First of a series of love poems for Ann S. (2001-2002) Am I Jewish? Menorah in hand, you smile, soft fingers caress the brass, circle each empty hole searching for the candles. Other than a few close friends and circumcision, that's the closest I've been to being Jewish. This menorah balanced in your hand was willed to me after the death of a friend of my father. A Jewish tailor by trade, found sitting in his easy-chair, cigarette ashes piled on the rug burnt out for three days, exactly one year after his wife had died.