Today I went to a Jewish cemetary,

just because I could. The Jews have been here for over 2,000 years (give or take some exaggeration). The other night I ended up celebrating Pesach (Passover) in a synagogue. I tried to take my Mumbai skull-cap with me as a souvenir, but no go. The Brooklyn Jew who brought me along (the Israeli army type Jew as opposed to my Woody Allen type Jew) explained that the whole religion was based on the same thing as Jewish mothers - never letting you forget what happened 3,000 years ago. But hey, I'm happy they're not Egyptian slaves any more (or Babylonian ones, thanks to the Parsis).

On the way into the cemetary was an Indian guy who, unexpectedly, asked if I was Jewish in a you-can't-get-in-here-if-you're-not tone. Sure I was. After a while enjoying the serenity he came up to me with a book of all the people buried there, and asked me who I was there to see. Thinking quick, I said my grandfather. He died in 1975 (a safe bet, some of the graves looked pretty new). We went through the book and I found Menach Mordechai, d. 1975. After a while we found his grave and I looked suitably sad and wistful, while hoping Mordechai appreciated the humour of the situation. Then he offered to clean the grave for 500 rupees.

Obligatory black and white cemetary shot:

Menach Mordechai, may he rest in peace: