“Well, here’s your chance.” His finger wiped away a tear rolling down Batya’s cheek.

She sniffled. “What would I need to do?”

He grabbed the headboard and shook it. “Testify. There’s an uncorrupted prosecutor who works with us. He needs someone like you to come forward.”

“Testify?” She thought of Rochel’s description of a scene in a play—a trial in front of lawyers, a judge, and a roomful of spectators.

“Tell the judge what happened to you. What you’ve seen happening to others.”

Shame curdled Batya’s stomach. How could she reveal her degradations to the whole world? “Everyone must know what’s going on. Ask any ten-year-old boy.”

“Knowing something is not the same as first-person testimony. You telling the judge your story carries legal ramifications that are different from mere rumors.”

“Just a judge, no one else?”

“Our prosecutor will first talk to you.”

Batya’s head buzzed with confusion. “What is this to you and Señor Farbstein?”

Señor Rosenberg put his arms behind his head, crossed his ankles, and stared at the ceiling. “The reputation of the entire Jewish community. The Baron de Hirsch wants to build more agricultural villages here. He plans to bring hundreds of thousands of Jews from Eastern Europe. It’s the largest charitable project in human history carried out by one man. It’s his vision and his passion. But how can he save Jews from anti-Semitism in Russia if some Jews in Argentina bring the same hatred upon us all?”

She took a long moment to compose herself, bouncing the bed as she did so. “How will the Baron’s plans change life for us, the tme’ot? If he’s bringing over more men than women, more girls must be captured to serve them.”

“We aim to bring down the entire Zwi Migdal operation. To abolish prostitution run by Jews. The Baron holds that the white slave trade debases not only the Jewish community but all of Argentine morality.”

White slave. The words hit Batya with the force of a gale. “Slave” was a word reserved for Negroes, not for a fair-skinned, green-eyed, blond Jewish girl. Batya sat up and hugged her knees. “Tell me who cares if I get killed before I even utter a single word to that prosecutor of yours.”

He touched her arm lightly, then withdrew it. “The word has gotten out, and many people have begun to care about women in your situation. A new benevolent group, Ezrat Nashim, now works to save girls before they are lured and trapped. You may have seen their representatives—usually mature women—trying to intercept girls at the port here before some pimp gets to them. These charitable women also work the train stations and ports in Europe and speak with the girls before they embark on trains or ships.”