Zeide dipped his hands into the cut-glass bowl. Cupping his palms, he raised them high, heaped with silver, coins flowing, flowing, flowing. Tinkling, clinking, singing,
SEEING ANGELS “Chap the malachim! Quick! Catch them!” Zeide said. So I saw the angels. And the lightbulbs quivered with excitement
The coins were mesmerizing.
Cascading through my maternal grandfather’s chunky fingers like crystal droplets flashing off a chandelier they sliced through the air.
Clink clink. A hundred thousand silver coins mingling perfectly with the tinkling of wine glasses and a room full of laughter. Again Zeide dipped his hands into the cut-glass bowl. Cupping his palms he raised them high heaped with silver coins flowing flowing flowing. Tinkling clinking singing “Tzahalah V’Sameichah.”
“Here… stretch out your hands!” called Zeide begging to be heard above the clamor. A fur-hatted queen’s guard held two buttoned white gloves out in submission and deftly pocketed the donation. He shook Zeide’s hand then turned to join the shpielers at the back of the room paving the way for the next in line.
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