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There is a certain place where dumb-waiters boom, doors slam, dishes crash; every window is a mother’s mouth bidding the street shut up, go skate somewhere else, come home. My voice is the loudest. […
After Moshkele found his way to the Goyim’s Street, he began to be a regular and made the acquaintance of the shkotsim [“goyish” boys]. At first they mocked the little Yid who had wandered…
Of course I could explain the history and the comings and goings of the Jews, assuring you that they have suffered much, that everyone persecuted them because they could, that those caricatures you’d…
“I must go to carols tomorrow night.”
Mother is serving the soup. Chicken soup again, with noodles, for the third day in a row. While from next door, a roast tickles the nostrils. A myriad globules…