Hersh Mendel Schaltz—currently twenty-one—was the only child of Peretz and Bracha Schaltz. He grew up in Kew Gardens, Queens, living in the same apartment house until he was eleven years old. The family then moved to Williamsburg, Brooklyn. A year later, the parents were divorced, Hersh staying with his mother, the father leaving the community. After that, it was almost impossible to trace Hersh’s life. He and his mother seemed to have moved dozens of times, often living in apartments for only a few months at a time. Then, the big news. Peretz Schaltz remarried—a Gentile woman.

“My own interpretation about her religion,” Decker said. “The second wife’s name was Christine McClellan.”

“Obviously Hersh’s father wasn’t Orthodox,” Rina said.

“Apparently at one time he was,” Decker said. “A former neighbor told me he’d been a Satmar Chasid, one of the reasons the family moved to Williamsburg.”

“Then why did he live in Kew Gardens all those years?” Rina asked.

“Beats me,” Decker said. “Hersh was well remembered by his teachers because he stood out. He spoke more Yiddish than English when he first came to school. He dressed differently. Apparently he went to a religious day school, but it was considered modern Orthodox.”

“I grew up modern Orthodox,” Rina said. “We were indistinguishable from the rest of the neighborhood kids except that we kept kosher and observed Shabbos. Most of us had American names, grew up on cartoons, TV sitcoms. We rode bikes and skateboards and went to the movies and rock concerts. Our mothers didn’t cover their hair.”

She paused a moment.

“I remember thinking my parents were just a little hypocritical. Keeping kosher in the home, but eating fish in non-kosher restaurants. We wouldn’t turn on the TV, but it was on a time clock so Papa didn’t miss Sanford and Son. One of the things I liked about Yitz was his consistency.” She smiled. “I felt very righteous back then. Now I’m much more tolerant.”

“So I’ve noticed.”

Rina regarded the gleam in her husband’s eye. She kissed his cheek. “Don’t worry. You’re a keeper.”

“Aw shucks. Anyway, from what you described, Hersh wasn’t modern Orthodox. His grammar-school teachers remember him dressed like a little rabbi, always wearing long sleeves, black coat and hat, even in the summertime. Plus he had the earlocks. One teacher described them as long sausage curls.”

“He must have had to put up with a lot of teasing.”