“This synagogue has a floor made of sand, to remind people of wandering in the desert, yes?”

“And this synagogue is built sunken into the ground, because it was not allowed to be taller than the mosques, but this way it could still have a high ceiling, yes?”

“This tribe eats nothing but goat milk and goat meat, but never together, yes?”

The “yes?” at the end of almost every sentence, almost always a sentence to which Leora had nothing to add, had begun to sound to her like a stage manager’s cue, prompting her to smile or laugh or nod or frown, as if she were playing the part of someone else. And then she understood why Bill Landsmann never talked about Naomi. He wanted Leora to be Naomi.

One day she was home alone when the phone rang: “Hello, may I please speak to Leora?”

She stifled a groan. There was no way out this time; she had answered the phone. “You already are, Mr. Landsmann,” she told him. “How are you? Was the operation all right?”

“Ah, ah, the operation. Yes, it was very nice. Very nice.” Leora had never thought that an operation could be described as “nice.” Bill Landsmann continued, launching into detail. “I have for a long time had a problem with my stomach that I needed to have fixed, and this certainly makes it difficult to travel. But now it should be easier to carry things when I travel, because that was very difficult with my previous problem. I don’t like to stay sitting around at home, yes?” he concluded with a little chuckle.

Leora laughed to be polite. After a loaded pause, Bill Landsmann continued. “Anyway, I wanted to tell you that you left your gloves here at the house. Perhaps you can come back to pick them up sometime, and then I could show you some slides I have now of the Jews of Birobidzhan. I have many pictures of the—”

Leora cleared her throat and made a decision. “You know, I hate to tell you this, Mr. Landsmann, but I really don’t think I need to see any more of your slides.”

“What?” Bill Landsmann croaked into the phone.

“Well, I mean I think I’ve seen just about everything I want to see.”

Bill Landsmann’s voice began to quiver. “But I still have many things to show you! And actually, the main thing is that you left your gloves here. You must come to pick them up. And then you can look at some things I would like to show you, yes? You can take the gloves and I—”

“You can keep the gloves, Mr. Landsmann,” Leora interrupted, her voice getting louder. “I’ll buy you ten pairs of gloves, if you want them. You know what? Why don’t I get you a gift certificate to the army-navy store? Then you could buy a whole truckload of gloves, and we could send them all to the Jews of Birobidzhan. Or why don’t we buy you some stock in a glove company? Or how about in some insurance company that covers petty larceny? How about that?” By now Leora was almost shouting, talking faster than she was thinking. And then the words flew out of her: “I’m not Naomi, Mr. Landsmann! I’m not going to be her, no matter how many slides you show me!”