(Kobi Levy)
Menachem Conditon, known as Condi, the owner of the luxury garage "Condi, Ltd.", thought he was going to faint in a moment. That's all he was missing, really just that. He—may he be healthy—was overloaded with work to the sky, the clients plucking his feathers, his wife piped his pipe for his frequent absences, and all he needed now was Condy, took a deep breath, sat down in the next chair, sat down with the finger of his calloused right hand, his wide, shiny baldness, and felt that he was sinking into embarrassment, which he had no tools to deal with.
Wait, patience, what exactly was Mr. Condi missing or not missing? Mr. Conditon, the wealthy mechanic, has only one son, and he loves him. Love of soul. Condi looked at the huge knitted white skullcap of his only son, Tzvi, at his dangling tassels, at his dancing legs, and continued to whisper, "That's the only thing I missed." "Father, be happy. I am repentant, I am with the Creator of the world and you will be satisfied with me, smile Father smile, the garage is not the whole world, there is a Father in Heaven, there is Torah, there is Rebbe Nachman..."Zviki held his father's hands and tried to pick him up and dance with him a cheerful Breslov dance in the style of "In you Rabbeinu Nagila, in you Rabbeinu we rejoice." But Condi felt that his legs were heavy, his head was dizzy, "Zviki is repentant." "I am healthy, strong and happy and it is a great mitzvah to be happy, may Father rejoice in me." Zviki opened the orange plastic bag he was holding in his hand and peered inside. "What's in the bag?" asked Condy, who had recovered from the shock of the morning. "Two sandwiches and a few more papers..." The son answered.Tzvi Conditon, 21, took it upon himself to spread the Torah of our Rabbi. Booklets, books, stickers, all so that Jews would be happy, that they would believe that there is no despair in the world. And so a fascinating front opened up between father and son.
