Skating with the Statue of Liberty by Susan Lynn Meyer Page A

rabbi while doing Madame Raymond’s fruit shopping, which had to be done at a specific market that was several miles away by bus.
    “But it was worth the long bus trip with Giselle after all!” she exclaimed. “The fruit there is delicious, and Rabbi Blum is so nice. His family is from Alsace. He wants us all to join his synagogue, your family too.”
    Aunt Geraldine paused to hand around helpings of dessert, ladyfingers drizzled with kirsch.
    “Oh, my favorite! How nice of you to make it!” Maman spooned up the spongy cookies flavored with cherry brandy. “But about Berthold’s job.”
    “Oh yes, of course. I’m sorry, Berthold. Congratulations! Tell me all about it.”
    “He’s working at a fine department store,” Mamanexplained. “For now he’s a janitor, but that way, you see, he can be the first to spot an opening when there’s one in sales, as soon as he can speak English better.”
    “Don’t expect to be hired in a good position while you have an accent,” Aunt Geraldine said bluntly. “That’s what I hear. But at least you have a job and some money coming in.” She poured coffee from Madame Raymond’s silver pot into a fragile, flowered teacup and handed it to Maman. “Anyway, now that we’re all getting settled, you must come to Rabbi Blum’s synagogue with me. It’s a lovely old building on the Upper East Side. To be with other French Jews, I think it’s all right to take a bus on the Sabbath, don’t you?”
    “Real coffee!” Maman held the cup below her nose, savoring the aroma. “What luxury! What do you think, Berthold? We’ve seen several synagogues much closer to our apartment.”
    “Oh sure! But this synagogue is French,” Aunt Geraldine insisted. “The children and I have already gone twice. Nearly everyone there speaks French. You’ll see. It feels just like home.”
    “Really? There are enough French Jews in New York for a whole synagogue?”
    “Yes! Most of the people at this synagogue have been here quite a few years, but almost everyone is originally from France. The boys need to prepare for their bar mitzvahs. They are so behind. I feel terrible that we’ve had to put that off.”
    “I know.” Maman nodded.
    “Time for us to get out of here before they make usstart chanting prayers!” Jean-Paul jumped up, pushing his chair back with a screech, and the grown-ups laughed. He licked his finger and picked up the last few crumbs from his dessert plate as he took it into the kitchen. “The best part is that there’s a French Boy Scout troop connected with the synagogue, the Franco-American Boy Scouts, and I’m in it! You’ve got to join too. Want to help me work on the model airplane?”
    “Sure.”
    As Jean-Paul got out the paints, he told Gustave about the Boy Scouts. He had already gone to one planning meeting and a hike. “The rabbi is the troop leader, but there aren’t enough boys our age for a whole troop, so we join together with some French Catholic boys. One of their priests is a leader too.”
    “They don’t mind being with Jews?” Gustave took the airplane piece Jean-Paul handed him and began dabbing it with silver paint.
    “They don’t seem to. We’re all French. It’s great to be somewhere where everybody speaks French, not like school.”
    Gustave watched Jean-Paul carefully attach a propeller. “How
is
your school?”
    “It’s all right. They started me in second grade, because I couldn’t speak English at all, not like you, so I was with all these stupid little kids. I felt like a giant in there. But two weeks ago, they moved me up into third. I’m still a giant, but they’ll move me up again as soon as I learn more English.”
    “Do you have any friends?”
    “Well, there are some boys I play tag with at recess. They think I’m great because I’m so much faster than them! It’s all right. What about you?”
    “There are some guys I eat lunch with. And sometimes they choose me for their team at recess. There’s a girl from