The women are doing all they can to make me feel welcome (plying me with food, complimenting my sweater, producing photos of children), though I am sure this is just as awkward for them as it is for me. All of them are members of the extremely insular Satmar Hasidic sect, and mingling with a secular Jew like me—let alone having one in their home for a meal—is something most would do only under very unusual circumstances, if at all. But despite their hair coverings (monochromatic cloth turbans) and modest dress (long sleeved, high-necked sweaters, skirts well below the knee, thick stockings), there is something about these women that seems familiar, and soon I begin to feel more at ease.