Father of the Bride

Zelig jiggled the coins in his pocket and prepared to go to work. The chuppah was over. The chassan and kallah had been abducted by the photographers, and the waiters were scrambling to set up the dinner tables for the wedding guests. Zelig could see several beggars already circulating among the guests. Zelig smiled. Long experience had taught him that it wasn’t necessary to be first. Technique was more important.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a heavyset man in a shabby suit and a misshapen hat. A smile spread across his face. “Leizer! Leizer Bernstein! How are you doing? Where have you been the last few months?”

“Oh, I’ve been around,” replied Leizer. “I’ve been to L.A. and to Brazil, believe it or not. Here, I want you to meet Moshe Levy.”

Zelig looked quizzically at Leizer, then he noticed a slight dark man hanging back behind Leizer. The man nodded almost imperceptibly at Zelig.