To the Woman at the Memorial for My Deceased Aunt Who Asked Me Why I Had Not Accepted Jesus as My Lord and Savior Hours After Eleven Worshippers Were Gunned Down at the Tree of Life Synagogue in Pittsburgh

I know you believe you are doing God’s work when you ask me
“Are you a Christian?” and instantly retort to my “No” with “Why not?”

I know you do not know how the hairs stand up on the back of my neck
when first you question my failure to embrace Jesus as my Lord and Savior
and then interrupt with that world-weary “Ahhh ...” as I say,
“Well, my mother’s family was Jewish— ”

I know you had my number when a woman rose from the audience earlier
and encouraged her fellow mourners to seek out “anyone here today
who doesn’t yet know Jesus.” Even though we hadn’t met yet. Even though
you didn’t know my name.

I know you do not know that for many non-Christian people,

       particularly for Jews,
       particularly for Muslims,
       particularly for those of a darker hue,

       the questions “Are you a Christian? Why not?”

       cause a little knot to form in the belly,
       a little jolt of adrenaline to pulse through the veins.

I know you do not know that “Are you a Christian? Why not? Why not?”

        summons tribal memories of forced conversions and of ghettoes
        summons family memories of broken glass and cattle cars
        summons my memories

        (they are my memories. I swear they are)

        of electrified razor wire and smoking chimneys
        of scarecrow bodies with the skin hanging off like dirty sheets
        of children dumped into reeking mass graves

        of you
        of you
        of you.