October 1941: Yeruchum has an uncharacteristic outburst in shul, and at Reb Leibush’s urging reveals that his daughter, Chanaleh, has announced that she wants to meet her long-lost aunt. Rav Leibush advises Yeruchum to let her go.

Private Moses Freed’s eyes darted back and forth, back and forth. They gazed at the chaplain’s front tooth, slightly chipped at one side; at his jawbone, still sharply defined despite a slight thickening around the jowls. They fell on a rubber plant trying unsuccessfully to break the impersonal feel of the small, whitewashed room. Out the small window, his eyes glanced at three carpenters knocking together still another barracks, and two officers grabbing a smoke before heading to drill. 

His eyes looked everywhere — except at Major John William’s lapel. And, especially, at the small religious symbol pinned there. 

Standing at ramrod attention, Moe stood silently before the chaplain — a goy, leader of goyim. He wondered why in the world he’d ever listened to Harry, who’d urged him to discuss his problem of putting on tefillin with the officer in charge of the men’s religious life. 

When he was in fourth grade, Moey Freed broke the three cardinal rules of Coney Island streets. He was short. He was skinny. And he wore a black beanie on his head. 

A Jew. 

A target. 

The inevitable happened one cold, wet Tuesday afternoon. Vito, Tony, Paul, and Johnny followed the Jew-boy as he made his way back from public school. They followed the usual procedure. Paul and Tony grabbed the kid under the arms, Vito and Johnny each pulled a leg. Ignoring the boy’s screams, the four teenagers swung him up and down, taunting the ten-year-old who never went to church, who had the audacity to try and share their streets. Finally, with one great shove, they flung the boy onto the top of a telephone booth and raced away. 

The terrified youngster lay in a shivering heap, his face washed by cold, dreary raindrops, their moisture combined with the salt of his tears. 

When a passing cop on the beat hauled him down, Moe was left with a bad head cold, bruises on his back and shoulders, and a powerful aversion to the students of the local Roman Catholic parochial school. 

And now he was standing before a Catholic priest who was also an officer, a man who wore a small cross next to his stripes.