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.”