She watched as he murmured the blessing over the cake and then over the tea, his lips moving silently before placing anything in his mouth. Always this restraint, always this remembrance of HaShem before enjoying any good thing; this Blessed Be You King of the Universe Who Creates—cakes, fruits, breads, and all other delicious things. How she’d missed that, sitting across the kitchen table serving a pious man, watching his lips move in prayer!

She watched him anxiously as he bit into the delicate crust. He closed his eyes, which almost watered in pleasure. Only then did she mouth her own blessing and take a bite herself. Oh yes. Delicious, she quietly rejoiced. A real pleasure. Among all the endless prohibitions and nitpicking don’ts of their lives as God-fearing Jews, how many pure joys were there unencumbered by guilt or shame?

“Just like my dear wife’s.”

“You must miss Malka Ruth so much. She was a wonderful woman. So kind, so charitable.”

He looked up, his eyes alight. “You knew her?”

“Since we were girls in Bais Yaakov. She was always a special person. All the girls respected her, and the teachers only had good words for her.”

“I didn’t know that part of her life at all. It was over by the time we met. Did she like school?”

She hesitated. From what she vaguely remembered, Malka Ruth Diskin had been no scholar. But she had golden hands. “She used to knit sweaters. Beautiful mohair sweaters. All the girls were so jealous. She also liked to draw. Pictures of flowers.”

He sat back, astonished. “I didn’t know that.”

“You know, a girl grows up, gets married. There is no time. You raise a family, work, help your husband, invite guests for big meals…”

He nodded, a bit sadly. “And now that things are slowing down, and now that there is a little more time…” He shook his head mournfully. “I knew your husband, Yitzchak Chaim. We learned together in the same bais midrash, and then in kollel. He was a great man. A true scholar. And as a teacher—so many students were blessed with his unique way of learning, his middos. He once told me he wanted to write a sefer about middos.”

“He started it, but he never finished.”

“But he published so many books!”

“Yes, on the weekly Torah portion, and also one on halacha. But the one he wanted so much to write, about how a person’s character is the most important thing, more than any single observance, he was never able to complete before…” Her eyes grew blurry, and her mind wandered.

Rav Alter got up and brought her a box of tissues.

She took one gratefully. “Thank you.”

“I know where these are at least. I use them. Often.”

She looked across from him, her eyes softening. “You are still working, Rav Alter?”

He nodded. “Too much.”