Upstairs, she led Batya to a tiny chamber with a pink-flowered quilt covering the bed, lace curtains on the windows, and clean towels next to a ceramic washbasin on the dresser. Batya’s blue taffeta and red dresses hung from hooks on the wall.

“We even have a lavatory inside the house, and a shower right here.” Rochel led her down the hall and demonstrated how to start the shower by turning a lever. She gave Batya a bar of soap and a bottle of almond oil to use after she soaped her hair to untangle the knots. “Don’t try eating or swallowing these. It won’t do you any good, only give you a terrible stomachache.” She pointed to a basket of sliced yellow fruit. “These are lemons. Squeeze some juice and brush it onto your hair every day. It will give it a gorgeous blond shine.” She kissed both Batya’s cheeks. “I wish I could stay to wash your hair, but I must work. Freda will be here shortly. She’s the matron here, the manager. She’s out at the market now. She barks, but her bites are not too bad. Just do as she tells you and you’ll be fine.”

“Thank you,” Batya said, and held out the fan to Rochel.

“It’s yours to keep. Open it.”

Batya opened the fan and could now see the cream-colored ribs, each carved in a delicate flower design, separating silky cloth on which two exquisite turquoise and yellow birds faced each other, their wings spread. “It’s magnificent,” she whispered with awe.

“Ivory.” Rochel pointed at the ribs. “From elephants in Africa.”

What’s an elephant, and where is Africa? The words seemed so foreign. There was so much Batya didn’t know.

Rochel kissed both her cheeks and darted away.

Alone, Batya took off her clothes and stepped into the shower stall. The water was cold and soothing as morning dew and eased the pressure of the soup-like air. She let the water run over her. Her fingers were in the roots of her hair when she realized that to remove the filth, to cleanse herself from the sins that had stuck to her flesh, only immersion in a mikveh would do. Unmarried women—virgins—did not use the communal ritual bath, but she was neither married nor a virgin.

Batya tried to recall a prayer her mother uttered before immersing. God would understand that all she had was this running water. “Dear God,” Batya improvised, “You created the world from a womb of water. You made me in Your image, pure and holy, according to Your will. As I immerse in the mikveh waters, I know that my life is sustained by Your mercy. Please purify my life from pain and sorrow, from bad influences, from my own faults and inadequacies. As these waters embrace me, dear God, may I embrace Your presence at all times and in all space, Amen.”