Dancing back a few steps, the Rebbe pulls an enormous handkerchief from the inside breast pocket of his jacket and opens it with a theatrical flourish; for an instant Lemuel is convinced his host is about to produce a white dove or another bouquet of roses. He is disappointed when Yahweh, deftly manipulating the handkerchief with one hand, noisily blows his long nose a nostril at a time.
“Coming from Russia,” Yahweh says, his tone suddenly nasal, “you have probably not heard of me, believe me I am not insulted, but you have maybe heard of Brooklyn?” As he prattles on he inspects the handkerchief, looking for a bulletin on the state of his health. “Standing with your back to the Atlantic Ocean, sitting too, Brooklyn is immediately to the
