I have walked through synagogues on both sides of the Atlantic, on the Pacific, in the north and in the south, through Portuguese rites and Ashkenazic nasality, in backyard tents and industrial headquarters, with Orthodox and non-affiliated.

Let me tell you a story.

Yesterday, a man (me) walked into a temple which he had never before attended, yet two teachers, who taught at one of the schools he (I) went to growing up, were there. Today, he (I) entered a tiny, Chassid-run gallery service, which he’d (I’d) only attended last Yom Kippur — one year ago — and the rabbi yelped, “The Comedian!

Across seas and nations, they know me. I walk in and I’m at home.

I am… The King of the Jews.

Wait. Others have claimed that title. I’m a uniter not a divider.

Let’s just say I’m the unofficial mayor of Sheenytown.


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