They produced a piece of jewelry, handed it to him, and asked what it was.
A mezuzah, the old man said.
It matches the one on the door, the cops said. Don’t these things belong on doors?
The old man shrugged. Jewish life is portable, he said.
The inscription on the back says “Home of the Greatest Dancer in the World.” It’s in Hebrew. You speak Hebrew?
Do I look like I speak Swahili?
Answer the question. You speak Hebrew or not?
I bang my head against it sometimes.
And you’re Malachi the dancer, right?
That’s what they say around here.
They say you’re a great dancer.
Used to be. I gave that up forty years ago.