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early to the healthy cries of his newborn daughter. José rinsed his hands and said the blessing over washing. Then he dressed for the day and headed through town to the synagogue, where he joined the minyan of men readying themselves for the morning prayers.
    He was greeted by friends and neighbors who congratulated him on the birth of his daughter. Along with the other men, he recited the blessing for the teffelin , while wrapping the black leather bindingsaround his arm and forehead. The men all prayed the silent portion of the morning service alongside one another. Facing toward Jerusalem, they were a sea of rocking bodies cloaked in blue and white prayer shawls. In his prayers, José gave thanks to the Lord for giving him a healthy baby girl. After the service, the rabbi offered him some shisha bits to chew on and wine to celebrate. Encouraged by the enthusiasm of all the well wishers, and feeling gay from the fog of wine, José made a sizable donation to the synagogue, in memory of La Señora, the late and the great, Doña Antonia Nissim.
    Then, he stumbled out of the building into the narrow alley below. He turned back toward the crowd of men exiting the synagogue. “Hayim! Shall we head to the coffeehouse?” José called out to a young man with a flowing red-beard.
    “Sorry, José.” The man shrugged apologetically. “I have to head to the market and get my vegetable stand ready for the morning rush.”
    “What about you, Simon?” He turned his attention to a flat-faced man with protruding ears. “Perhaps a trip to the bathhouse, eh ?”
    “I wish I could!” The man playfully slapped José’s back. “But spices don’t trade themselves.”
    “All right.” José stumbled forward. “Goodbye then!” he called out to his friends as he made his way back home.
    He was rounding the corner leading into the piazza when two young men wearing cone-shaped hats moved swiftly toward him. These were hats unlike any an ordinary Ottoman civilian might wear. He immediately recognized these men to be the Sultan’s janissaries by the signature mustaches they wore. Each wielded a falanga , the infamous whip unleashed on civilians who were found to be publicly drunk or inciting a raucous. Could they have noticed José stumble? Was it possible that they were able to detect his drunkenness? No, he tried to calm himself. After all, he had only had a glass or two of wine. José straightened his posture and tried to compose himself.
    “Are you Don José Nissim?” One of the Janissaries spoke up.
    “I am.” José swallowed hard. “What’s this about?”
    “You’ll have to come with us. We’ve been instructed to escort you to the palace.”
    “Topkapi?” His palms began to sweat. He was sure he could hear the beat of his heart echo in his chest. “What was the reason given?”
    “Please come with us, Effendi.” The two men escorted José around the corner and into the sun-drenched piazza where their chariot was stationed.
    “Please, I have an infant daughter at home. My wife will be worried.”
    “We will send word to your wife that you will be home later today.”
    “Later? How late? Gentlemen, if you could just tell me what this is about.”
    “You will find out soon enough.” They took hold of his arms and led him towards the chariot.
    It was the second time in his life that he’d been summoned to Topkapi, only this time, he could not fathom the reason.

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    Unlike the majestic grand gates he’d passed through on his first visit to the palace some five years earlier, José was now escorted to a side entrance and through a nondescript door that blended seamlessly with the slate-grey walls surrounding Topkapi. He was led through a windowless maze of narrow halls that zigzagged for some time, until finally, the dark maze opened into a small, sun-drenched courtyard walled with terraced gardens.
    He stepped out into the space. “Will you now tell me what I am doing here?” He spun around, only to find that