On Saturday, after Batya had brought Dora breakfast, she tended to her kitchen chores. Wiping the breakfast mess off the large wooden table, she prayed for God’s help. Save us all, guide us with Your wisdom. Bless my sick friend Nettie with a full recovery, and relieve Dora’s suffering. She rushed through the rest of the cleaning, looking forward to the market and its concert of colors and sounds, the freedom to move about, even as she still cringed at the notion of handling money on the sacred day of decreed rest.

Moskowitz had arrived early, dressed in the cream-colored suit he wore when going to the synagogue with some of his neighbors, owners of other brothels. He never started his day without first collecting the previous night’s money from Freda. Having deposited it in his vault, he now stopped in front of the mirror in the foyer. Batya watched from the corner of her eye as he smoothed his hair, styled by an Italian barber, and adjusted his Shabbat hat. He admired his diamond ring, then pulled from his pocket a new gold watch, larger than his previous one. To Batya’s amusement, he repeated the gesture in the mirror as if practicing the impression it would create, then tapped on his belly with both palms, approving the paunch of a respectable man.

Moskowitz had started toward the door when two of his fellow pimps burst in. “They take our money to fix the roof,” Enrico, a corpulent bald man, thundered with indignation. “They take our money to buy a new Torah. They take our money to pay the rabbi’s salary, but we’re not good enough to pray with them?”

“What are you talking about?” Moskowitz asked. “I’m getting the honor of an aliyah to the Torah this morning—”

“No, you’re not. None of us does, today or ever.” The second man, an influential brothel owner who had changed his Jewish name, Peretz, to Pedro, calmed down enough to speak. He was dressed in a plaid purple jacket with a green butterfly tie. “The leaders of the Jewish community have conspired against us. They teamed up to block us from attending services in every synagogue in town!”

“They hired security forces.” Enrico pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his sweaty brow. “You should have seen these goons standing at the door of each synagogue, preventing us from entering.”

“I’ve sent for the chief of police.” Pedro waved his index finger in the air above his head. “He’ll teach them a lesson—”

“I have a better idea.” Moskowitz made for the door. “Follow me.”