You know, it’s not uncommon for the father of the kallah to get a heart attack at the wedding

Zelig jiggled the coins in his pocket and prepared to go to work. The chuppah was over. The chassan and kallah had been abducted by the photographers, and the waiters were scrambling to set up the dinner tables for the wedding guests. Zelig could see several beggars already circulating among the guests. Zelig smiled. Long experience had taught him that it wasn’t necessary to be first. Technique was more important.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a heavyset man in a shabby suit and a misshapen hat. A smile spread across his face. “Leizer! Leizer Bernstein! How are you doing? Where have you been the last few months?”

“Oh, I’ve been around,” replied Leizer. “I’ve been to L.A. and to Brazil, believe it or not. Here, I want you to meet Moshe Levy.”

Zelig looked quizzically at Leizer, then he noticed a slight dark man hanging back behind Leizer. The man nodded almost imperceptibly at Zelig.

“Moshe, I’d like you to meet Zelig,” Leizer continued with the protocols of the introduction. “Zelig is the best. The king. Always glad to help the other guy, you know, pass on a few hints and stuff like that. Zelig, Moshe here is from out of town, and I kinda took him under my wing.”

Zelig thrust out his hand in greeting. “Glad to meet you, Moshe. Any friend of Leizer’s is a friend of mine. Welcome to Brooklyn.”

Moshe took Zelig’s hand solemnly. “It’s an honor to meet you,” he said quietly. “I’m very indebted to you. And to Leizer.”

“Aw, forget it, Moshe,” said Leizer. “One hand washes the other, and whatever goes around comes around.”

Zelig and Moshe both nodded sagely.

“Hey, guys,” Leizer declared. “Why are we standing around here talking? Let’s get something to eat.”

“Now’s not a time to eat,” said Zelig. “Now we gotta find the father of the kallah. Later, he’ll be tired. Now, he’s flying high, and his pockets are stuffed with money. I’m gonna look for him now. You wanna come with me?”

Leizer looked doubtfully at Moshe. “What do you say, Moshe? You wanna grab a bite to eat first? I don’t know about you, but my stomach’s grumbling. The father of the kallah is probably still up with the photographers. A few more minutes won’t make a difference.”

“I’m not hungry, but thanks anyway,” said Moshe. “You go get some food. I’ll just tag along with Zelig for a while.”

Leizer shrugged. “Count me in, too. I guess I’ll survive. I’ll just grab a couple of cookies from one of these tables. That’ll tide me over.”

“Okay, guys,” said Zelig. “Let’s go. But listen to me. I know the guy from way back. You guys hang back and let me do the talking.”

The three beggars moved to a strategic vantage point near the doorway to the grand ballroom. Five minutes later, the father of the kallah appeared.

Gamliel Greenzweig carried himself with an air of self-assurance that led others to treat him with deference. And now, as he walked down the curved marble staircase, his red hair and blue eyes glistening, his girth encased in a well-tailored suit that excused, rather than concealed, his corpulence; his sleek, perfectly-shaven jowls creased into a benevolent smile, he was every inch a prince among men.

As soon as the father of the kallah was spotted, friends and relatives rushed forward to congratulate him. But Zelig, strategically positioned at the foot of the stairs, was the first to gain his attention.

“Mr. Greenzweig!” Zelig called out. “Let me be the first to wish you a hearty mazel tov. May you have lots of nachas from the young couple for many, many years to come. And may Heaven bless them with happiness and joy and many clever and healthy children so that you and your wonderful wife may be surrounded by devoted grandchildren and great-grandchildren until 120 years.”

“Zelig, Zelig,” Mr. Greenzweig responded with a delighted chuckle. “You give such wonderful blessings. You should have been a chassidic rebbe. So tell me how much this blessing is going to cost me, eh, Zelig?”

Zelig drew himself up to his full height and straightened his grease-stained tie. “Mr. Greenzweig, I’m a little disappointed, if I may allow myself to say something like that on such a special night. Are we strangers to each other, you and I, that you should talk to me like this? Do you really think I want money from you in exchange for my good wishes? If anyone in this room is happier to be present at the wedding of your one and only precious child, show him to me, except for you, of course, Mr. Greenzweig. I know what this means to you and to your wife after all these years. And my heart goes out to you.”

“I know you’re a good friend, Zelig,” Mr. Greenzweig replied. “I was just joking about the money, and you know it. But would you like me to make a small contribution anyway?”

“Well, what do you think? A shoemaker, I’m not. And a doctor or a lawyer, I’m also not. So if you want to give me something, good. And if not, also good. I’m leaving it up to you.”