Mr. Monday and other tales of Jewish Amsterdam

MR. MONDAY 7 9

The most common was, when he made his rounds from door to door asking if there was work for him to be done.

"Good morning, Mrs. Cohen, got some work for the cobbler? Any shoes or straps need fixing?" he would say.

"Well, good morning to you too, Mr. Monday. But whatever made you come today? Today isn't your day, you should know that.You should have come yesterday. Today is Tuesday, not Monday."

To that kind of remark Mr. Monday responded with a little smile. Painless jokes he could appreciate as much as the next person.

Besides repairing shoes, he also sold lottery tickets on the side. In his shop window he had a sign showing when the lottery prizes would be drawn. I remember one day when he tried to sell a ticket to us and my father said very seriously, "I won't play in the lottery this time. I don't trust it.You know other times I always buy a ticket from you, but not this time. I've discovered that it's just a great big swindle. They're not honest, those people who are in charge of the lottery"

"How can you say such a thing...?" said Mr. Monday, protesting. "The government.. ."Then he hesitated, because, to be truthful, he did not know what Father was aiming at.

Father replied with a reproachful look, "I tell you quite frankly, I don't trust those lottery people of yours. They are swindlers."

"What? You don't trust them? But everything is honest through and through. It's a national lottery, it is the government.. .the government!"

"Yes I know that, but still I don't trust them. Right