As I waited for the next, an Orthodox man came up to me. He gave me a pamphlet about Rabbi Nachman and asked if, God willing, I’d like to donate to his synagogue.
I gave him five shekels.
“Where are you from?” he asked when he heard my accent. “Los Angeles,” I answered.
“Thank God you’re home with your people now,” he said. I smiled and he left.
“Be healthy!” I called after him in Yiddish.
He turned to me with sparkling eyes, “Ah, you speak Yiddish!?”
“A bit,” I answered and smiled.
He also smiled and asked, “Where do you REALLY come from?” “From Galicia,” I answered. That’s where my grandparents had lived before the war. “But...
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