It’s only recently that I allow myself to think of it at all.

Long I’ve played the role of one whose blood runs thin –

Simple straight line: Protestant, clear as gin when, in actuality…

It is mixed, thick, rich – dating all the way back to those narrow chalky streets of Jerusalem .

This, my quiet secret. Anyway, who wants to hear it?

Silent on a bench in le Jardin I am recognized.Two dapper men – French –

approach and speaking only French one says,“Excuse me, vous-etes juive?”

So direct, so straight.

Half and half, perhaps. I identify as such.

He tells me, You must visit your homeland. This is important.

I realize in that moment, I have entered only one door,

always wanting to fling open that life-long other – verboten.

With my camera, he snaps picture after picture – all those variant shades of grey,

For the second time in this life, someone other than you has seen me as I am.