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Chapters (45)
  1. Copyright Notice
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. EPILOGUE
  41. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  42. GLOSSARY
  43. Also by Naomi Ragen
  44. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  45. Newsletter Sign-up

“Of course, investigate. That is only fair, but…” Basha hesitated. She loved Leah, whom she and her husband had mentored all through her difficult search to return to her roots. She had even championed her all through her fraught courtship with Yaakov, encouraging Fruma Esther to relent. But she couldn’t help but be disturbed by these rumors, which fit in perfectly with all the conventional wisdom about not welcoming even sincere baale teshuva into the community for fear they would backslide, polluting the holy streets of their tight-knit communities with the remnants of their past, secular lives. For a woman deeply involved in bringing secular Jews into the fold who had spent years fighting against such prejudices, such rumors were drops of poison into the water she drank.

“Even if it isn’t exactly what they’re saying, still, you need to remind her that everything a religious Jew does or says or sees or hears has an effect on the pure neshama God gave them. Especially on the children, who are so innocent. Tell her that sometimes we can’t allow ourselves even those things that are permitted because it might taint our purity. Talk to her, Fruma Esther. Explain it to her.”

Fruma Esther got unsteadily to her feet, the sweet crumbs from the rugelach turning bitter in her mouth as she envisioned what was to come.

6

YAAKOV LEAVES KOLLEL

Amid the usual cacophony of voices involved in lively debate, Yaakov’s footsteps fell softly on the floors of the kollel as he entered for the last time. As he made his way across the large hall, he saw (or thought he saw; it was no longer possible to separate his imaginative fears and shame from reality) familiar faces looking back at him, their warm smiles hiding pity and contempt. And then, of course, there were those who did not look up at all, immersed (or pretending to be) in their sacred Talmudical studies, the same studies he was now preparing to abandon for the mundane, petty existence of a balabus. And each time he felt he was being ignored, the slight was as sharp as a stiletto scraping the vulnerable underbelly of his despair.