You have no shame after what you did to us? You come into my house, you sit down by my piano, and you curse it with your dirty music from the sidewalks. SARA No, Yosele. It was my fault. I wanted he should see the new piano. JACK [_Gently, with quiet dignity_]. Wait a minute, Mama. I don’t think you know how I feel now, Papa. I thought about you a thousand times when I was away. The first place I came when I got off the train was home. I didn’t mean any harm when I played the piano. I just wanted to sing Mama a jazz song.... CANTOR Jazz! A song of prayer wouldn’t come into your head, only jazz. Even when you was a little boy, I taught you to sing to please God, but you sang to please yourself. One minute you were singing in the synagogue and the next minute singing in the street. You’re the same now. JACK [_Eagerly. He does not realize how far from home he has traveled in five years. For this instant he really thinks that he understands what is hurting his father—that he can explain it in a few words_]. You’re right, Papa. I am the same. You did teach me to sing songs of prayer. And I sang them here for you. But when I got out on the street with the other kids, I found myself singing the same songs they sang. And they’re very much alike,—our songs—and the street songs. Well, listen—[_He sings “Ain Kelohenu,” a Hebrew prayer tune. He sings four bars of it, swiftly, with feeling. And then, suddenly, to exactly the same tune and with exactly the same plaintiveness but with a new rhythm and shaking his shoulders, he sings a popular song._] “Nothing ever hurries me, Nothing ever worries me, Easy come, Easy go, It’s all the same to me!” I just got them mixed, Papa—See? [_This does not have quite the effect which_ JACK _innocently had hoped for. The_ CANTOR, _shocked, has sunk into the settee._ SARA, _frantic in her eagerness to avert the swiftly impending disaster, is fluttering between_ JACK _and his father. She is too excited to know what she is saying._] SARA Jakie, where did you learn to sing like that? JACK [_Not precisely a diplomat, strong in his own sense of righteousness_]. Where did I learn to sing like that? From Papa—who else? He taught me to sing. You forget that I’m an American boy, and Papa is from the Old World. If he were born here, like I was, he would probably be singing jazz, too. CANTOR [_Rising toweringly above JACK_]. You shouldn’t speak like this from a Cantor—do you hear? God will punish you! He will take vengeance! SARA