“I should get excited that his honor, Raphael the sheigetz from Dresden, has graciously agreed to open a Gemara?”
The rain drummed on the windowpane all evening,
like an insistent beggar knocking at a door. Rap. Rap. Rap. Tovi curled up into a tight, red-eyed lump under her blanket.
At 11:30, Gedalya arrived home from his Thursday night shiur.
“She still hasn’t come out?” he asked.
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