To Be a Jew
“I Have a most curious feeling,” I began.
“Please!” The little man held up a thin, imperious hand. “I have feelings all the time. My heart palpitates, I have pains in my chest, I think I’m going crazy. Do I bother my friends with my feelings?” He spoke with an angry rapidity.
“I didn’t say symptoms, I said feeling,” I contradicted, exaggerating the plural of one and the singular of the other.
“So. All right. Some people have symptoms, you have feelings. Maybe you’re too fine for symptoms, it would make you a human being like everybody else. . . .” His large, full-lipped mouth parted in a smile in which his crooked teeth showed yellow and black in the dimly lit hotel room.
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