it’s a mitzvah!

“That sounds made up.”

“I swear to God.”

“I can’t even imagine. She must have been furious. It just didn’t occur to them?”

“It’s not like they’ve historically been the most considerate people.”

“That’s hardly an excuse.”

“Maybe they thought they were being considerate, that after all this time, it would just be a hassle to deal with.”

“Are you defending them?”

“Obviously not.”

“I mean, how would you feel if your parents told you, out of the blue, that you weren’t actually a Jew?”

“It wasn’t just out of the blue–she’s a grown woman. She was enrolling her kids in Hebrew school, and when the rabbis asked to see credentials–”

“At least you could just whip it out. ‘Bam. There it is, friend. That wasn’t trimmed for comfort.’”

“–because she’s adopted, right? Her siblings were too, but they were born Jewish. She’s goyische by birth, and they just never bother to take care of it. She grows up Jewish, but officially, in the eyes of God, the contract hasn’t been signed.”

“I’m sure He’d be devastated.”

“I guess it would bother me. But she goes to see them, her parents, and that’s when they tell her.”

“‘We forgot. We had the whole day planned. Buy some fish, visit Sheila in the hospital, go to the mikveh and convert our daughter to the religion of her entire family. It was an honest mistake.’”

“It’s different for me, because the association with the religion isn’t there. I guess it’d be disheartening to realize I’d just been making anti-Semitic jokes for years and years.”

“All the best ones come out of Israel, anyway.”

“But she really, really cares about it, and her kids also–and they all had to convert too, after that. And her husband’s family, Christ. They’ve got a few people creeping up on a hundred on that side. I think one of them banged out the nail that went through the feet.”

“So you wouldn’t feel lied to?”

“I probably would, but I don’t think it’d create an existential crisis. I can’t see myself losing much sleep over it. I doubt it’d be any worse than any other minor revelation.”

“‘Those pants you love? We switched the tags. We bought them at a garage sale.’”

“Maybe a bit worse than that.”

“‘We’ve been making your lattes with whole milk the entire time.’”

“Now you’re getting it. That’s acceptably traumatic.”

“I think it just exposes the lie, doesn’t it? She’s upset that she’s not Jewish, even though, for all intents and purposes, she’s led a more devoutly Jewish life than anyone else in the family. And why is she upset? Because now the way in which she’s devoted her time and energy to this cause, it’s going to be diminished in the public eye because, God forbid, not only was she a Gentile, but her kids, too. Her parents will probably get the worst of it, but there’ll always be that nagging feeling that she was born different, and she’ll resent herself for that more than anybody. And if her kids are anything like she is, they’ll resent her too, though only time will tell how that will manifest. And all for what? The difference between calling yourself something and a ceremony, a dip in the pond to signify to God that you’re for serious–except it’s not for God at all. It’s all about appearances, and hers has been tarnished, and it’s something that no amount of holy baths will ever be able to mend.”