Frieda laughed nervously. “I told them it was silly to bring you a cake before Yom Kippur. Afterward was better. So if you don’t mind, I can send Rina with the cake tomorrow night.”

“That’s fine,” Decker said.

“Or I can bring the cake if you want.”

There was an awkward moment of silence.

Decker said, “How’s Noam?”

Frieda bit her thumbnail, her lip beginning to tremble. What had happened to that chubby little baby who had bounced in his crib, a silly toothless grin on his face? Her beautiful grandson with those sweet, big eyes. Dear God, where had he gone? Nine days ago, an obstreperous teenager had disappeared. What had returned was a broken soul steeped in agony. A little boy drowning in a whirlpool of pain. Whatever he had done, he should not suffer so bitterly—not at such a young age.

The hardest part was Noam’s constant refusal of comfort. He had hardened his ears to any words of solace, crying out that he deserved his terrible fate.

Everyone feeling so helpless, waiting for him to make a breakthrough. Only time would tell.

“He’s doing very bad, Akiva,” Frieda said. “Ezra’s not one to admit there’s a problem, but he was so shocked by Noam that he immediately asked Yonasan to find him a psychiatrist. Even Ezra could see the boy’s deeply disturbed.”

“Rina said he was troubled,” Decker said. “I’m glad he’s seeing someone.”

Frieda shook her head. “Noam refuses to go. He also refuses to live at home, saying he doesn’t deserve a family. At the present time, he lives in the basement Beis Midrash of the shul. It was a compromise. Ezra and Breina agreed to it because they didn’t know what else to do. Noam wouldn’t even come into the house. So the rabbis said he could live in the basement, if he acted as the gaba—the helper. At least in the Beis Midrash, we all feel he will be safe.”

She sighed deeply.

“So he does a little work in the morning. A little sweeping, rearranges the prayer books. Breina visits him. Brings him food. But he won’t talk to her. When he isn’t working, he acts as if he’s in mourning. He wears torn garments, sits on the floor in front of the Holy Ark and does tshuvah. He eats nothing, he drinks a little water made bitter by baking soda. He cries out, tells no one to feel sorry for him, he brought it on himself. He will not talk to his family or to the rabbis. It’s heartbreaking.”

“Maybe Noam feels that God is the only One capable of forgiving him,” Decker said.

“His sins were that terrible?” Frieda asked.

Decker hesitated a moment. “I don’t really know, Mrs. Levine.”