“She really had me convinced she was my double,” Nechami murmurs, still stunned. “She stood here as if she owned the place

Achassidishe gentleman, around 60 years of age, comes along.

He’s glancing from side to side, looking for someone, it seems. He sees Nechami standing outside her building and cautiously, he approaches. “Excuse me,” he says. “Have you see someone… wandering around here? A young woman without shoes?”

“Umm…” Nechami says, her mind racing. He’s looking for someone without shoes. The woman she saw in the kitchen was wearing metallic blue slides, just like her own. Nechami hesitates for a moment.

“My daughter,” the man explains. “She left the house less than ten minutes ago.”

Shua is hurrying down the stairs, taking two steps at a time. He catches the last words.

“I think she’s in our apartment,” he says to the older man. “Would you like to come up with me and see if it’s your daughter?”

“She was carrying a little pot of flowers,” the father adds. The two men enter the building together, talking quietly.

Nechami remains outside, keeping close to the entrance, to the mailbox with their name on it.

A minute later the intruder is led downstairs, barefoot.

“Um, excuse me,” Shua says. “But I think the… the clothing she’s wearing is also ours.”

Nechami nods dumbly. She’s still in shock, stupefied. Maybe she’ll just let the stranger keep the hoodie.

“We’ll give it back to you,” the father assures them. “Just give us a moment. Ruti, let’s duck in here under the staircase, and you’ll give back the top you borrowed from these people, b’seder?”

Nechami just stares, wide-eyed, as he gently folds the hoodie, taking care not to damage the sequined applique, and hands it to Shua. The woman is dressed in a dark robe. Her father takes her by the hand and they walk away.

“See, she wasn’t trying to pass herself off as your double,” Shua says as they climb the stairs. “She just put on the top and slippers she found by the front door. Remember, some water spilled on you this morning, and you left the stuff here to dry? I told her to keep the slippers on so she wouldn’t have to walk home barefoot, but she didn’t want them.”

“What are we going to do about lunch?” is all Nechami manages to utter. Her hands are still shaking. “I can’t serve the food that that — woman — touched.”