The Irish Jew

I went back to Hasidic Williamsburg. This time I drew on a side street, not the main drag where there are a million people. It was a lot calmer and I was pretty much left alone. At one point a bunch of kids kept coming over to see my drawing. They would return every 15 minutes or so. Finally the whole family came. There were 5 kids, mom, dad and grandma. They were Hasidic and dressed in full regalia. The dad said that he was trying to get his family to eat but the kids refused. They kept running out of the house to come see me draw. So finally he said that they all might as well come and see me drawing. It was pretty funny. He kept asking me my name. I said, Tom. No, what was my last name? I told him a few times. He couldn't quite grasp it. He asked me to spell it. K,A,N,E. "Oh, Kane," he said. So you're Jewish. I was sort of laughing inside. That was a new one. "I'm sorry, but I'm Irish." Not too many Jews immigrated from County Cork. I have a feeling that the Hasidic see me hanging out there so much drawing, that they naturally think that I must be Jewish. Why else would a goyum feel so at home amongst the chosen ones.