“Shaindele is telling the truth. Leah is right. It’s a shandah. But”—and here he caught his breath, leaning against the wall—“I can’t publicly condemn Grub.”

Her heart sank. “Why not?”

“The girl and her parents will never admit anything publicly. Even to get her to describe the pictures on Grub’s wall was like splitting the Red Sea. And even if I could get her and her family to talk to the police, which is as likely as the Messiah appearing on my doorstep in the next ten minutes, they would suffer what Yaakov and Leah are suffering. But I can and will do something else.”

“Something is better than nothing,” she sighed, heartbroken, but resigned.

“I can make sure no girl from our community ever goes to him again.”

“That, too, will be a blessing. But he’ll just go on with the Bobelger girls.”

“I think what I plan to do will help those girls, too.”

“And what about Yaakov and Leah?”

He felt helpless. “Fruma Esther, you know how it is here in Boro Park. There is not much I can do. But I will try.”

“Yes,” she said. “I know. Thank you, Shimon Levi, really. And forgive me for making your life even harder.”

“No. Thank you for helping me to see my responsibility to right a great wrong.” And more gently: “And thank you, Fruma Esther, for making this unbearable year of mourning a little easier for me.”

She blushed in a way she had not for decades. “I’m glad. And please don’t be too hard on yourself. I know you are doing the best you can, Shimon Levi. May the Aibishter bless you.”

He hung up with a heavy heart. The best he could. But today, to his great shame, he recognized how little power he really had. If only his word were law, as were the words of his father and grandfather before him in the little eastern European villages where they held positions of chief rabbi; when their fearless voices thundering from their pulpits were enough to silence all dissent and settle all conflicts. Now his voice was just one of many trying to make itself heard above the cacophony of those competing for the community’s hearts, minds, respect, and money.

The next morning, he called in his gabbai.

“We need to find a psychologist, a frum woman, who lives in Brooklyn and specializes in children. Can you call Rav Kunditz at Yeshiva University? They have a training program for psychologists there, I understand. Many of them are frum women. Ask him for his recommendation for the top person who got the best grades and who has the most experience. And when you get it, please contact the parents of Menucha Sarah and give it to them. And now you need to help me draft a proclamation.”

The gabbai was startled. This hadn’t happened for years.