Here's a real Jew for you:
she teaches piano using an
old baby grand too bogged down
with memories that stick
in between the keys to be
played easily by students,
and in the old broken bench
she keeps faded mementos of
the success she could have had
but never thought to claim.

Sure she is a superstar of the
calmest kind, one that breeds
neurosurgeons and gradeschool
teachers, plays in quartets
and jazz ensembles (which gives
her the right to complain when
tiny fingers fail to grasp syncopation,
really anybody can learn this).

She's only ever danced to
Gershwin, accompanied
synagogue choirs, dazzled the
over-65 crowd at weekend retreats,
yet it is the antique way her hands
curl over old stained keyboards,
free the ghosts of Auschwitz and
beyond, that shows she's a Jew.