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Smelling of pickled herring, my shucked-off Judaism lay in a sniveling heap in the corner. An oily sheen covered his sloping forehead, and his narrow shoulders shook spasmodically beneath a charcoal vest and white dress shirt.

"M..maybe...eh, you could at least, eh, promise to keep holy every other sabbath?" he said with a shrug, his Fiddler-On-The-Roof cadence echoing off the cell's iron walls.

My steel-toed rebuttal sank into his abdomen, and he spat several gem-quality stones onto the cement floor. I picked them up and put them in the side pocket of my stonewashed, secular jeans.

"It would be a mitzvah if you donated these moneys to your local JCC," he said, rubbing his thumb and fingers together.

I gave the little mockey a half-hearted slap, turned, and pushed open the rusty, armored door.

"Perhaps, eh, we will see each other again come the high holidays?" he said.

Ignoring him, I stepped out into the clean, blinding sunlight of post-ethnicity.

Date Written: July 30, 2004
Author: qualcomm
Average Vote: 3.6667