For ten years Malka had not been able to mix with Jews. For ten years, even to walk along Acland Street, past the Scheherezade Restaurant, past the Benedykt Brothers Delicatessen, caused Malka anxiety.

She knew, from her childhood, most of the people who stood in small clusters on the footpath, talking. ‘Malkala, hello, what’s happened to you? Last time I saw you, you were thin, now look.’ Malka didn’t have to say much in these encounters. ‘Good morning, Malka, I heard you got divorced and now I heard you got another husband.’