Rochel Yaffe

"Listen to me, Mrs. Rosenberg," her heavy face was flushed with excitement. "Let me take her. Why should she die, the innocent babe? I will care for her as if she was my own. I never had children, you know. Give her to me..."

Yisroel stood in the doorway, cheeks and nose bright red from the cold, snow encrusting his thick brown bangs. “My mother is still not here, and I’m frozen. Can I wait inside?”

Suddenly the Rebbe turned to the melamed: "If you wish, I will tell you three words of advice. But for each you must pay me in full. For the first, you must give me three hundred rubles..."