My mother Silvia was very sensitive about what other people thought. She was easily humiliated. When I was a little kid the Bronx Zoo got a gorilla. This was a rare in those days. She took me north on the subway from Brooklyn to go see it. A Chassid got on the train a stop or so after us. For those who cannot guess what is coming, many of the Chassidic Jews still dressed as in the old country. They trace themselves back to the time of the Baal Shem Tov in eighteenth century Poland, a Jewish sage and mystical leader, which means “He of the Good Name”.

Not all Chassids dress this way, but he wore a black frock coat, had an untrimmed beard which, by his age, effectively hid his face, and some wore a broad brimmed black hat with a circle of sable fur above its brim. I looked up at him, then at my mother, then back at him. She saw it coming. But before the train made its next stop, I pointed at the Rabbi and in a loud clear voice, asked “Mommy, is that the Gorilla?” She could have died. No, she DID die. She hauled me off the train at the next stop. When she first told me this story, I asked if I ever got to see the gorilla. This was years later, and I received a very terse “No!” for an answer.