Genesis
Of all places, a kosher restaurant in Memphis, Tennessee while on line waiting to pay for a couple of hot dogs. The price of kosher meat down south took me by surprise and at first sight of my bill I uttered in disbelief, “Jesus Christ”. The clerk behind the counter stared at me and my yarmulke in awe. I, suddenly becoming uncomfortably aware of my words, quietly apologized. She smiled a proud and comforting smile believing she had witnessed my salvation. “If you need him, you can call him”, she said.
Growing up in New York where everyone within daled amos was a Jew, married to one, or working for one, and all Christmas meant was a bonus episode of He-Man in prime time, I never had to take Jesus seriously. Jesus (with or without the “H. Christ” accompaniment) was a word I learned through pop culture to be interchangeable with “Wow” or Holy Smokes” or “Holy four letter word.” Yes, on the periphery I knew the word beheld some gravity because there was occasionally some older, wiser, grumpier Jew around to admonish my careless speech practice. “Don't say that name!” Why not sir? “Just don't say it