Throwing Down with the Mah Jongg Mavens

I could hear the clackety-clack-clack before I even entered the room. 

Pushing open the heavy wooden doors of the synagogue social hall, I saw the source of the cacophony: Tables of four, heads bent over, sliding and clapping stacks of small tiles with all the fervor of factory workers racing to meet the day’s quota. 

It seems I’d stumbled upon the monthly meeting of the Mickve Israel Mah-jongg Club, and I wasn’t leaving without making a little noise myself.