Having escaped the ghetto (except in their innermost hearts) they could afford to return to it like enthusiastic tourists.
When we parted that night, these “tourists” felt vaguely hurt. Hurt that a man who had touched us at that neglected core and had reminded us somehow of a matriarchal grandmother and a patriarchal race should be denying his essential Jewishness.
As for myself, I was not hurt. I was certain that the actor was pleased with the long wrangle, even though he had gotten the worst of the argument. Pleased that these hundred per cent Americans, who looked and talked English like goyim and were seemingly swallowed up in any alien life, had insisted so heatedly upon the unique qualities of their race.