The lights dimmed just enough for every face to glow. The ceremonial master’s voice rolled through the hall like a shofar call.

  “Guests, we begin in five minutes. Please take your seats.”

  Wendy leaned in. “I’m claiming your left. Shoshana gets your right. Veronica beside her. Everyone else can fight for the scraps.”

  Thomas barely had time to nod before he spotted Ms. Hendrix at the entrance. He lifted a hand. She smiled the way teachers do when they’ve been proven spectacularly right about a student, and threaded her way over.

  Thomas was already moving—chair for Veronica, chair for Shoshana, circling to get Ms. Hendrix’s—only to find Mr. Gold had beaten him to it with a theatrical bow.

  Ms. Hendrix sat, eyes dancing. “So these are the two young ladies you wouldn’t stop talking about in my office.”

  Thomas’s ears went scarlet.

  Veronica stage-whispered across him to Shoshana, loud enough for the whole table: “Told you he gushes.”

  Soft laughter rippled around them. Thomas ducked his head, smiling despite himself.

  The ceremonial master raised his hands again.

  “In the spirit of Imitatio Dei, we are called to serve. Let us give thanks.”

  A thousand voices answered, “Amen.”

  Bread appeared on every table, warm and fragrant.

  “If someone at your table is to be honored tonight,” the master said, “let them break and share.”

  Every eye at the table turned to Thomas. Shoshana gave the smallest nod. He tore the loaf, passed the pieces with two hands, the way he’d been taught—quiet, deliberate, reverent.

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  Then the real ceremony began.

  One shekel. Two. Certificates.

  Three shekels—medallions of Lev Shel Sherut.

  Six—shekels required witnesses.

  Nine—shekels required documentation and oaths.

  Thomas’s leg started bouncing under the table somewhere around seven.

  When the master called, “Nine shekels,” Wendy and Shoshana stood as one and tugged him upright. Veronica’s grin was pure mischief.

  The walk to the front felt endless. Ten silver coins clinked onto black velvet like bells.

  The master’s voice rang out: “Who will testify that this young man earned these through service?”

  Nine men rose without hesitation.

  “Is there any who doubts?”

  Silence—until the slow tap of a cane.

  Shelomoh Mendelson rose, walked the length of the hall, and stopped at the tray. He counted each coin aloud, eyes sharp.

  “Ten,” he declared. Then, louder: “Does any man here dare contradict me?”

  You could have heard a matzah crumb drop.

  Shelomoh turned to Thomas. “Give three coins to the master.”

  Thomas did.

  “Now,” the old man said, voice softer but carrying to the rafters, “which lady will place the medallion?”

  Wendy was already there. She slipped the heavy bronze disk over his head; it settled against his heart like it had always belonged there.

  Shelomoh accepted two more medallions from an assistant—higher ranks, gold and sapphire.

  “Shoshana.”

  She stepped forward, hands trembling only slightly, and placed them in Thomas’s open palms.

  “These will be yours,” Shelomoh told him, “when you understand not only how to serve, but why we serve, and how to let ourselves be served in turn. Until then, I will keep them safe.”

  Thomas met the old man’s eyes without flinching.

  “I look forward to the lessons, sir. Even the hard ones.”

  A flicker of something that might have been pride crossed Shelomoh’s face.

  He handed Thomas a small stack of books bound in deep blue leather.

  “Study. I will quiz you.”

  Thomas bowed his head. “Yes, sir.”

  Shelomoh scanned the room one last time.

  “Any further business?”

  Silence.

  “Then I yield the floor.”

  The ceremonial master clapped once, joyous.

  “Servers, the first cup! Let us eat, drink, and rejoice—for tonight we have witnessed the making of a true Shamash.”

  The lights came up. Music—soft klezmer—started somewhere in the corner. Plates began to arrive.

  Thomas returned to the table under thunderous applause. Wendy hugged him so hard his ribs creaked. Shoshana’s eyes were shining. Veronica punched his arm and muttered, “Knew you were trouble. The good kind.”

  Ms. Hendrix lifted her glass toward him, smiling like a proud aunt.

  And for the first time in his life, Thomas sat down at a table where every single person already knew his name—and every single one had chosen to say it with love.

  He looked at the heavy medallion resting on his chest, then at the faces around him.

  HaLev HaAvodah, they had called it.

  Heart of Service.

  It fit.