So wat's yer name, kid?	::A rather small, gangly kid sits before you, completely absorbed with the foreign scrawlings of a thick, leather-worn book. He furrows his eyebrows in sudden frustration and points to a particular word on one of the pages. He mutters:: Drat! What does Hatikva mean? ::You cough politely and he looks up, startled.:: Oh. Hi. I'm Isaac. Isaac Bernstein. And yes, I�m Jewish. ::This said with a certain amount of pride, he returns to pondering, gazing at the source of his frustration in silence.::
You got a nick-name or was 'dat it?	::Frowns and unconsciously pushes his teetering glasses back into place.:: That's it. ::laughs sardonically:: But who knows, maybe Isaac is just a made-up name. Nuns tend to exaggerate things.
Where you from, anyways?	::Frowns at the floor, wrinkling his eyebrows. You can tell he�s not very comfortable with this subject, so you open your mouth to ask a different question, but he interrupts you with bits of his story and you sit back to listen.:: I was born in a Catholic orphanage up in Harlem. Funny, huh, that I�m all Jewish and was born in a Christian house, but it�s the truth. I don�t know who my mother was, or my father, but one of the nuns, the only one I trusted, told me that one rainy night a beautiful young Jewish girl barged into the orphanage, heavy with child, err, me. She was pale and wet, and in a lot of pain, and the nuns knew that she was about to give birth. (Smart ones, those nuns) They brought the girl into a back room and I was born, and Sister Mary Catherine (my nun) asked her what she wanted to call me. She told them to call me Isaac, because it means something about laughing (I'm looking into it, give me time) and my mother wanted her son to be a remnant! of her laughter. At least, that�s what the Sister said, but they tend to be a bit melodramatic, so I wouldn�t trust the story entirely. The nuns never found out the girl�s name because she died just minutes after I was born and they buried her in the Catholic cemetery behind the orphanage. ::pauses, then chuckles softly:: I think any priest, and even a rabbi, would have a hernia if they heard a Jewish girl was buried in a Catholic cemetery, but they were good nuns despite their inclination toward melodrama, and pitied my mother. There was a baby blanket that she carried with her with the name �Bernstein� embroidered on it, so they just assumed that was my mother�s last name and gave it to me. I stayed at the orphanage most of my life, until it changed and the living conditions became somewhat unpleasant. Then a girl called Liese and her friend Willy from Ravenswood got sent to the orphanage and helped us escape, and me and Thad Crosby, that stupid shadow monkey who�s p! robably practicing his hourly ritual of stuffing his face, decided to come here and try the newsie life. ::You sit astounded. Geez, the kid really can talk.::
Whadd'a yah look like?	::Shrugs:: Not much to see, but, I, ummm, guess you can look. :: He remains rooted to the bunk, but you are able to take in his dark mousey hair, large deer-like brown eyes adorned with wire-rimmed glasses, long nose and thin lips from your spot opposite him. His Jewish heritage is quite evident from his stereotypical features, though his voice and mannerisms suggest no nationality. He is thin and taut, like a coiled spring ready to jump forward at the slightest touch, and though his strength seems small from his slight frame, he can put up quite a fight when provoked. He�s an orphanage boy, through and through. Returning his attention to the book, Isaac mutters:: Stupid nuns. Couldn�t even teach a Jew any Hebrew.
Got any 'ahhh, distin'guishin charact'ahristics?	::Looks up, startled. The question has caught him off guard.:: I uh, am�::scratches his head and pushes back his glasses.:: smart, maybe. ::shakes his head:: Why do you want to know? The nuns back in the orphanage told me I was too smart for my own good, but they were about as intelligent as the flees that lived in our beds, so who knows. ::shrugs:: I�m Jewish by heritage, though I haven�t been able to study any about my people till I got out of the orphanage. ::sighs with frustrations:: They don�t let you learn about other religions in a Catholic home.
If you emptied out yah pockets on dis' table right now, wat�would fall out?	::Shakes his head:: Nothin. I don�t keep nothing in my pockets. I know too many people who are too good at stealing.
How'd you find 'da place?	Me and Thad found it. After we escaped from the orphanage, we were going to stay with Liese and Willy at Ravenswood, but they have cats there and Thad's allergic to them. ::Grimaces:: We took one step in there and he started sneezing all over the place. So we wandered around the boroughs and wound up here.
You drink, smoke, gamble...�	::Makes a face:: None. I can't do anything, since I'm going to be a Jewish scholar some day. ::muttering:: If I can ever get outta here.
Related tah any'bady�we'd know?	::Shakes his head:: I already told you that. I don't have any relatives.
Who's yah best friend?	::Grumbles:: Thad, I suppose. He's not very smart but at least he's there.
Got any woyds tah live by?	::Ignores the question.:: What the devil does Hatikva mean? ::Slams the book shut in frustration and putting it aside, he jumps off the bunk and strides out the door, muttering:: How do they expect me to learn anything if they don't teach me Hebrew....