I haven’t been bagelled lately. If you’re Jewish, you probably know what that means. In my head scarf a la Zadie Smith, I am recognizably Jewish. Wearing long skirts and long sleeves in the summer also helps peg me as Torah-observant, or Orthodox. All this means, I get bagelled a lot. Let me explain. Say I’m in the produce section getting my pineapple de-peeled (wonderful contraption), when a silver-haired lady sidles over and tells me, apropos of nothing, how her mother used to bake challee for the Sabbath with poppy seeds. I nod affably. She then drifts off to the cereal aisle. I’m squeezing bags of pita for freshness in the baked goods section, when a dude with a scruffy beard and fake tattoo arm sleeves asks me the exact date of Hanukah (which is at least four months off), then points to the gefilte fish in my cart and tells me he doesn’t get his from the store but makes his own. I smile a little and bob my head. Read More
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