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alone behind a bolted door, Joseph had sat at his office desk in a stupor, head in hands. Again he considered returning his family to the moshav—he could finish at Tel Aviv University or perhaps in Haifa—but even as he forced up scenes from his disturbing afternoon, he already knew this was an option he would not take. This was Harvard; this was America. He was building a brilliant future for himself exactly where he wanted to be. Besides, he reasoned, this behavior must be universal; there were probably also restrooms at Israeli universities where men met to mate. No, he would stay in Cambridge.
    Calmer now, relaxed, Joseph had let his mind drift. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He pictured the men, their blunt erections like exclamation points in a silent dialogue. He saw their pelvises tilt toward one another, their eager fingers grabbing, massaging, exploring. And then, through his fear and disgust and confusion, he became aware of what had been there all along: the tingle and swell of arousal, the first inklings of an instinct as basic as theirs, and as complex.
    Still shaken by the incident in the park and the memory it provoked, and out of breath from fear and anticipation, Joseph arrived ten minutes before eleven o’clock at Elharizi Street, too early to knock on Rabbi Yoel’s door. He sat on a bench at the corner, checking his watch every minute or so until, at three minutes before the hour, he could allow himself to find the house.
    Elharizi Street was one of the most elegant addresses in Jerusalem, really a shaded country lane of fine stone mansions in the heart of the capital. Still, Joseph was amazed at the enormity of the building in front of him, and fished the card out of his pocket to make sure that he was indeed at the right address. It was a three-story home with a large garden, several balconies, and a tall, sloping roof, in contrast to the flat-topped buildings on either side. Joseph stood at the gate, contemplating ringing the buzzer, when the front door of the house opened. “Come on, come on,” said the rabbi in a loud whisper, motioning for Joseph to lift the latch and come through. Joseph was glad at once and smiled to himself as he gently pushed the gate and replaced the latch carefully behind him. “I’m so pleased you came,” said the rabbi when Joseph reached the door. He leaned his face close to the other man’s, grasping Joseph’s shoulders and pulling him across the threshold. Joseph sought out Rabbi Yoel’s eyes, but the strange pull he had felt earlier that evening was gone.
    The rabbi led him down a long corridor, past several large rooms. Joseph saw a grand dining room with a tremendously long carved-wood table and high-backed chairs, a glass breakfront stuffed with silver standing nearby. He had the feeling he had left Israel and was in a European capital of ballrooms and royalty. Some of the people in Sde Hirsch had managed to bring over pieces of furniture from the German towns or Polish shtetls they had left before the war, but none of this elegance and grandeur. He recalled a saying in the Talmud: “A lovely wife, a lovely house, lovely accessories, these broaden a man’s heart and encourage wisdom.” Joseph was wondering whether the rabbi’s wife was a real beauty when the rabbi seemed to read his mind.
    “My wife’s father is a wealthy and generous man,” he said as they entered the room at the end of the corridor. “Belgium. Diamonds. My wife and children are there now in fact,” he added quietly. “It was his dream to marry his four daughters to rabbis and support them all forever. Luxuriously. I stopped feeling guilty about it several years ago, because I have to admit I am glad not to be occupied with financial matters. I devote myself entirely to learning and teaching.” He motioned Joseph to a large comfortable chair in a corner of the room. “I’ll be back with refreshments in a moment.”
    Instead of sitting, Joseph inspected the