Is it Good for the Jews?

“Is it good for the Hebrews?” Moses’ mother asks, shushing
her boy before he strikes out enraged by the overseer’s brutish

behavior. And is Prince Hamlet’s impetuous dagger—
having left the loquacious, all-too-human Polonius to stagger

downstage, while we unconcerned, applaud the murderer—
not dangerous (does anyone wonder) for the Danes? A shanda fur

di Goyim, my mother says, as Madoff dupes both Hadassah
and the Dems. O, Weinstein, bedding your shiksa goddesses

while Wikipedia dubs you Rapist/Felon/Jew, is collective sin
the victim or oppressor’s weapon? Dirty laundry or desecration?

the critics argued as Roth’s Portnoy neither balanced nor tipped   
the scales. On the other hand, here I sit, bookish, ill-equipped,

as Tevye would say, for this farkakte world, tracing my tree
back through Tysmienica, one hundred percent (23 and Me

reports) purebred eastern European Jew. One-fifth of Nobel
Laureates, and less than one percent of the population we tell

our exceptional selves, trotting out Einstein, Kafka, Proust,
Koufax, as if ordinary was our ancestor’s shame. Be a credit

to your race, Mary tells baby Jesus. Is it good for the Jews?
my grandmother asks before navigating Atlantic Avenue.

She marches ahead, intrepid as Moses crossing the Red Sea.                              
Take my hand, I cry out, arm outstretched. But she is eighty

years dead, so I step off the curb. Hineni, I call. Wait for me.