remarkable story, in this land of opportunity, even for a Jew, saddled with the ancient animus that alleges collective guilt for the Roman crucifixion of Christ.”
With supreme poise she leaned slightly toward him, as if ready to reveal the secret algorithms of her hedge fund: “Earthly greed and jealousy, economic and doctrinal, of course, have always been the real driving forces behind anti-Semitism. A power game of vested interests, though the common man sees it as a conflict between good and evil played out on the Sistine Chapel ceiling. And we know who the eternal fall guy is, straight from central casting: the Jew, who can never be fully accepted or trusted. That is the blockbuster script, written nineteen centuries ago. A comforting theology, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yeah, if you’re Christian.” Armiger’s a bit of a heretic, Nick was thinking.
He still smarted from the uttered word “Jew”; his father always heard it as a slur on the lips of a non-Jew, no matter the context. It was a word so freighted with tragic history, so subject to ingrained contempt, that to hear it was to stop everything, try to read intent in the inflection of the speaker…and then, if the eyes and tone betrayed hatred, to punch the bastard in the face. A feisty sort, his father.
As if I don’t have enough hang-ups of my own, I have to carry around my dad’s, too!
“Quite so,” Mrs. Armiger said, interrupting Nick’s ruminations. “Excuse my idle philosophizing. As one gets older, one gets more certain of things and less concerned about disguising conclusions…. I’m sure you are well versed in the fascinating story of Jewish immigration to the South, the pivotal role Jewish merchants played in the development of the region? Times were relatively good for Jews here. This ancestor of mine surpassed historical precedent and laid the foundation for my family’s present wealth.”
“You speak like someone proud of her Jewish heritage, though, obviously, you’re not a practicing Jew. And even if you were, what would be so terrifying about Corban’s revealing that fact? I still don’t see the ‘dilemma’ you mentioned.”
“I am Episcopalian. And as far back as most people care to go, my family has embraced one of the mainstream Christian branches. Balazar converted; he was Catholic, finally, I believe. Religion for him was a matter of indifference, I suspect, as indeed heretofore it has been for me. Max would have it otherwise.
“I will relate an anecdote about Jews and New Orleans society: it is said by one of the old-line Carnival clubs that no Jew has ever peeked past the foyer; they’re proud of this fact and intend to keep it that way. My late husband was a member of that club; I, as a debutante a long time ago, was honored to serve as queen. At the upper reaches of New Orleans society, all is not sweetness and light, certainly, but the hallowed custom of exclusionary chauvinism often produces strange bedfellows. The French and Spanish Creole elite–both white and of color–sneer at the Anglo-Saxon elite, but they unite in their distaste for Jews. Unspoken for the most part, but no less powerful. You know of the recent demands by blacks, Jews, and women for inclusion in the musty traditions of this city? Several old-line krewes ceased their public involvement in Mardi Gras, their very reason for existence, rather than admit that the ancien régime has breathed its last.”
“Let the plebeians eat king cake, eh?” Nick said, stunned by this woman’s candor with a virtual stranger.
“You joke, like those who say this masked power structure is now irrelevant. But I assure you, this is very serious business. I have excellent Jewish clients, but Christians outnumber them five to one. Surely you’ve heard of ‘old money.’ Here, that is the polite term for white Christian social and economic snobbery and hegemony. Pleasure and prejudice are New Orleans delicacies; we savor and guard them as a chef
With supreme poise she leaned slightly toward him, as if ready to reveal the secret algorithms of her hedge fund: “Earthly greed and jealousy, economic and doctrinal, of course, have always been the real driving forces behind anti-Semitism. A power game of vested interests, though the common man sees it as a conflict between good and evil played out on the Sistine Chapel ceiling. And we know who the eternal fall guy is, straight from central casting: the Jew, who can never be fully accepted or trusted. That is the blockbuster script, written nineteen centuries ago. A comforting theology, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yeah, if you’re Christian.” Armiger’s a bit of a heretic, Nick was thinking.
He still smarted from the uttered word “Jew”; his father always heard it as a slur on the lips of a non-Jew, no matter the context. It was a word so freighted with tragic history, so subject to ingrained contempt, that to hear it was to stop everything, try to read intent in the inflection of the speaker…and then, if the eyes and tone betrayed hatred, to punch the bastard in the face. A feisty sort, his father.
As if I don’t have enough hang-ups of my own, I have to carry around my dad’s, too!
“Quite so,” Mrs. Armiger said, interrupting Nick’s ruminations. “Excuse my idle philosophizing. As one gets older, one gets more certain of things and less concerned about disguising conclusions…. I’m sure you are well versed in the fascinating story of Jewish immigration to the South, the pivotal role Jewish merchants played in the development of the region? Times were relatively good for Jews here. This ancestor of mine surpassed historical precedent and laid the foundation for my family’s present wealth.”
“You speak like someone proud of her Jewish heritage, though, obviously, you’re not a practicing Jew. And even if you were, what would be so terrifying about Corban’s revealing that fact? I still don’t see the ‘dilemma’ you mentioned.”
“I am Episcopalian. And as far back as most people care to go, my family has embraced one of the mainstream Christian branches. Balazar converted; he was Catholic, finally, I believe. Religion for him was a matter of indifference, I suspect, as indeed heretofore it has been for me. Max would have it otherwise.
“I will relate an anecdote about Jews and New Orleans society: it is said by one of the old-line Carnival clubs that no Jew has ever peeked past the foyer; they’re proud of this fact and intend to keep it that way. My late husband was a member of that club; I, as a debutante a long time ago, was honored to serve as queen. At the upper reaches of New Orleans society, all is not sweetness and light, certainly, but the hallowed custom of exclusionary chauvinism often produces strange bedfellows. The French and Spanish Creole elite–both white and of color–sneer at the Anglo-Saxon elite, but they unite in their distaste for Jews. Unspoken for the most part, but no less powerful. You know of the recent demands by blacks, Jews, and women for inclusion in the musty traditions of this city? Several old-line krewes ceased their public involvement in Mardi Gras, their very reason for existence, rather than admit that the ancien régime has breathed its last.”
“Let the plebeians eat king cake, eh?” Nick said, stunned by this woman’s candor with a virtual stranger.
“You joke, like those who say this masked power structure is now irrelevant. But I assure you, this is very serious business. I have excellent Jewish clients, but Christians outnumber them five to one. Surely you’ve heard of ‘old money.’ Here, that is the polite term for white Christian social and economic snobbery and hegemony. Pleasure and prejudice are New Orleans delicacies; we savor and guard them as a chef
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