Sometimes some of the excommunicated women would drop in at
our yard. As a rule, my mother was bitterly opposed to their visits
and she often chased them out with maledictions and expressions
of abhorrence; but there was one case in which she showed
unusual tolerance and even assumed the part of father confessor to
a woman of this kind. She would listen to her tale of woe,
homesickness and repentance, including some of the most intimate
details of her loathsome life. She would even deliver her donations
to the synagogue, thus helping her cheat the Biblical injunction
which bars the gifts of fallen women from a house of God

My mother would bid me keep away during these confabs of
theirs, but this only whetted my curiosity and I often overheard far
more than I should

Fridays were half-holidays with us Jewish boys. One Friday
afternoon a wedding was celebrated in our courtyard. The
procession emerged from one of the rickety one-story houses,
accompanied by a band playing a solemn tune.

When it reached the center of the vacant part of the yard it came to
a halt and a canopy was stretched over the principal figures of the
ceremony.

Prayers and benedictions were chanted. The groom put the ring on
the bride's finger, "dedicating her to himself according to the laws
of Moses and Israel "; more prayers were recited; the bridegroom
and the bride received sips of wine; a plate was smashed, the
sound being greeted by shouts of "Good luck! Good luck!" The
band struck up a lively tune with a sad tang to it