He was stuck, stuck, stuck with nowhere to go. His plans and ideas were good ones, all of them, but they were just plain useless if he didn’t have money

Frustrated, Betzalel thought. Hopeless. Practicing “feeling words” might be helpful in recognizing his feelings, but what good did that really do, anyway? It wouldn’t solve his problem. So what was the use in defining how he felt when there was no solution?

Betzalel kicked at a pebble with his scuffed sneaker and watched it fly, in a graceful arch, over the sidewalk. Then he kicked another one for good measure and felt another emotion bubbling up inside his chest. Anger, he identified, and then only felt angrier, ‘cause now he knew he felt frustrated, hopeless, and angry and how did that help him, exactly?  Betzalel knew that wasn’t quite accurate; it was often helpful, as he’d seen so many times in the past. Right now, though, he just wasn’t seeing how this was helpful.

His thoughts returned to Yitzchak as he continued marching down the sidewalk on his way home from their session. The wind howled, and the clouds were heavy, gray, and low in the sky. Thinking of Yitzchak always filled Betzalel with a strange sort of longing that was hard to identify with a “feeling word.” Maybe, maybe, it was loving. But it was a strong kind of love, a fierce, loyal kind of love, the kind of love you feel for someone who saved you. Remembering life before Yitzchak made Betzalel feel sad; that was an easy one to recognize. Life before Yitzchak was big and noisy and confusing. Working with Yitzchak over the last two years made Betzalel’s life clearer, the way the world came into focus when he washed his glasses after they got splattered with yogurt. Everything was easier to understand.

And that was the problem, really. Betzalel turned the last corner and could already see his house. He slowed his pace; thinking was harder at home, where his siblings generated a cacophony for most of the day. Here, outside, in the gloomy weather, it was quiet and easier to hear his own thoughts.

Yitzchak’s birthday was in four days. Yitzchak had mentioned it himself. Betzalel wanted to make it special, but he was just ten years old and didn’t have much money. There was a bit from Bubby Lerhfeld from his own birthday, but after buying the drone (which, of course, crashed and broke), it was just a dollar or two. That wasn’t nearly enough to make Yitzchak’s birthday special.

Betzalel realized that he didn’t just want to make it merely “special.” He wanted to do something stupendous, something wonderful, something that would show Yitzchak how much he, Betzalel, appreciated him and liked him.