Chap­ter 17: The Bull­frog begins dur­ing a chaot­ic time for Aha­vat Achim syn­a­gogue on Chick­en Hill. The com­mu­ni­ty is fac­ing not only emo­tion­al strain from Chona’s crit­i­cal ill­ness but also unex­pect­ed com­pli­ca­tions with their mik­vah. When a mas­sive bull­frog is dis­cov­ered splash­ing in the sacred bath, it star­tles the con­gre­gants and sparks fresh controversy—especially for Mr. Hud­son, a vocal new mem­ber from Buf­fa­lo who insists on a more lav­ish, pro­fes­sion­al­ly built mik­vah, even offer­ing a gen­er­ous dona­tion to fund it. How­ev­er, this offer comes with com­pli­ca­tions, as it forces the chevry to con­front long-stand­ing issues they had qui­et­ly avoid­ed: name­ly, that the water source for their rit­u­al bath had been com­ing from an unau­tho­rized well tied to a local dairy once owned by the Plitz­ka fam­i­ly. That well, deeply entan­gled in the community’s past and present pol­i­tics, becomes the cen­ter of ten­sion dur­ing a heat­ed tem­ple meet­ing, expos­ing frac­tures between tra­di­tion­al­ists and new­com­ers.

At the meet­ing, mem­bers like Irv Skrupske­lis and Rab­bi Feld­man attempt to medi­ate, but tem­pers rise quick­ly. Hudson’s frus­tra­tion at the congregation’s resis­tance is not just about the mik­vah but a larg­er frus­tra­tion about change, inclu­sion, and own­er­ship. Feld­man hes­i­tates, try­ing to uphold uni­ty while also pro­tect­ing the lega­cy of Chona’s father who helped build the tem­ple by hand along­side the late Shad, a Black crafts­man. Their shared effort was once a sym­bol of har­mo­ny between Jew­ish and Black res­i­dents of Chick­en Hill, but now even that is strained. The fact that the well’s legal own­er­ship is vague and tied to the now-pow­er­ful Plitz­ka family—whose influ­ence is resent­ed by many—adds lay­ers of dif­fi­cul­ty. Despite Hudson’s wealth and enthu­si­asm, some view him as an out­sider who mis­un­der­stands the del­i­cate bal­ance the com­mu­ni­ty has always main­tained.

Emo­tion seeps into the con­ver­sa­tion when Chona’s declin­ing health is men­tioned. Her activism and past efforts to uni­fy the town come to mind, mak­ing the bull­frog feel symbolic—an unwel­come sign dis­rupt­ing a space meant for spir­i­tu­al renew­al. Though meant to puri­fy, the mik­vah now stirs debate, not seren­i­ty. The amphibian’s pres­ence hints at deep­er contamination—not just of water, but of mem­o­ry, duty, and trust. For some, the debate is not mere­ly about plumb­ing but about pro­tect­ing a way of life built on frag­ile coop­er­a­tion. For oth­ers, it is a call to mod­ern­ize, to build a mik­vah that reflects the future instead of patch­ing togeth­er relics of the past. The irony is not lost on any­one: a crea­ture as low­ly as a frog could expose such pro­found divi­sions with­in a com­mu­ni­ty held togeth­er, until now, by shared hard­ship.

In a broad­er con­text, the chap­ter touch­es on the his­tor­i­cal strug­gle of small con­gre­ga­tions to main­tain sacred spaces with­out sta­ble fund­ing. In ear­ly 20th-cen­tu­ry Amer­i­ca, many immi­grant Jew­ish com­mu­ni­ties faced the chal­lenge of bal­anc­ing reli­gious obser­vance with eco­nom­ic sur­vival, and mikvahs—essential for rit­u­al purity—were often impro­vised or under­fund­ed. The use of non-tra­di­tion­al water sources, includ­ing bor­rowed wells, was not uncom­mon, espe­cial­ly in areas where zon­ing laws and munic­i­pal ser­vices neglect­ed minor­i­ty neigh­bor­hoods. The bull­frog inci­dent reflects how quick­ly these frag­ile com­pro­mis­es can unrav­el when expec­ta­tions clash. More­over, water in reli­gious con­texts often rep­re­sents not only clean­li­ness but divine con­nec­tion. A breach in the puri­ty of that water, then, becomes a metaphor for frac­tures in the faith com­mu­ni­ty itself.

When the meet­ing adjourns, no deci­sion is made. Instead, unre­solved emo­tions hang in the air. Hud­son leaves frus­trat­ed, while the old­er members—haunted by mem­o­ries of Chona’s stead­fast efforts to cre­ate some­thing enduring—remain qui­et. Their silence is not sur­ren­der but grief, both for Chona and the chang­ing nature of their world. Out­side the build­ing, chil­dren play near the hill­top, unaware that their elders are fight­ing to pre­serve the ground beneath them. The frog, long since removed, has done its job—it stirred up more than water. It stirred souls.