“Rebecca or Shayna. Teacher or domestic servant. For me, what matters is that you Jewish meidelach all bring in good money for me”
Becca pulls a large, colorful shawl over her shoulders. Should she? Shouldn’t she?
Is it better to go out as a Western woman, dressed in her own clothes? Or better to pull a shawl over her shoulders, her head?
She pulls one corner of the shawl over her hair. A tassel dangles down the middle of her forehead. Turkish princess. She stands in front of the window; the shadows of the alleyway are quite effective at turning it into a mirror.
She squints at herself, then throws off the shawl.
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