Dreidel mine, spin, spin, spin! By Marvin Rabinovitch It was Purim eve, and Meyer-Zalman Glayzel was so drunk that, as the proverb had it, he couldn’t tell Mordechai from Haman. Somehow or other, he found himself outside the shtibl where the other male inhabitants of Verbovsk were making merry over a reading of the megilla, the scroll of Esther. What was he doing here on the porch of the rickety beit midrash? Oh yes, he h...