My bubbe, may she rest in peace, was one sharp lady. If she’d been born in a different time and place, she could have been president of the United States-or the world’s greatest stand-up comedian¹.

Bubbe picked up the telephone one day to call my aunt. It was not a long-distance call, just an ordinary call from Chelsea to Wakefield, but something happened. This was back when Nixon had nominated² Henry Kissinger to be his secretary of state, and the U.S. Senate was holding confirmation³ hearings. Bubbe’s call got connected into somebody else’s line. Two men were having a conversation about Kissinger: Yes, he was from Germany, but still, he was a Jew, and you know those Jews, and wasn’t it awful that we were going to have a Jew for Secretary of State?

“So vat’s wrong vit det?” said Bubbe into the telephone.

“WHO IS THIS?”

“Dis is Kissinger’s mother!” And she hung up.

I always wonder what those guys must have thought.

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