My father came in a few minutes after supper, looking pale and worn. When I told him about my conversation with Danny Saunders, his eyes became angry behind the glasses. “You did a foolish thing, Reuven,” he told me sternly. “You remember what the Talmud says. If a person comes to apologize for having hurt you, you must listen and forgive him.” “I couldn’t help it, abba.” “You hate him so much you could say those things to him?” “I’m sorry,” I said, feeling miserable. He looked at me and I saw his eyes were suddenly sad. “I did not intend to scold you,” he said.
