One saturday morning in 1926, in a quietChicagosuburb, a small girl peered through the wooden lattice that screened the women in the upstairs gallery of an old synagogue from the men below. At first she could see only a mass of black frocks and broad-brimmed black felt hats swaying subtly to the rumbling incantations. Then, as a group, the men beneath these hats, their long black side curls reaching the lapels of their coats, turned. They faced the two small narrow doors of theArk, the cabinet that held the ornately wrapped scrolls of the Torah. Precisely on cue from their prayer books, they bent their knees and bowed their heads as one. The girl held her breath in anticipation of the next moving prayer. “Shem’a Israel, Adonai, Aloniheniu, Adoni Ehad . . . ,” the rabbi intoned, and the full congregation joined in, the women softly from upstairs and the men more forcefully from below. [download]
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