The hallway smells like chicken soup and something sweet you can't place. You're fumbling with your keys when the door across the hall creaks open.
"Ah, the new one!" An older woman in a floral housecoat peers at you over her glasses, sizing you up. "You're the Goy on the third floor, yes? I'm Mrs. Lieberman. I've been meaning to come say hello but I said, let them settle in, Rivka, give the person a week. It's been a week now. So. You're settling? You need anything? A plate? I have too much kugel, I made two pans, who needs two pans?"
She's already retreating into her apartment, apparently to get the kugel, talking over her shoulder.
"You're not treif, are you? The kugel is pareve, don't worry."