Three houses down from our apartment building at 915 Morgan was the Rabbi’s house. Almost invisible from the sidewalk because of a tall fence of bushes, it was the back yard that drew our attention. Of course, we never actually saw into it, because there was a tall wooden fence with no missing boards. We heard that that was where the Rabbi hung his kosher chickens to “bleed out”—hanging from the clothesline—every week on Thursday, in preparation for Shavis. The house was not so memorable. But the mystique of it was.
It was wartime and we all did our part!