he tried being reasonable for fifteen minutes. He doesn’t find me funny. Well, no sense writing to tell him to laugh. He thinks I depict Jewish lives for the sake of belittling them. He thinks I lower the tone to please the crowd. To him it’s vulgar desecration. Horseplay as heresy. He thinks I’m “superior” and “nasty” and no more. Well, he’s under no obligation to think otherwise. I never set myself up as Elie Wiesel. But long after the reasonable quarter hour had passed, he remained shocked and outraged and hurt,
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