ABSTRACT
My father and I had a few minutes to ourselves at my kitchen table before the rest of the family would arrive and interrupt us. It was April, and we had just celebrated Passover a few days earlier. My father often expressed disdain for those Jews who made a show of it (by their dress, by their insularity, by praying all day), and at the same time, expressed pride in being a member of the tribe. In one breath, my father could exalt Jewishness and in the next, disparage it.
