For Levy, this was the most solemn moment. He remembered again, as he did every Saturday night, that the dead candle he held was supposed to be held by a child and that the symbol of the Sabbath was a woman, a queen, a bride. But there had been no women with them in the camp and the two little boys who had been inside the barracks weren’t children at all after a while. The men got used to being alone together and children were never invited to Havdalah. All men they were; like the long-­house Maori of New Zealand. Levy smiled at the thought, and then suddenly he longed for Adam. Or even Roger. He used to hope that someday, when Luria was older and calmer, Hawkins could come to Havdalah, share the wine and their little feast, and watch the dancing. . . . Dworkin reached for the switch and, in the last seconds of darkness, Levy remembered that in the old days, in Dabrowa, Levy’s father used to pretend to lead the Sabbath Queen out of the house and down the narrow village street. They would all imagine watching until she was out of sight, saying good-­bye in their hearts until next week. That custom died in the camp, too. But lately, as he got older, Levy imagined he could see her, tall, beautiful, stately, going through the basement door and out into the snow.

Dworkin turned on the lights and the Sabbath was over.

In Riverdale, Chaim Garfield and the men from his shul also celebrated Havdalah with the braided candle, the silver spice box shaped like a fish, the cup for wine, the dish to go under it to catch the overflow because it was tradition to fill the cup too full in hopes that the week would be full. The lights were dim, the way they were in Laurel, the men solemn. But in Riverdale, at Avaarith Israel, the candle was held by a little boy because the men here brought their sons with them, and at the end of the ceremony, when the Sabbath Queen left them, they didn’t eat and drink or dance together. They embraced, shook hands, wished each other Shabuoth tov, and went home to their families.

Simon Leshman walked two blocks with Garfield. As long as he was with his friend, Garfield was comfortable and animated. Then Leshman turned into his street and Garfield was alone. The cold hit him and went right through his clothes. He wrapped his muffler around his mouth and chin and hurried along the quiet street. The trees were covered with ice, the river was silver-­colored and looked like it wasn’t moving. He was freezing and lonely, and he would have liked a son to walk home with on this night.