\"Oy vey， oy vey，\" I pulled and pulled.
\"What is it? What s happened?\" A murmur went up fron
the congregation.
\"Can t you see? It s his beard; it s stuck in the doorl\"
\"Yes， it s my beard; it s stuck in the door，\" I yelled
\"That s it.\" I knew it had to be something like that.
\"Aht His beard.\"
\"It s plain now.\"
\"It s obvious.\"
\"We should have seen it at once.\"
Together they chorused: \"His beard is stuck in the door.\"
I stopped pulling for a moment. \"Is that the best you cal
do?\" I asked irritably.
\"It s a problem，\" a voice said.
\"A catastrophe.\"
\"It s an umglik.\"
\"Whoever heard of such a thing?\"
\"What s to be done?\" the congregation wailed.
There was a general shrugging of shoulders， a scratching oJ
heads， a multitude of sighs. The usual thing.
A voice from the rear of the congregation made itselt
heard: \"Waitl\"
It was Yankel the Tailor.
All eyes fumed toward him. I looked too. What else wa，，
there to do?
This Yankel was a short， nearsighted man who wore hL，
yarmulka at a rakish angle. He tapped his forehead.
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