Page 33 of The Dreidl Disaster

It was the town.

Not only that, but he was making it clear that the town and its residents deserved better than what they’d been given. And that it was his job to help make sure they got better.

If nothing else, that was going to be her undoing, and before she could analyze his words yet again, she reminded herself she had a job to do.

“Now, let the meeting proceed.”

And with a bang of her gavel, that’s just what happened.

*

Artur decided itwould be easier if he broke down the comments into categories, and halfway through the first part of the meeting, he’d gotten into a system.

The first few comments were concerns about lettering on signs and spelling.

“I saw three dreidl graphics that had been placed on the PowerPoint,” said one concerned resident, “and if this organization is sponsoring a dreidl sculpture for the town, I would be very concerned about how it’s going to end up looking. Those graphics had the wrong letters on a few different sides, none of which could potentially be on a dreidl.”

The next comments were about the proposed set of food items to be sold and served.

“Could you even have a Hanukkah festival without the traditional foods?” one resident wondered.

“Not even one drop of oil can be found anywhere in this proposed menu!” complained another. “It is SACRILEGE.”

Three other people spoke specifically about some of the events planned. “We don’t hunt gelt,” said one annoyed man as he adjusted his glasses. “The only things we hunt are chametz before Passover and the afikomen during Passover. Where are the dreidls? Where areour customs?”

“Dreidls are probably spelled wrong,” yelled one of the residents who’d complained about the lettering earlier in the meeting, “and confusing everybody.”

Spelling was important, so were dreidls. He wrote a few notes and then let things continue.

“What bothers me,” said the next resident, “is the disrespect on top of everything else. Not every Jew in Briarwood observes Shabbat the same way; heck some even go to the congregation in Rivertown because it’s got more Hebrew in the service, and they read Torah on Friday nights, and others go to Hollowville because they love the music and the choir. Who knows why people go to different synagogues? But we all respect the way the others observe. That does not include staging an event that CONFLICTS with services ON THE TEMPLE GROUNDS. That’s not us. That’s not Briarwood.”

Artur nodded, remembered the idea he’d floated of a stage set up by the sculpture in the center of town, and took notes to see how he could make that happen.

But as the night went on, the temperature of the responders went up. More and more people were angry and felt free to express that anger. Which was both a good and a bad thing.

Good because they were comfortable and felt that their anger could be both heard and understood. Bad? The fact that they were this angry made him realize that nothing he could have done would have prepared him for how badly Flaire had messed everything up.

He also firmly believed that what saved him and kept him here was his intention to let the population speak and genuinely listen. With a generous assist from his lack of desire to defend anything Flaire had done, his Judaism, and his years in Rivertown. Without any of those, he’d be a melted marshmallow on a smore of anger.

And yet there were still more comments coming.

Thankfully, he’d gotten inspired.

He scribbled a quick note, and passed it to the mayor. He felt like a little kid in school, passing notes to the teacher.

And yet it couldn’t be helped.

She unfolded the paper and nodded.

“Ten-minute recess,” Liv…Mayor Nachman said before banging the gavel authoritatively.

Which was exactly when he wanted. He nodded to the audience, stood, and followed Liv out of the room.

*

A recess.

What was going through his mind as he called for a recess?

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