At first, he had been vigilant in keeping his distance, aware of the dangers inherent in their very proximity. But after a few months, when he got to know them, he realized that they were kind, considerate, and intelligent. He even had to admit that some of them had much better manners than the people in his own community, who were often impatient, pushy, and less than totally ethical. (He thought of Leah’s constant battles with her clients to get them to pay their bills.) His ideas about goyim—formed in the insular world of his upbringing—were shamefully stupid, he realized, born of ignorance and prejudice. After months in Manhattan among such people, the yeshiva world, which had once been his entire universe, seemed small and provincial in comparison to the sophisticated, massive life that went on daily in the city. The idea that only in the life of the yeshiva was there meaning and value, everything outside being worthless, seemed as unbelievable now as it had once been the gospel truth.

As this realization stole over him, his steady resistance to the friendly overtures of his work colleagues to join them for lunch or out for drinks began to weaken. He wondered if he was being unfriendly for no reason, especially since it could affect his chances for promotion and raises. And so he’d gone out with them one evening when his boss insisted.

It was a neighborhood restaurant with a long bar. They’d all ordered from the menu, but he’d had no choice but to choose something unmixed for fear of unkosher additives. He’d asked for vodka, which he knew was kosher. “Do you want a twist of lime with that?” the bartender inquired.

“A twist? You mean a piece of fresh fruit, fresh lime?” he ascertained to make sure it posed no halachic problems with kashrut. Assured by the answer, he agreed.

Outside of a sip of wine on Friday nights, four cups during the Passover seder, a tiny plastic cup of scotch after prayers on Shabbos morning, and various drinks on Purim, Yaakov Lehman was a stranger to alcohol. Now he faced a large glass of colorless but potent liquid that he had no choice but to consume to prevent offending those around him. He sipped it carefully. It was actually … quite … good, he thought, gulping it down.

“Another?”

“Why not?” he laughed, suddenly extremely calm and strangely delighted with himself and everyone else.

After that, the conversations with his coworkers seemed unforced. He gave his opinion on the coming mayoral elections and listened good-naturedly to a detailed analysis of the chances of the New York Jets to make the playoffs, of which he understood nothing.