"That," added the rabbi, "is why all Jewish children have cloven upper lips."
That same evening I was skating on the ice outside the town, and I observed that the Gentile boys, Yantek, Voitek, and Yashek, had cloven upper lips just like ours.
"Yashek," I risked my life and asked, "ti tàkshé màyesh dùshé?"[31]
"What does it matter to you, soul of a dog?" was the distinct reply.
7
Beside going to the rabbi, I had a teacher for writing. This teacher was supposed by the town to be a great heretic, and the neighbors wouldn't borrow his dishes.[32]
He was a widower, and people never believed that Gütele, his daughter, a girl about my age, knew how to make meat kosher.
But he was exceedingly accomplished, and my mother was determined that her only son should learn to write.
"I beg of you, Reb teacher," she said to him, "not to teach him anything heretical, nothing out of the Bible, but teach him how to write a Jewish letter, just a 'greeting to any friend' letter."
But I don't know if he kept his word. When I gave him the poser about the cleft lips, he went into a fury; he jumped up from his chair, overturned it with his foot, and began to caper about the room, crying out: