“Your wife, your children, dancing practically naked to goyish music. The whole street heard them and saw them. You need to find out what happens at home when you are not there, my friend.”

Yaakov felt his head spin. For a sickening moment, he actually thought he might faint. But the thought of giving this disgusting person an opportunity to offer him a helping hand suddenly gave him strength.

“In our home, we listen to music, not loshon hara. And you’d do better to learn a few dance steps instead of using your feet to run around bearing tales. As it is written: Thou shall not go up and down as a talebearer among thy people.”

The man’s mouth dropped open, but before he could think of a worthy response, Yaakov wound his way shakily through the crowded train, opening the door between cars and walking through until he had distanced himself as far as he was able.

To his relief, there was an empty seat. He collapsed into it gratefully, pressing his hands to his forehead to stop the spinning and wipe away the newly formed beads of sweat as he struggled to decipher what had just happened. Had his transformation from Torah scholar to accountant stripped him instantaneously of any dignity so that a virtual stranger felt comfortable accosting him in public with this vile story? And what could it possibly mean? If there had been some troubles with busybody neighbors, surely Leah would have mentioned it, no?

He trusted her completely: trusted her heart, her deep religious feeling, her commitment to him and to their children and to the life they were building together. The last thing he considered was that the man’s words might actually have some basis in fact.

As his stop neared, he felt himself growing lighter, envisioning Leah’s smiling face, his children bright-eyed and bubbly jumping into his arms, and the tasty, hot dinner awaiting him on the table. By the time he got home, he had almost forgotten the stranger from across the street.

Just seeing her brought comfort to his heart, he thought, wishing he could reach out to her as usual as soon as the children stopped climbing all over him, and that she could respond by kissing his cheek, something Zissele had never done in front of the children, something he loved. But she was in her impure days, and no physical contact was permitted between them.

“How was your day, my love?”

The children tugged at his pants, wanting to be picked up again.

“Let your tateh breathe, Chasya, Mordechai Shalom!”

“I want to show him my new dance!” Chasya insisted.

At that word, Yaakov saw Leah’s face suddenly cloud with sadness and something else. Guilt? A tremor of cold fear gripped him. He fell into a chair.

“Leah-le, please tell me what is going on here.”

“What have you heard?” Her voice was higher pitched than usual, defensive, he noted fearfully.