glanced to Uriel’s plate, halfway through his first slice of brisket. He was eating faster than him. His chewing slowed with a vaguely uneasy look.
Oh no. Had Uriel killed someone? He always figured if one of them ended up a criminal, it would have been Menachem. Well. Before university, anyway. Oh God. Was his innocent brother a murderer now?
A horrible soap opera played out in his eyes until Uriel finally spoke. His shoulders sagged in relief, and he swallowed the over-chewed brisket down. Thank the Lord!
“Beautiful,” he sighed out in relief, only to catch sight of the not-quite-dressed half-drowned man in the reflection of one of the serving dishes.
Fuck.
Thankfully, conversation moved on.
“Bought a place,” Zechariah said. “To let?”
Surely - hopefully - the constable was not onto something about Uriel living here.
Buying it as a landlord was the only conclusion he could reach. Uriel had a head for math, and it was an excellent business opportunity, he supposed. Besides, he was far too young for starting a family, and their mother would have strung the news of an engagement to Israel and back!
“BaruchatahAdonai EloheinuMelech’aolamboraip’rihagafen baruchatahAdonai EloheinuMelech’aolamasherkid’shanub’mitzvotav’ratzahvanu v’Shabbatkodsho-” breath “b’ahavahuv’ratzonhinchilanuzikaron’lmaaseihv’reishit kihuyomt’chilahl’mikra-eikodesh zecher,” side-eyeing Uriel, “litziat Mitzrayim kivanuvachartav’otanukidashtamikol haamimv’shabbat kodsh’chab’ahavahuvratzonhinchaltanu baruchataAdonaim’kadeish’aShabbat.”
Zechariah had been quite the know-it-all as a kid, and while subdued, there was still an edge of that what with using the extended evening prayer rather than just blessing the wine and getting on with it like their father preferred. He poured wine for himself, took a quick sip (as Uriel might recognize as traditional), and started pouring for each of them with a quick glance to see if they seemed opposed.
He served himself and left the others to do the same, heading first for his brisket. This was not the start of a quiet night. Zechariah ate, for once grateful that his brother had more to say.
He waited for him to say something.
He glanced to Uriel’s plate, halfway through his first slice of brisket. He was eating faster than him. His chewing slowed with a vaguely uneasy look.
Oh no. Had Uriel killed someone? He always figured if one of them ended up a criminal, it would have been Menachem. Well. Before university, anyway. Oh God. Was his innocent brother a murderer now?
A horrible soap opera played out in his eyes until Uriel finally spoke. His shoulders sagged in relief, and he swallowed the over-chewed brisket down. Thank the Lord!
“Beautiful,” he sighed out in relief, only to catch sight of the not-quite-dressed half-drowned man in the reflection of one of the serving dishes.
Fuck.
Thankfully, conversation moved on.
“Bought a place,” Zechariah said. “To let?”
Surely - hopefully - the constable was not onto something about Uriel living here.
Buying it as a landlord was the only conclusion he could reach. Uriel had a head for math, and it was an excellent business opportunity, he supposed. Besides, he was far too young for starting a family, and their mother would have strung the news of an engagement to Israel and back!
