THE PASSOVER GUEST
I
"I have a Passover guest for you, Reb Yoneh, such a guest as you never had since you became a householder."
"What sort is he?"
"A real Oriental citron!"
"What does that mean?"
"It means a 'silken Jew,' a personage of distinction. The only thing against him is—he doesn't speak our language."
"What does he speak, then?"
"Hebrew."
"Is he from Jerusalem?"
"I don't know where he comes from, but his words are full of a's."
Such was the conversation that took place between my father and the beadle, a day before Passover, and I was wild with curiosity to see the "guest" who didn't understand Yiddish, and who talked with a's. I had already noticed, in synagogue, a strange-looking individual, in a fur cap, and a Turkish robe striped blue, red, and yellow. We boys crowded round him on all sides, and stared, and then caught it hot from the beadle, who said children had no business "to creep into a stranger's face" like that. Prayers over, everyone greeted the stranger, and wished him a happy Passover, and he, with a sweet smile on his red cheeks
