Mr. Monday and other tales of Jewish Amsterdam

14 Adr. Monday and Other Tales of Jewish Amsterdam

now, at this very moment they already know who is going to draw the big jackpot number. In fact, they already know the man's name."

Now, Mr. Monday was sure that my Father was out of his mind. However, it was characteristic of him never to show that he was angry with a customer. He did not flatter customers, but he did not argue with them, either. Speaking very calmly, he tried to explain to my father that the State lottery is not an ordinary lottery but that it is run by the Government. Children from an orphanage draw the tickets from a big drum, and everything is carried out in a fair and honest way.

"So why do you believe that the name of the person who will win the big prize is already known?"

"I have read it!" said my father.

"Read it. Where have you read it?", cried Mr. Monday desperately

"In your shop, in your own shop. You and nobody else will get the big money prize. You have a poster in your shop window saying "First prize in the State Lottery Monday!'

Our cobbler could take that as a joke, too. At least, he appeared to like it because he repeated the story to all his customers.

Nevertheless, he was not a funny man himself, in fact he was rather mournful. Around his mouth lay the mild, somewhat sorrowful lines of the philosopher who has seen the world and has forgiven it for its wrongs. For instance, if anybody ever reported to him that a certain mutual acquaintance had behaved in a particularly base way, Mr. Monday used to remark, "Nebbish, nobody could be so lew just for the fun of it."