And he said to her, “Give me now a little water to drink, for I am thirsty”; and she opened the flask of milk and gave him to drink, and covered him. (Judges 4:19)
Chaya Silverman froze as Judge McGuiness prepared to deliver the verdict in the State of New York vs. Nehemiah Goldstein. Chaya’s face was pensive as tears carved streaks of mascara down her cheeks. Chaya had long brown hair and a soft face. Her skin was pale from a life lived indoors. She wore a sweater which extended to her wrists and an ankle length skirt, in accordance with Chassidic custom.
The Kings County Superior Court looked unsophisticated and square. The ceiling was covered with flickering, unnatural florescent lights and splintering tile. The heater was dysfunctional, and the heavy air pressed in on Chaya. Every breath was an effort. The moldy stench of the courtroom stuck to her clothes. Chaya was parched. She understood how her tongue could “cleave to the roof” of her mouth. The benches for onlookers creaked loudly when they adjusted themselves. Paintings of judges hung from the courtroom’s off-white walls.
Rabbi Nehemiah Goldstein appeared confident at the defense table. He was short and overweight. His hair and beard were both gray except for a black streak which escaped beneath his chin. He wore a black velvet yarmulke. Small corkscrewed side-locks were tucked behind his ears. Throughout the trial, Rabbi Goldstein had darted glances at Chaya. Every time Rabbi Goldstein’s eyes met Chaya’s, she felt powerless. Every night I dream that I want to scream, but nothing comes out, Chaya thought, and every day the nightmare is real.
Chaya’s knees rattled as she stood to listen to the ruling. Her hands trembled. She extracted a picture of her family from her pocket, taken in her bedroom when she was a child....
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