This can’t be happening, she thought, dumbfounded. She called her favorite, a kosher coffee shop for whom she had set up internet advertising, a website, a customer list. It was run by a young, religious couple from Israel who were both chefs. They had invested everything in their homey little business and had become quite successful—creating a popular local hangout where mothers came to meet over croissants after dropping off the children at school and where portly religious businessmen trying to lose weight often ordered a healthy salad for lunch.

“Hi, Tirza, it’s Leah. I just got your message. I’m so surprised. Can you just tell me what I’ve done wrong? I thought you were happy with my work.”

“Leah!” The voice on the other side of the phone was low and embarrassed. “You haven’t done anything wrong. You’ve done a great job for us.”

Leah couldn’t believe her ears. “So then … why? Why are you firing me?”

There was a long silence. “Some men came by yesterday afternoon. They said they were Bobelger Hasidim and that you had insulted their rebbe. They warned us to cut our ties with your business, or else they would see that our kosher certification was canceled.”

“They can do that?”

“The Bobelger run Boro Park. They are on every religious council; they have ties with the mayor and the district attorney. And no one in our district gets elected judge or councilman without their backing. Of course they can do that!”

She couldn’t believe it. It was like scratching beautiful wallpaper to find the wall beneath was crawling with termites. Such injustice, corruption, and ugliness underlying all that she had believed was so holy and righteous and just! She felt as if she had dived into a pristine pool of crystal-clear water in the mountains, only to find it was fed by sewers. Something bright and lovely died inside her.

“Listen, Leah. I don’t know what you did to upset them, but you have to undo it and fast. They’ve gone to every business in Boro Park. I’m so sorry, but we have everything invested in our coffee shop. We just can’t afford to go against them. And neither can you.”

Leah’s heart sank. She said she understood. No, of course there were no hard feelings. She thanked them for their business, wished them well, hung up, then cried her eyes out. By late afternoon, almost every single one of her customers had either called to fire her or had done it online.

Everything she had built up, all her work, gone, just like that.

She stared at the closed computer and silent phone, feeling as if she were making a shiva call where someone very young and dear had unexpectedly and shockingly passed away. Those were the worst; there was nothing you could say, no comfort you could offer.