My grandfather was a rabbi and he was a widower who lived alone in a small apartment in Brooklyn that was my favorite place in the world when I was growing up, partly because it was filled with his very gentle, very courtly presence and partly because it was filled with books.
Mans vectēvs bija rabīns, un viņš bija atraitnis, kurš dzīvoja viens pats mazā dzīvoklītī Bruklinā, kas bija mana mīļākā vieta pasaulē, kamēr es augu, daļēji tāpēc, ka tas bija piepildīts ar viņa ļoti maigo, ļoti eleganto klātbūtni, un daļēji tāpēc, ka tas bija piepildīts ar grāmatām.