The first words I heard weren’t, “Gut Shabbos,” but “Only the Kohanim in the Beis Hamikdash were allowed to be barefoot!”

I was seven years old when I first met Dr. Alexander Schonfeld ztz”l. Ma had been attending his shiurim for a while, and she invited him for the Shabbos meals. I skipped to the door in my flowered cotton dress to usher in Ta and our guest.

The first words I heard weren’t, “Gut Shabbos,” but “Only the Kohanim in the Beis Hamikdash were allowed to be barefoot!”

Standing in the entranceway was a pale-skinned, blue-eyed, gray-hatted gentleman with a Roman nose and a spare frame. I blinked, puzzled. He pointed at my feet, his expression stern. Yes, they were unshod, but they always were when indoors, as were Ma’s, usually.

I meekly padded off to rustle up some slippers, and from then on never dared to be without some form of footwear when he knocked, which was frequently for the next two decades or so.

Dr. Schonfeld was born in Austria, and was sent to Britain on the Kindertransport during World War II. After living in various countries around the world — England, Canada, America — he finally settled in Israel, in the Old City. He spoke with a refined English accent; he carried himself with European comportment.

He was a psychologist, and traveled to the US to see his patients, usually staying for two week stretches. He slept nearby at another home — the family that hosted his shiurim insisted he stay with them too — while he came to us for the Shabbos meals.