Judgement Day

“You’re not a Jew,” she says, “not one of the few chosen ones, you’re a big nothing, a song a dance, a few laughs.”

A Johnny come lightly flowing to my rhythm, I reply, “And you’re a bitch, a vicious witch with a twist, you give me a stitch in my left side.” A brutal switch to her words, I continue, “You call yourself a Christian yet sit in judgment, call me a nothing. Step lightly," I caution. "Everyone is someone. You think because you sit in church and pray to Jesus it erases your sins, your forgeries your jealousies. Who died and made you God?”

Her mouth falls open. She is not accustomed to being answered back.

I continue, “Who gives you the right to decide what I am.”

I stop. I’m tired of this dance. What’s the purpose? I cannot change how she sees. She has cohorts of sorts who see the way she does. I live under the misconception I’m a Jew because I was born one, through and through. No one can take that away from me.

Impassioned by the fruits of my labor I know I’m a Jew. In a stew, it’s not important to define myself by her illusion. Misconceptions, putdowns and judgments morph into perceptions. I look at her again and see she’s never been my friend.

Get thee behind me I say to myself as much as her and continue on my way.

Mean People Suck!