“And when you are in the office, does he leave one of them open?”

She shook her head, suddenly fidgeting with her fingers.

“Tell me, does he lock both doors?”

“Yes,” she answered, gaining a bit of confidence.

“And what about his walls? What does he have hanging on the walls of his office?”

“Pictures.”

“Please, describe them to me.”

“He doesn’t always have the same ones. Sometimes it’s a picture of the Bobelger Rebbe, but other times…” She hesitated.

“Go on, it’s all right.”

“Women in bathing suits at the beach.”

The parents’ eyebrows shot up.

“And what do you do at these sessions in Rav Grub’s office?”

She looked beseechingly at her father and mother, then stared at the floor.

“He asks me questions.”

“What kind of questions?”

“All kinds. I don’t remember,” she whispered, not meeting his eyes.

“It can’t be that you don’t remember anything,” her father declared, annoyed. “Try harder! You’ve been going there for months!”

“Please, I can’t!” she begged.

Rav Alter cleared his throat. “Can you tell me, Menucha Sarah, do Rav Grub’s questions sometimes make you uncomfortable?”

She looked at him steadily, nodding slowly.

“And can you tell me, child, has Rav Grub ever touched you?”

She nodded, tears suddenly streaming down her cheeks.

Her parents half rose out of their seats. They looked astounded.

She ran into her mother’s arms, hiding her face.

“Can you tell me, Menucha Sarah, do you like going to talk to Rav Grub?”

She shook her head vigorously, her whole body trembling.

“How would you feel, Menucha Sarah, about going to talk to someone else? A woman counselor?”

“Please, k’vod harav,” she implored.

He nodded, smiling, rising to his feet. “Thank you so much, Menucha Sarah. You have been very helpful. HaShem should bless you and your dear family.”

Her parents walked him to the door.

“What does this mean? What are you saying…?” the girl’s father began.

“It means she shouldn’t go back to Grub; he isn’t the right counselor for her. She should go to a woman. I’ll have my gabbai call you with the name of someone else.”

The father, who looked devastated, seemed to be about to ask more, but then thought better of it, pressing his lips together. Finally, he whispered, “Thank you so much, k’vod harav!”

He took the man’s trembling hand in both his own, patting it warmly, then nodded to the wife. “Don’t worry. It will be fine. One day, we will all dance at her wedding.”

“Mirtzashem! Amen.”

Rav Alter walked slowly down the quiet streets, his body trembling with quiet anguish and controlled fury. So many years! So many young girls! And if not for the courage of little Shaindele Lehman, no one would have ever known! It was monstrous.

As soon as he got home, he called Fruma Esther.

“Nu?”