“Shalom,” I said. “Care for a nut?” he asked. “No, thank you,” I said. “Would it kill you to have a cashew?” he asked, smiling. “It might,” I said, smiling back. “Little Rachel,” he said. “Tell me. How are your roots feeling? Have you been going deep?” He tossed a pistachio my way. “To be honest, Rabbi, I feel scared,” I said, catching it. “What’s to be scared of?” he asked. I opened the pistachio like a tiny door. But it was empty, no nut, just a shell. I tossed the shell onto the grass. “Spreading,” I said. “Not so much vertically but horizontally.” “What’s so scary about the horizontal?” he
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