"Your promotion was long overdue," said another worshipper, gently patting him on his back.

"We are proud of your achievements."

Yonathan was proud too, and gave a broad smile to every extended hand that stretched out to wish him good luck. He had brought some schnapps and cake to shul that Thursday morning, and the L'Chaims were genuine, but they were tinged with a trace of sadness. Everyone loved the gentle tempered Yonathan, who was always ready to help his fellow man. He was reliable too. The congregation could always count on him for minyan each morning, no matter how inclement the weather. And now... Yonathan was leaving his hometown in a mere two weeks, moving to a faraway place in California. Baruch Hashem it was to be a change for the better. He was promoted, after all, to a position few men, let alone Jews, acquired.

"We will always miss you," stated a latecomer with mixed emotions on his face as he raised the schnapps upward and said, "L'Chaim".

Finally Yonathan was on his way home, his Tallis baatel tucked neatly under his arm, clutched tightly to prevent it from G-d forbid slipping onto the floor. His T'fillin like all T'fillin were holy, but his were more valuable than most. It had once belonged to his Zaide, Shrage Favel, and now it was his. What a treasure, what a precious prize! He felt lucky to have such an honor and it was with these thoughts that he walked up the three flights of steps to his modest flat in Sheepshead Bay, Brooklyn.

The smell of freshly-brewed coffee and toast filled his nostrils, even before he opened the door. "Chana," he said, "What are you doing up so early? It is only 7:00 A.M. Why didn't you sleep at least another half hour?"

"I wanted to prepare breakfast. Isn't that what every fine Jewish woman should do for her husband?"

Yonathan didn't like her response. It sounded more like an act of drudgery, or duty, than an act of respect. Something eerie stirred in him and he felt uneasy as he went to wash his hands. Chana sat down to keep him company. Her placemat was on the table, but there was no evidence of food on it, while his was laden with eggs, toast and coffee. Chana felt her husband's questioning stare pierce through her thoughts.

"I'm not hungry," she said as she sharply turned around to wipe a tear that escaped her eyes. She did it quickly and composed herself instantly, but Yonathan noticed. Firmly he pushed his unfinished breakfast to the side and became alarmed. "What is it, Chana? Are you ill?" he asked.

"No," croaked Chana.

"Chana," he began in a surprised but gentle voice. "Something is bothering you. Tell me what it is."

"I know this promotion is a life-long dream come true for you. I will go with you. The Torah believes that a woman's place is where her husband is. It is a duty I shall fulfill. That is all. I don't want to ruin your happiness about your job. I'll just keep the rest of my thoughts to myself."

Yonathan was not one to give up easily. "My happiness is already marred seeing you so unhappy. You might as well tell me everything."

Chana needed no further coaxing. She glanced up and looked her husband straight in the eyes. Her once beautiful features were streaked with stress lines as she cried in anguish and pain. "I don't want to move to California." She whispered it so low that Yonathan was not sure he heard correctly.

"But, why?" he said, "isn't this what we always wanted, a chance to finally get some financial security, a little nest-egg for a rainy day? A little money to put aside for our son, Binyomin, to buy a house one day?"

Chana nodded, "All that you say is true. We worked for many years, living on below average wages of uneducated immigrants. After a grueling day at the sweat shop, you were determined to go to night school to graduate high school. In the Cadillac Car Company you had mazel. Hashem helped you to rise to the top as vice president of the company. It was a miracle, a dream come true. Yet, if we move away, we will lose our only son, you know that."

"Come on now, don't get carried away. Binyomin is a grown married man. He no longer needs us. It's not as if we are abandoning our child. All during his married life he has shown great maturity in all areas, especially in dealing with the emotional strain of having no children. Now, after seeing a million different doctors, Batsheva is finally six months pregnant. "Chana," he said with gratitude of love toward Hashem, who was so good to him in so many ways. "Hashem helped us survive the Holocaust and now we are shepping nachas from Binyomin. We have surpassed all our expectations, far beyond most immigrants. Now we owe it to ourselves to live a comfortable life. It isn't a sin, you know, to earn eighty thousand dollars a year. We'll be well off... almost rich."

"Yes, all that you say is true, but on what scale are you measuring success? Is it on a scale of how much money one earns, or is it on the boundless joy of watching your grandchild grow... in the traditions you fought tooth and nail to keep even under the most dire conditions?"

Yonathan was quiet. Chana had ceased talking. The room echoed the emptiness they felt since Binyomin left the house. Never was the vase out of place or crumbs of a cookie on the floor. Their house was too quiet, Yonathan thought. The past few years, he had gotten into the habit of opening the radio or putting on music, just so that the emptiness, the quietness didn't scream the message that was so obvious. THERE WERE NO CHILDREN IN THE HOUSE!!!!

To Be Continued