Yisgadal v’yiskadash, shmei raba . . .
That’s his cue.
B’alma divra chirutei . . .
The Mourner’s Kaddish. His signal to alert the other guards that the morning service is coming to an end. The prisoners will be shifting into the yard. A few hanging back to chat with the rabbi.
B’agala u’vizman kariv, v’imru, ameyn.
This morning, fifteen of them, chanting it together. A minyan – at least ten males – is required for worship, according to Jewish religious law. But no more than twenty at one time, according to State of New York policy and Federal Bureau of Prisons guidelines.
Yisbarach v’yishtabach, v’yispa’ar v’yisromam . . .
At this point he can just about chant their prayer along with them. He’s had the morning shift for six years now.
“Big Willie, you’re like an honorary Jew!” Simon Nadler calls out to him with a big toothy smile. (Bank fraud, five years. Completely fictitious loan applications, fourteen million in loan approvals. The investigation turned up phony applications all the way back to his Wharton School admission.) “Join us anytime. You probably know the service as well as the rabbi at this point, eh, Rabbi?!”
The rabbi smiles gently. (Rabbi Morton Meyerson. Five years. Embezzled three and a half million from his New Jersey congregation. He’s the minyan’s spiritual leader. Their guide in worship and discussion.)
The fifteen of them, huddled together in their circle of metal chairs. Big Willie standing by the door all alone.
Their wild grey beards. Their round bellies. (Otisville Correctional, Otisville NY, is the only prison in the Federal...
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