There was no doubt about one thing. The letter was clever. Very clever. The huge lie it contained was obvious to him; but she intended anyone else who read it to believe what she wrote. And her trick might work. It might.

But that did not alter the one, awful fact. He had lost his daughter. Perhaps he’d never see her again.

Was it his own fault? Certainly. The Lord was punishing him. He had committed a terrible crime. Now he must pay the price.

Jacob shook his head sadly, and wondered: Had he been making bad judgments all his life? When had he started to go wrong?

Alas, he knew the answer to both these questions all too well.

His childhood had been happy. His father was a scholarly man who made his living as a physician. His standards were high. “The best Jewish scholars are in Spain and the south,” he liked to say, “but Paris is not so bad.” He also had a mild disdain for the intellect of the rabbi, of which the rabbi was aware. But to a little child, he was gentleness itself. Each night he would come in to little Jacob as he was going to bed, and say the nighttime Shema with him:

Shema Yisrael Adonai eloheinu Adonai ehad

Hear O Israel: the Lord our God, the Lord is One

And each morning he would repeat the prayer with his son again. His father also had many friends. And as he treated prominent Christian families as well as Jewish, and was well liked, young Jacob had grown up in an easygoing environment. His best friend, Henri, a handsome boy with dark red hair and alert brown eyes, was from a rich Christian family of merchants called Renard.

As far as Jacob could remember, his destiny had been decided from his birth. He was going to be a physician like his father. His father was quietly proud of the fact. His family and friends all understood it. As a little boy, the thought had been delightful to him. Everyone respected his father. All he had to do was follow in his footsteps, and he’d have a wonderful life.

He was twelve years old when he began to have doubts. He hardly knew why himself. Perhaps it was a talent he had for mathematics that did not find much outlet in the physician’s art. Perhaps there were other causes.

And then there were the patients. Sometimes his father would take Jacob on his visits, and let him watch him examining people; and afterward he’d explain to him the treatment he was recommending, and why. Jacob became quite good at spotting ailments and suggesting remedies. His father was pleased with his progress, and Jacob was proud.