For in my
birthplace chairs and a couch like those I now saw on the
sidewalk would be a sign of prosperity. But then anything was to
be expected of a country where the poorest devil wore a hat and a
starched collar
I walked on
The exclamation "A green one" or "A greenhorn" continued. If I
did not hear it, I saw it in the eyes of the people who passed me
When it grew dark and I was much in need of rest I had a street
peddler direct me to a synagogue. I expected to spend the night
there. What could have been more natural? At the house of God I
found a handful of men in prayer. It was a large, spacious room
and the smallness of their number gave it an air of desolation. I
joined in the devotions with great fervor. My soul was sobbing to
Heaven to take care of me in the strange country
The service over, several of the worshipers took up some Talmud
folio or other holy book and proceeded to read them aloud in the
familiar singsong.
The strange surroundings suddenly began to look like home to me
One of the readers, an elderly man with a pinched face and forked
little beard, paused to look me over
"A green one?" he asked, genially.
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