Yaakov waved his hand. “I’m not offended. But let me explain the background.” He explained, watching his boss’s face change colors and his body grow more and more uncomfortable as he shifted in his seat.

“Well, I understand, and that is, of course, most unfortunate. But I’m sure you can appreciate that as a business, we have to keep our clients happy.”

There it was, the chorbyn. After all the sacrifices he’d made! All the hard work he’d invested! And now they were going to fire him, take away his livelihood, plunge his family back into an unbearable poverty. She’s going to leave me, he thought. And who could blame her? Who would want to be married to such an umglick?

“What if…,” Yaakov began in desperation, clutching at straws. “What if I tell you that in a few days all these complaints will disappear and the problem will be solved?” He made a herculean effort to sound confident, even as he recognized he had no idea how to make that happen.

“So you’re telling me, on your word, that I can call these clients back and assure them that the problem will be solved right away?”

Yaakov nodded, terrified of the commitment he was making. But what could happen that would be worse than getting fired? It was a risk worth taking. After all, miracles happen, he told himself.

“Well, I’m glad we had this little talk, then, Jacob. It’s been most fruitful. I’d hate to lose you. In fact, your own clients have had nothing but good things to say.”

“I’m happy to hear that. And I’ll take care of this. I appreciate your confidence in me and your patience.”

The man nodded with a stiff, dismissive smile.

Yaakov returned to his desk in a daze, the office and all its people, furniture, papers, lighting merging into a confused sound-and-light show that played out in front of him the way he imagined narcotic-fueled dreams displayed themselves in the minds of the drugged. But he had ingested nothing but a large dose of misery, enough to weigh him down and drown him in sorrow forever.

“What can I tell you, Basha? Everything is falling apart. The world is falling apart,” Fruma Esther said almost breathlessly as she leaned back on the easy chair, the most comfortable chair in the living room of her dear friend, the chair Basha’s husband, Rav Aryeh, used when he wasn’t out learning or teaching or being part of some neighborhood committee that decided the most difficult halachic issues. So most of the time, it was empty.

“Oy, I hate to see you like this, Fruma Esther! It’s not good for your heart!”