Rav Alter did his best to hide his considerable discomfort and even embarrassment. What was she doing here in the evening when his daughter wasn’t there to chaperone? How could he invite her in, given the halachic problem of yichud? But on the other hand, she was no youngster, and she must no doubt be tired having walked all that way with … what was that she was holding? His mind, whirring with questions in the manner of a Talmudical exegesis, suddenly halted as he looked down. With perfect timing, Fruma Esther whipped off the cover. The indescribable smell of freshly baked rugelach still warm from the oven filled the space between them.

Rav Alter looked down at the little cakes. Every age has its desires, he thought. And after all was said and done, scholar or no scholar, rav or no rav, he was only human.

She saw his eyes light up with desire.

“Come in, come in, Rebbitzen.” He opened the door widely but did not close it completely, hoping in this way to solve the yichud problem.

But Fruma Esther wasn’t having any of it. “You should lock your door, Rav Alter. It’s not safe these days.”

He hardly hesitated. She was right.

More and more, strange things were happening in Boro Park. Men and even—HaShem Yishmor, young women pushing baby carriages!—had been mercilessly assaulted by gentiles for no reason, punched in the face, slammed to the ground, their head coverings and wigs torn off. And many others not physically harmed had become the recipients of hurled insults and defamations using the hateful, age-old idioms handed down from mindless anti-Semite to mindless anti-Semite; people with empty heads and empty lives to whom unfamiliar outfits and head coverings were trigger enough for mindless fury. Everyone was in shock. After so many years of telling themselves they were safe in their own country, Boro Park was now more and more a fearful ghetto in a hostile foreign land.

“This is true, pekuach nefesh,” he agreed, locking the door. Anything that was a danger to life trumped any halachic requirement, permitting acts normally forbidden, like riding in a car on the Sabbath if you needed to go to the hospital or putting your arms around a strange woman if she was drowning in order to save her. But what to do about yichud? He suddenly went to the large living-room picture window, pulling up the shades and pulling aside the curtains, making it possible for everyone in the street to see into the well-lit room. Satisfied, he returned to his guest.

“I’m sorry to disturb you so late, Rav, but I wanted to bring them to you straight from the oven.” She smiled. “I’ll put them in the kitchen.”