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..."