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Updated: May 8, 2025
He sends me to you to speak for the unfortunate Tzwee Kovalenko." "Tzwee Kovalenko," the old man cried, and his beard stood out as his invisible lips tightened, while his nose became sharp and hawk-like. "A mishna meshuna to him, the same as he sent to my son." "No," Morris declared; "he did not send it to your son. It was another that did it."
Once more he faced the Rav, who had sunk again into the chair. "Will it bring back your son to you if Tzwee Kovalenko dies?" he asked. The old man plucked at his beard. "He was my son, my only son," he said; "my Kaddish. A good son he was." Mrs. Levin, still at her dishwashing, raised her head and snorted impatiently. "Yow a good son!" she commented in English, "A dirty, lowlife bum he was.
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