“Who did they make to move?” he asked, joining the gesticulating mob at the doorway.
“Oi weh! Reb Ravinsky?”
“God from the sky! Such a good Jew! Such a light for the world!”
“Home, in Russia, they kissed the ground on which he walked, and in America they throw him in the street!”
“Who cares in America for religion? In America everybody has his head in his belly.”
“Poor little Rachel! Such a smart child! Writes letters for everybody on the block.”
“Such a lazy do-nothing! All day in the synagogue!” flung the pawnbroker’s wife, a big-bosomed woman, her thick fingers covered with diamonds. “Why don’t he go to work in a shop?”
A neighbour turned upon her. “Hear! Hear her only! Such a pig-eater! Such a fat-head! She dares take Reb Ravinsky’s name in her mouth.”
“Who was she from home? A water-carrier’s wife, a cook! And in America she makes herself for a person—shines up the street with her diamonds.”
“Then leave somebody let know the charities.” With a gesture of self-defence, the pawnbroker’s wife fingered her gold beads. “I’m a lady-member from the charities.”