Years ago I was in Boston for Christmas. My mother requested her prodigal son attend church with her. Respecting her faith I said, Sure." and dressed in a dark-gray suit with a black cashmere polo shirt. My mother came into the room and said, "Where's your tie?"
"Mom, this shirt is pure cashmere."
"But what about a tie?"
"You can't wear a tie with a polo shirt."
My mother frowned with disappointment.
"I hope at my funeral you'll wear a tie."
Ridden with guilt I changed my shirt and put on a tie.
When I related this story to the mother of my diamond employer, Hilda, tsked and said, "That's the difference between Jews and goyim."
"What?" Her son and I were befuddled by Hilda's statement.
"You mother simply asked for you to wear a tie at her funeral, if it had been me I would have said, "Once you kill me, I want you to wear a tie to the funeral."
"Aha." Richie and I replied for Hilda had explained the true depth of Jewish guilt in a single sentence.
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