“Mommy, I can’t believe I never even knew we were Jewish.”
“What? Honey, we’re not Jewish.”
“Yes, we are.”
“No, we’re not.”
“Grandma said we are.”
“Grandma told you we are Jewish?”
“Yep. One-sixteenth.”
“You’re one-sixteenth Jewish?”
“Yes. Grandma said so.”
Wracking my brain for any indication, inclination, or even a hazy memory of Jewish descendants.
Wait.
“Do you mean Irish?”
“Yep.”
As if they’re interchangeable.
“Sweet pea, that’s different. We are Irish.”
“I know. Grandma said so.”
“But that’s different from Jewish. In so many ways. For example, Jewish people celebrate Hanukkah.”
“Right. With the leprechauns.”
I need to… fix this.
