Abe, the philosopher. He stood peeing in Bloomingdale’s, oblivious to Fred’s shoppers, and pondered the unending powerlessness in Jewish history and realized the commonality with Fred’s fegalim. And then he thought, profoundly, how there was something grand about living in hope, but also something terribly unreal and incomplete about it, because when you were hoping, you were not doing or living or experiencing the Now, but deferring and not fulfilling, and that those concepts of Judaism, on which he had been weaned, compelled a life lived in deferment, nothing could be irrevocably
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