If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge? —William Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice

I’m accused of being “white” by a mob that consists of way too many white people. Paunchy, pink-haired lefties sprinkled amongst a sea of pro-Hamas-chanting lunatics.

Granted, I look white. Not quite Aryan white, but white enough to move through America passing—and being chastised for being—a white man.

Perhaps I’m considered “white-passing”—a new vomitous woke term for what Jews are now.

Nobody seeing me on the street knows where I come from, or that my mother survived Dachau while my father managed to live through years in the labor camps* in Russia.

*For the average idiot who labels me white, gulag is the correct term. Here, we’d call it slavery.

So why, then, did my parents have to suffer through those traumatic experiences?

Ummm… Could it be…because they were labeled NOT WHITE?

If they weren’t white by the standards set by friggen Europeans—not just Germans, by the way; Nazi Germany had plenty of willing collaborators across Europe—then, ladies and germs, what does that make me?

My European Jewish parents were no longer simply members of a religion. The Nazis decided Jews were a race—and an inferior one at that.

My parents weren’t persecuted because of what they believed. They were persecuted because of what they suddenly were. Capiche?

And this is exactly what makes the word white so complicated for me as a Jewish person.

[SIDEBAR] I’m—we’re—not alone. Due to the tragically woke new........

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