I had my back to the kitchen window, checking on my roasting chicken, when the doorbell rang. I thought it was Rhod and the kids and I called out Come In! I turned around to see two men I didn’t know on my doorstep.
Not you two I said. Don’t even think about it.
They were young, all dressed up in dark suits, white shirts, and ties. In our neighborhood it means another visit from the Jesus squad. We seem to get more than our fair share of visits up here on the hill. In downtown Santa Cruz they’d be mistaken for the FBI.
I’m sorry, I don’t have time for you I said. I have guests coming for dinner in a few minutes.
Is there a better time when we could come back and talk to you about Jesus?
(Really, Christ Almighty, are people so stupid they can’t find Jesus themselves? Can’t Jesus call off the suits? I took the easy way out.)
Sorry hon, I’m Jewish.
Well, thank you said one of the suits as he stepped off the stoop. “Shlemiel” he said. I’m happy to give him the benefit of the doubt here and assume he wasn’t calling me names, that he was just a shlub.
It’s Shalom! I said.