There’s a loud knock at the door. “I’m here!” announces a resonant baritone. I open the door and master magician Marc Garfinkel sweeps into my front hall dragging a black rolling suitcase with one hand and a briefcase with the other. He stoops a little as he enters the living room as if his six-foot frame might have to clear the threshold. At age 30 Marc still has something of a boyish look with cropped blond hair and funky glasses with acid-green earpieces. We’ve barely exchanged a few pleasantries when he fishes a few dollar bills out of his pocket. “You wouldn’t mind giving a little more tzedakah right?” he says handing my son four dollar bills to count.Marc then takes the bills back folds them again and gives them back to my son — except that this time they’re not four $1 bills but four $100 bills. My son and I look and each other. “Huh?” we think. How’d he do that? A couple of other family members wander in to see what the excitement is about.Marc launches into a demonstration of mentalism: He asks me to think of a person who’s important to me. I consider a moment then silently choose the daughter who’s away in seminary. “Older or younger?” he asks looking at me then decides: “younger.” “Male or female?” He answers for me: “female.” Then he asks if she is family or friend and answers that one on his own as well. He takes a business card out of his pocket the back of which is scattered with various handwritten letters and passes over the scribbles with a lighter. As the flame scans over the jumble they disappear until only six letters are left… spelling out my daughter’s name! We all look at each other astonished.