The first Jewish person I ever met was a young boy, about eight years old. I was a year younger. A nice boy, but I suspect we didn’t always get along. You see, my brothers and I would usually wear shorts in those days – we would scrap and fi ght so often that we had already ruined too many of our long trousers. So I assume I will have fought and tussled with this boy, just as with all others.
Back then, I didn’t wear glasses yet, so fighting came easier. I can no longer recall the boy’s first name, because he wasn’t in the same class as I was. But I do remember asking myself, “Why isn’t he coming along on the field trip?” And sure enough, he didn’t join us on the big excursion our local church had planned for us. But this was more than 40 years
ago …