The Talmud teaches that the sanctity of the post-worship meal
merits promising judgment in the next world.
I was sitting at a 6-foot round with some of the older synagogue members. Comfortably conversing with my tablemates, Iris Greenberg leaned over and asked me where I was from.
“Cleveland . . . Ohio,” I replied.
“O-o-o-o-h,” she sing-songed. “We used to know some people from there. We enjoyed them. But then they disappeared. Harold and I always wondered what happened to them . . . Harold, what was the name of those little people?” she asked in her Brooklyn-born accent.
“Ca*#$#h,” Harold dribbled out, in between bites of Goldie Cohen’s legendary potato kugel.
“What?”
“Ca*#$#h”
I nearly tossed my French croissant.
-signed, Susan Ca*#$#h
I love ‘small world’ stories,