And the Lord spoke to Moses, saying: “Speak to the Israelites, that they take me a donation from every man, as his heart may urge”

Terumah Exodus 25:1

“As we enter the season of giving, we are asking each of our employees to give, give, give.  Give with your hearts.  Give with your money.  But most of all, we are asking you to give with your time.  Madeline will be handing out “giving cards” to all of you, where you can each write down your commitment to this year’s great cause, “Homes for the Homeless”.  So, pick up a pencil and let us know how many hours you’ll commit to over the coming weekends.  And then, after you pick up a pencil, you can pick up a hammer, pick up a nail, and join us next month as we all bang together and make Los Angeles a better place to live!”

Ray Samuelson was the only person in all of RealHomes.com who showed up to work wearing a suit and tie, and he dressed that way every day.  Being the CEO, he believed that he needed to dress the part of a leader, even in an era of enforced casualness.  From his perch on the stage, he smiled to see that the HR department admin, Madeline, had already developed a system for handing out the volunteer sign up cards.  She cut through the middle of the crowd and handed stacks to her left and right, and the other employees would take one and pass the rest to the sides as Madeline pushed to the back, parting the waters of employees effortlessly.  Samuelson stepped down from the stage to mingle with his executives.

Isaac Abravanel put his arm around the CEO. “Hey, Ray, are we going to see you going to bang nails in your Guccis?”.  Isaac was RealHomes’ Chief Technology Officer, and his twenty-year friendship with Ray Samuelson permitted him to speak in a way that no one else did.

“I don’t bang anything in my Guccis.  I will be wearing regular Levi jeans, and everyone who shows up gets the same work shirt that I’ll be wearing.”

“Nothing to set yourself apart from the rest of us?” Isaac insisted.

“My good looks, which you’ll never have, and my boots, which you can’t afford.” Ray had a carefully studied tan along with a model’s smile, and his silver hair was rich enough that he could afford to have it cut tightly and not worry about showing any bald spots.  Ray was trim and muscular, while Isaac had a bulge in his belly, and a bald bulls-eye on his head. It was the lack of any real contest in their appearance that made Ray feel comfortable teasing his long-time friend.  “I broke down on the boots last weekend when Jessica and I were in Saks.  Have you ever heard of Bottega Venetas?  They look like, well they look like boots, but when you put your feet in you feel like Italian angels have come to lift you off the ground.  Just don’t ask what they cost.”   

Ray thought he saw the head of Human Resources, Eileen Kinnison, trying to get past him, so he quickly pivoted to her.  “Eileen!  Your girl Madeline is doing a fabulous job.  Watch out or I’m going to promote her and replace the guy who works for me now.  Do me a favor.  Collect the cards, and organize this whole thing.  I’m expecting one hundred percent participation.  You find anyone not volunteering, kick his ass.  Or let me know and I’ll kick it.  Homes for the Homeless is too good for anybody to say ‘no’ to.”

Ray had a lot of people to please and a lot of people he needed to be looking up to him.  He felt good about his ability to command the employee pool overall.  He dressed well, looked great for a man of sixty, and when he spoke to the crowd, he could easily lock on anyone’s eyes in a second.  But there was more substance behind his executive leadership team, and they expected more from him.

“I don’t think we should talk about kicking anyone’s ass, Mr. Samuelson,” Eileen told him.

“Why the hell not?”

“Because someone could hear you say that, and as your human resource lead, I don’t want a lawsuit.”

“What’s the bad part?  The kicking or the fact that I said ‘ass’”?

“Now that you mention it, probably both.  But I was taking it as a whole.”

“See?  That’s why I have you here.  To keep me in line.  Just get them banging nails and doing good things.”

In two days, Eileen was in her office screening resumes for an opening in IT when she got a text on her screen from Madeline.

Missing a card for homeless project. Did you see one? – Maddy

Nothing here.  What’s the volunteer rate? – El

100% unless you count the missing card – Maddy

Then don’t count it. 😉 No seriously check the roster.  They were probably on Personal Time Off– El

I adjusted for anyone on PTO. – Maddy

Nothing here.  Let me know what you find – El

Lookout Ray’s coming to your office – Maddy

The warning was beside the point. Ray had in fact just arrived. He announced himself with his usual introduction.

“Forgive me for barging.”

Ray was impatient about everything, whether the building was on fire, the company was about to go bankrupt, or he just wanted to chat.

“How is the volunteer count? Tell me we’re at a hundred percent.”

“A hundred percent of all the cards turned in.”

“I gave a great speech, didn’t I?  If I ran a Viking slave ship, people would be falling all over each other to grab an oar.”

“You found your calling.”

“Don’t worry about the missing cards.  In five years, I’ve never seen anyone not hand theirs in.  Ask Madeline to check the roster.”

“She’s already on it.”

“See?  That’s why I have you here.”

After lunch, Madeline took over an empty conference room to spread the cards out on a table so that she could sort them by the first letters of everyone’s last name.  By the time she got to ‘R’ she was about ready to gouge her eyes out, but kept going anyway.  She could feel her face getting flush as she got to the name Ivan Takacs and realized that his card wasn’t in the stack.  She went through every card in the ‘T’ stack again.  Then she went one more time through every card, and each card was a tiny drama of fear that possibly she had not indeed found the one employee to not file a card.  But she finally felt confident that she had discovered the miscreant.  She ran into Eileen’s office and shouted with the pride as though she was announcing a royal guest at a grand ball.

“IVAN TAKACS in I.T!”

“I’m on with a recruiter.  What are you talking about?”

“The missing card!  It’s Ivan Takacs!”

Eileen turned back to the phone and told the recruiter that she’d have to get back to him because the CEO was pinging her, and then she zeroed her attention over to her assistant.

“Figures it would be one of the prima donnas in I.T.  Are you sure?”

“I checked every card.  I’d stake my job on it.”

“Be careful what you wish for.”   Eileen dialed the company directory and hoped that the voice recognition system would recognize her best guess of the pronunciation.  “Ivan.  Tay-kacks.”  The phone rang twice.

“Ivan here.”

Eileen vowed to take it slow and forced a smile in order to keep her voice friendly and supportive.

“Ivan!  Eileen Kinnison in Human Resources.  I hope you’ve been having a great day.”

Employees don’t generally like hearing from HR.  It usually means you’re going to be fired, or there’s paperwork to deal with.

“What’s up?”

“I need to apologize, Ivan.  You were there at Ray’s meeting when he asked us all to chip in and volunteer with Homes For The Homeless, right?  I think Madeline must have lost your sign-up card, because yours is the only one that’s missing.”

“No one lost it.  I threw it out.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.  You must have misunderstood.  Every employee needed to fill one out. Would you like us to get you another one?  Where do you sit?”

“No misunderstanding.  Just get a card, put my name on it, and mark a big ‘X’ where it says “No.  That’s T-A-K-A-C-S.”

“I know how to spell your name, Ivan Takacs.  Did I pronounce that correctly?”

“It doesn’t matter as long as you know how to spell it correctly.  T-A-K-A-C-S.  N-O.”

“Well actually Ivan, there isn’t a check box for ‘no’”.

“Then write one in, please.”

“Ivan, I guess you’ve been working here less than a year.  Every year, our president chooses a good cause for our employees to volunteer.  And except for people who are sick, we expect, and we get, one hundred percent cooperation.  You’re not sick I hope.”

“No no no.  I’m perfectly fine.  I was just planning on spending that weekend with my girlfriend.”

“How nice!  Well, you know, we have four consecutive weekends for you to choose from.  I’m sure you can, you know, pull yourself apart for at least one day.  It’s a great cause, you know.”

“It’s a fantastic cause.  There are just things I’d rather do with my time.”

“I totally understand.  It must be a new relationship.  I get how that is.  You can’t pull yourself apart.  You’re so lucky to have found someone like that.  I have an idea!  Why don’t you both come down and join the fun?  You don’t have to work for the company to volunteer!  And let me tell you, nothing makes a relationship closer than working together for the common good.”

“Are you married?  Does your husband come down to volunteer?”

“I’m divorced but…”

“He should have come down to volunteer.”

“Actually, he did on several occasions, but there were other…”

“I think Rebecca and I will be okay.”

“Ivan.  Let me be perfectly clear.  Mister Samuelson is expecting one hundred percent participation, and except for you he has it.  Do you understand what that means?”

“That he won’t be getting one hundred percent participation?  Look, the company has more than two hundred employees, right?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Just round up.  Ninety-nine-point six percent becomes one hundred.  Same thing.”

“I don’t think I’m getting through to you.”

“I appreciate the opportunity,” Ivan said.

Eileen expected Ivan to hang up.  She had nothing more to say, but did not want to be the one to hang up.  The two of them held onto the phone for another twenty seconds or so, sharing the silence, until Eileen decided that her time was too important to have a phone-staring-contest, and so she chose to be the one to hang up.  Then immediately after doing so, she had a sort of seller’s remorse, and wished that she had just one more thing to say to Ivan that would have turned him around.  She had no idea what that was, though.

She needed to decide whether to take the initiative and tell Ray what had gone down with Ivan, or to wait for Ray’s call.  She decided that if she waited for his call, she’d naturally start the conversation on the defensive, so she picked up the phone.

“Mister Samuelson, I wanted to let you know that Maddy found out whose card was missing, and I’ve had a conversation with him.”

“Fantastic!  I want to apologize to you for blowing this a little out of proportion.  I should have known you’d be on top of this.  So, we’re at a hundred percent, right?”

She paused.  It was time to round up.  “One hundred percent.  To the percent.”

“Who did you have to persuade?”

“Someone in IT. “

“What’s his NAME?”

“Ivan Takacs.”

“Ivan Takacs in IT.  Very appropriate.  What weekend will I be seeing him?”

“Well, you won’t.  He had prior commitments.  But when you round, we’re still at a hundred percent, so we’re there in spirit and mathematically.”

When it took ten seconds for Ray to respond, Eileen knew she was screwed.

“Eileen, you can round to fifty percent.  You can round to ninety-nine percent.  But a hundred percent means one hundred fucking percent with no exceptions!  Do you understand me?”

Without waiting for an answer, he asked what excuse this Ivan Takacs had for not showing up.

“He’s spending every single day of the next four weekends with his girlfriend?  Is he totally unable to stop fucking her for four consecutive hours and do some good for his community?”

Ray often did expect answers to his rhetorical questions, so Eileen was relieved when he hung up on her.

Then Ray had his assistant call up Ivan and arrange for a lunch date with him at L’escargot, the one prestige restaurant in Downtown Burbank.

Downtown Burbank had mostly casual ethnic restaurants, the sort where you could eat inside and still feel as though you were halfway onto the street.  When Ivan entered L’escargot, he felt himself immediately sealed off from the city.  Once inside the restaurant, you could be anywhere.  Downtown Los Angeles, or even New York or Chicago.  It made no difference because the heavy front door, carefully angled lighting, and Hudson River School paintings set the interior apart from any world that you would care to escape from.

Ivan was brought over to the table where Ray was waiting and watching.  Ray immediately greeted Ivan with his tan and his million-dollar smile.

“Sit down, the waiter will pour us some wine as soon as he comes back.  That’s Ivan Tay-kacks.  Did I pronounce that correctly?” But Ray didn’t wait for an answer.  “Everyone pronounces my name correctly, but I bet no one can spell either of our names.  I like to get to know my employees, and IT is one of the three legs that holds our company up.  Product, sales, and information.  Everything else is sand in the machine. “

Ray went on to learn how long Ivan had been with the company, He spelled out his vision for the future and the importance of information in driving decisions.  Ivan was enjoying the wine and mostly ignoring Ray’s bullshit, even though he was genuinely impressed with how important Ray made the company look, and how important he seemed to make Ray’s job look.

Ray went on, “I was so very sorry to hear that you can’t join us for a single weekend in the next month.  Eileen told me you needed to be with your girlfriend.  She must be really something.  Or else she’s got you wrapped around her finger which, believe me, is not a pattern you want to set.  The company is going to be building Homes for the Homeless on eight weekend days in the next month, and I’m going to be at every one of them.  I’m married to an absolutely stunning woman.  I’ve got two kids: nine and six years old.  Do you think I have the time?  No.  I make the time.  Sure, it’s a sacrifice.  But you know who benefits from it the most?  Not the homeless people we help.  You.  You benefit.  It makes you a better person.  So, I want you to think very, very, very carefully, go back and look at your calendar, and find that one day in the next four weekends that you can volunteer.”

“I already told your HR person that I think it’s a great cause.”

“It is.”

“And it’s not that I can’t make the time.  It’s just not something I care to do.  Rebecca and I have a lot of things we want to do together in the next month…”

“I can imagine.”

“…and I don’t want to give them up.”

Ray put his knife and fork down.

“I try to tiptoe around this, but sometimes I forget.  You computer people, some of you are better off when everything is spelled out like a little program.  I am not asking you if you will volunteer.  I invited you to this very nice lunch because I thought I might hint that I expect you to.  I expect one hundred percent participation and I always get it.  Volunteering is mandatory.  Do you understand now?”

“Well, I guess that doesn’t make much sense then.”

“No one in this company has ever accused me of not making sense. Not to my face. “

“I’m not criticizing you, Mister Samuelson.  I’m just saying that volunteering for something has to be voluntary, right?  If it’s not voluntary, then how is it volunteering?”

“It’s volunteering because you’re not getting paid.”

“I’m not getting paid, but it’s work and it’s mandatory.  That sounds like something else.  Not volunteering.”

The boss began staring at his chicken as though it were an oracle that would provide a definitive reply to this son of a bitch who was giving him a hard time.  The chicken would not comply, so instead he picked up his knife and fork again and cut into it with a rapid slash.

“Are you enjoying your lunch?  And are you enjoying your wine?”

“Very much so.  Thank you.  This is…”

“Good.  I’d like you to continue to do so.”

Neither man spoke another word to each other for the rest of the meal.  When Ivan had finished eating, Ray pointed to the door with his knife and then returned to his wine. When Ivan had left the room, even to the fringed edge of his shadow, Ray put down his wine and picked up his phone.

“Eileen, listen carefully.  You know those thermometer graphs they put up to show how close to the goal the company or the bowling league or whatever the crap has reached?  Well, I want you to find someone in the graphics department to make me one of those. On the top, write “Homes For The Homeless participation.”  Then fill it with red to just below the one hundred percent line – and leave that last sliver bright white.  Then I want your guy to put a big black arrow pointing to the part that’s missing, and write in huge letters ‘IVAN TAKACS.’  Do I need to repeat myself?”

“I can’t do that, Mister Samuelson.  He could sue us for creating a hostile work environment.”

“Then don’t put his name.  Next to the arrow, write ‘One asshole’ and put the sign in the main lobby by the elevators.”

“With respect, I don’t think that’s appropriate.”

“Then figure it out.”

The next morning, every employee waiting in the lobby for the elevator saw a beautifully illustrated sign.  The artist had created a dynamic 3D effect that made the thermometer real enough to hug.  At the top was an arrow and the words ‘Just one more to go!’ and the portrait of a smiling puppy.

When Ray Samuelson arrived in the lobby, he got into a staring contest with the puppy.  He was convinced the puppy blinked just as the elevator arrived.

Ray did not know that Ivan was already in the CTO’s office at Eileen’s request.  Since the issue of volunteering wasn’t really part of anyone’s professional duties, Eileen preferred to keep the whole affair out of the technology department that Ivan worked in.  But Ivan already had a sit down with herself and with Ray, and there was no one else to turn to.  She knew that Isaac had recruited Ivan, and hoped that their conversation could be less contentious.

“I saw the thermometer downstairs, Isaac told Ivan.  “You’re on the job for four months and you’re already immortalized. And not in a good way.  What’s the big deal about volunteering one day in the next month?”

“I just had things I’d rather do.  I never thought it was a big deal,” said Ivan. 

“Well, look around.  You got invited to lunch with the CEO, and the last time I ate at L’escargot with Ray Samuelson, he left me with the check.  There’s a huge sign in the lobby with everything but your name on it.  Trust me, it’s a big deal.”  They were interrupted by a rat-a-tat on the inside of Isaac’s open door.  Suneel, Isaac’s director, tilted his head inside.

“Sorry to interrupt.  I see Ray doesn’t have a hundred percent on the homeless thing.  If it’s all the same to you, my parents are coming from India to be staying with us that month. It’s been five years; it may be their last visit.  I hope you don’t mind if I opt-out.”

“Can we talk about it later?”

“Ninety nine percent.  Ninety eight percent.  It’s the same thing.”

Isaac tilted his head down as he spoke to his director.

“We don’t have a hundred percent but I’m working on it.”

“Oh!  Ivan!  Is that you at the top of the thermometer?  Please say no.  You’ll do us all a favor.”

“Trust me, he will not be doing anyone a favor.  I know you love your parents.  Please find one day.”

“Just say no, Ivan!”, and Suneel disappeared before Isaac could throw the crumpled ball of paper at him.

As Isaac fetched his ball of paper, he had to run back to his desk to answer the phone.

“Yes, he’s with me right now.”  Isaac pointed into his phone and then pantomimed a necktie to indicate that it was Ray on the other end.  “I’m making progress.”  Then Isaac pantomimed turning his make-believe necktie into a noose, and then pointed at Ivan.  “I think he’s just been overwhelmed by the attention.  He’s a good kid.” Isaac pointed to Ivan and then floated his palm upward to indicate how he was supporting Ivan.  “He wants to do the right thing.  That’s why we hired him.  Well, that and his skills.”

Then, Ivan no longer needed Isaac to translate into sign language because he could hear Ray’s profanities causing the phone to explode even across the desk.

“I guess I’m in trouble,” Ivan suggested.

“Fortunately, that wasn’t about you.  Something else seemed to be bugging Ray, and he hung up on me.  But please find a day.  One day.  And do it before Suneel makes plans with his parents.”

The spark that lit Ray Samuelson’s fiery barrage of obscenities was the fact that Madeline had just left a note on his desk telling him that five people had called that morning to “un-volunteer.”

“I told your boss to write Ivan’s name on the poster”, Ray explained to Madeline, controlling himself.  “I told her to write ‘one asshole’ on the poster.  Instead, I got a puppy dog.  Why didn’t she follow my directions?”

“Would you like me to ask her, Mister Samuelson?”

“No don’t ask her.  Her answer is always the same thing.  She doesn’t want us to get sued.”

“Well, isn’t that her job?”

“I know what her job is.  I just don’t like it.”

The next morning that Ray walked up to the elevator bank, he could feel his heart begin to race as he looked for the thermometer graph.  Someone had put white pieces of tape to cover up some of the red; it was now noticeably further down from the hundred-per-cent mark.  The arrow and the words “just one more to go” had been covered up and replaced with ‘We can do it!’, and someone had drawn a frown on the puppy’s face.  Ray pulled the poster off the wall, folded it, and tucked it under his arm just in time for the elevator to arrive.

Ivan was already working at his desk in his cubicle when Suneel came over and placed a small plastic tub under his monitor.

“This is for you, my friend!”, Suneel told him.  “A gift from my mother!  Have you ever had gulab jamun?”  It wasn’t clear whether Ivan’s confused expression meant that he didn’t know what gulab jamun was, or just that he had no idea why Suneel was giving this to him, so Suneel answered both questions at once.  “It’s Indian dessert.  It’s a sweet fried ball of dough.  That little cup has honey syrup, but you don’t pour it on until you’re ready to eat it.  My mother made it especially for you to thank you for letting me spend one more day with her.  But she made one for me too – so we all benefit!”

“I didn’t do anything.”  Ivan really was puzzled, and he poked at the ball with his finger.  “But I’m sure it’s delicious.”

“You made it possible for me to say ‘no’.  I couldn’t be the only one.  I would say that now there’s two of us, but did you see the thermometer in the lobby?”

When Ivan had returned to his desk from lunch that afternoon, he had three more presents on his desk.  One little box said “thank you” and had a piece of baklava in it.  A cardboard box from the nearby bakery had the inscription “You da man” and had a piece of chocolate cake.  The third was a paper bag with a drawing of a puppy designed to mimic the one originally on the poster before it was defaced.  When Ivan looked inside, he felt himself go pale.  It was a small dried dog turd.  He turned the bag around for a clue.  It read “You’re why we can’t have good things.”

Ivan wasn’t sure whether to show it to Isaac, but he finally decided that he didn’t want any more notoriety, whether good or bad.  He looked around to see if someone was watching and gloating, but there was no one.  He rolled the bag tightly and decided that the only place he could properly dispose of it was the trash in the bathroom, where he could also go to wash his hands.  As he scrubbed, another unfamiliar employee came in and began washing his own hands at the next sink.

“You’ll never get clean,” the man said.  He was about thirty, had a rich head of sandy colored hair, and a goatee.  He would not look at Ivan, not in his eyes, not at all, but he kept scrubbing.  “I get it.  You hate people worse off than yourself.  But what your type doesn’t get is that for the world to work, it requires a hundred percent cooperation.  I wish we could take your type, bring you all into a room, wave our hands, and have you all disappear as though you never existed.  Then all that was left would be people who could work together without ego.  Not a single individual who puts his selfish interests above the common good.  You’re why we can’t have good things.  I hope you enjoy your desserts.”  The man turned his back on Ivan, dried his hands and left without ever looking back.

Until five minutes ago, the main question on Ivan’s mind was what order to eat his three gifts: the gulab jamun, the baklava, and the chocolate cake.  The treat given to him by Suneel seemed most special, so he wanted that tonight, and to save the chocolate to share with his girlfriend this coming Saturday.  But in what he hoped was the exceedingly unlikely case that this man had contaminated the other two desserts left on his desk, he decided to brave those alone, and share the Indian sweet with his girlfriend, since he had kept that one safely in his desk drawer.   

That Thursday night, Ivan was not entirely displeased to have the slice of chocolate cake to himself, and even decided to live dangerously and eat all that frosting which was probably worth any risk to his life.  On Friday night, he experimented with the baklava, which was made with real butter and pistachios, and which would have been worth eating even if it proved to be fatally poisonous.  On Saturday morning, Ivan was relieved to wake up and realize that he was neither in heaven nor in hell, but in his apartment, feeling both very alive and very healthy, and very eager to share the gulab jamun with Rebecca this coming evening.

That same Saturday at noon, Ray Samuelson was standing on a wooden crate in the middle of a building site.  His yellow construction helmet contrasted impressively with his deep tan.  His Levis were snug, and he was wearing the same dark tan work shirt that the seventy or so employees were wearing.  He could see the embroidered logos on each of them:

RealHomes + Homes for the Homeless
Building a partnership

He was proud to see the banner of tan shirts and blue Levis created by the massing of employees who showed up, and he was almost as proud to see a group of about twenty men, skin parched from the sun and dirt of outdoor living, who would be the first beneficiaries of his company’s work today.  They too were wearing the company Levis, and their starched tan company shirts only made the wrinkles in their skin seem more discomfiting.

“The other day, one of my employees asked me: why is it that we can’t have good things?  We are here today to send a message.  Working together, we can have good things.  We can make good things.  It just takes a bunch of hammers, and a bunch of nails, and most important, a bunch of people who are committed.  And that means all of you.  The people who are here today, and the people who will be joining me tomorrow and in the next four weekends.  The employees of RealHomes are the greatest people on earth, and this year I am pleased to say that we have more than eighty-three percent participation!”  Ray paused for applause, and when he felt it was not quite enthusiastic enough, he pounded his own hands together rhythmically until the whole crowd joined him and even began stomping, creating an excited thunder on the site. 

“The theme of this season of giving is: ‘actions speak louder than words.’  We’ve all seen celebrities get on talk shows, tell a good story that shows the world what a great person they are, and then go off and do unmentionable things in their private lives.  But at RealHomes, we do things.  Good things. All of us.  We’re here at this construction site today to work with both our hearts and especially our hands, because that’s how you make the world a better place.  With two-by-fours, and nails, and good old-fashioned sweat. Who would like to step up and be the first person to show us that actions speak louder than words?”

Ray waited for a second, as his employees looked at each other with a little embarrassment.  Then he saw a raised hand over on his right, and he was surprised to see that it was one of the rough skinned beneficiaries of the project.  Ray held out a hammer and a box of nails as the man walked up.  But instead of taking them, the man loosened his pants and urinated on Ray’s boots.  He then refastened his pants, took the hammer and box of nails, and held them high in the air.  The man’s friends in the far corner laughed and applauded, as the RealHome employees looked away or down at the ground.

“That son of a bitch peed on my Botega Venetas!  Why did you do that when we’re here to help you?”

“Actions speak louder than words!” the man said, grinning at his buddies, and then he walked behind Ray to where the professional Homes for the Homeless workers were stationed. He lifted a two-by-four, and with some guidance began driving the first nail of the project into what might be his future home.  In a minute, the other men in the corner walked up behind Ray, grabbed some tools, and began helping their friend.

Finally, the seventy or so uniformly dressed employees of RealHomes recovered from their shock, remembered why they had showed up to the site this day, and they too picked up tools, and worked alongside the first team of men.  The banging of nails sounded like a metallic rainstorm, and the sound travelled down streets to the homes of local residents.  Some came out of their houses to see where the clatter came from. A fraction of those had a clear enough line of sight to see the cluster of uniformly dressed volunteers, looking like a human anthill, building something unimaginable.

Once Ray was able to find a spare water bottle to wash the urine off of his boots, he was relieved to find a hammer and box of nails that could help take his mind off of the morning’s disagreeable incident.

That night, Ivan and Rebecca discovered that gulab jamun was possibly the sweetest desert that either of them had ever tasted.

Volunteer or voluntold?

More on the biblical portion Terumah