Jakub Shlayfer opened the door and walked outside to go to work. Before he could shut it again, his wife called after him: “
Alevai it should be a good day! We really need the
gelt!”
Alevai, Bertha.
Omayn,” Jakub agreed. The door was already shut by then, but what difference did that make? It wasn’t as if he didn’t know they were poor. His lean frame, the rough edge on the brim of his broad, black hat, his threadbare long, black coat, and the many patches on his boot soles all told the same story.
But then, how many Jews in Wawolnice weren’t poor? The only one Jakub could think of was Shmuel Grynszpan, the undertaker.