had been asked many times to write aboutthe Jewish experience in America. This was not strictlytrue. He d been asked only twice, most recently by awoman in Wilmington, Delaware, where he had goneto read, for a fee, from his essays and books, and, whenrequested, from his poems and short stories. "How can I write about the Jewish experience," heasked himself on the Metroliner returning to NewYork, "when I don t even know what it is? I haven t thefaintest idea what to write. What in the world for mewas the Jewish experience? I don t think I ve ever runinto an effective anti-Semite. When I grew up in ConeyIsland, everyone I knew was Jewish. I never evenrealized I was Jewish until I was practically grown up.Or rather, I used to feel that everybody in the worldwas Jewish, which amounts to the same thing. Justabout the only exceptions were the Italian familiesliving at the other end of Coney Island and the two orthree living close enough to us to send their-children to
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