Shlomo Miller was having a bad day. He played with his pen on the desk and pretended to work, trying hard to forget the events of that morning.The phone rang and he glanced at the caller ID. It was his wife.“Hello?”His wife paused. She could tell from his tone that something was up.“What happened?”He sighed. “The same thing that always happens…It was a blood bath this morning, people right and left being ‘escorted off.’ Remember Chuck?”

“Isn’t he the guy who has been there for something like 30 years?”“They didn’t even let him clean out his office!” Shlomo slammed his hand on the table and shook his head.“But you’ll be okay, right?” She tried to sound supportive, but it was hard to mask her own fear.“Yeah, I should be fine. I am pretty sure I won’t make the list.” He didn’t want to mention that he’d spent the day shaking in his boots, wondering if his turn was next. His constant absences for Yom Tov definitely did not put things in his favor; nor did being caught asleep at his desk during the second week of Selichos. It always irked him when people seemed to feel that he had it made, since he had a degree and a job. Even for him, parnassa was no guarantee. With a job like this, you still needed a high dose of bitachon. Any day at work could be your last.