As I neared the house we lived in, I paused terror-stricken. On the sidewalk stood a jumbled pile of ragged house-furnishings that looked familiar--chairs, dishes, kitchen pans. Amidst bundles of bedding and broken furniture stood my mother. Oblivious of the curious crowd, she lit the Sabbath candles and prayed over them. In a flash I understood it all. Because of the loss of my wages while I was in the hospital, we had been evicted for unpaid rent. It was Sabbath eve. My father was in the synagogue praying and my mother, defiant of disgrace, had gone on with the ceremony of the Sabbath. All the romance of our race was in the light of those Sabbath candles. Homeless, abandoned by God and man, yet in the very desolation of the streets my mother’s faith burned--a challenge to all America. “Mammeh!” I cried, pushing through the crowd. Bessie and Dave darted forward. In a moment the four of us stood clinging to one another, amid the ruins of our broken home. * * * * * A neighbor invited us into her house for supper. No sooner had we sat down at the table than there was a knock at the door and a square-figured young woman entered, asking to see my mother. “I am from the Social Betterment Society,” she said. “I hear you’ve been dispossessed. What’s the trouble here?” “Oi weh! My bitter heart!” I yet see before me the anguish of my mother’s face as she turned her head away from the charity lady. My father’s eyes sank to the floor. I could feel him shrink in upon himself like one condemned. The bite of food turned to gall in my throat. “How long have you been in America? Where were you born?” She questioned by rote, taking out pad and pencil. The silence of the room was terrible. The woman who had invited us for supper slunk into the bedroom, unable to bear our shame. “How long have you been in America?” repeated the charity lady. Choked silence. “Is there any one here who can speak?” She translated her question into Yiddish. “A black year on Gedalyeh Mindel, the liar!” my mother burst out at last. “Why did we leave our home? We were among our own. We were people there. But what are we here? Nobodies--nobodies! Cats and dogs at home ain’t thrown in the street. Such things could only happen in America--the land without a heart--the land without a God!” “For goodness’ sakes! Is there any one here intelligent enough to answer a straight question?” The charity lady turned with disgusted impatience from my mother to me. “Can you tell me how long you have been in this country? Where were you born?” “None of your business!” I struck out blindly, not aware of what I was saying. “Why so bold? We are only trying to help you and you are so resentful.” “To the Devil with your help! I’m sick no longer. I can take care of my mother--without your charity!”