We used to work with a fellow, nice guy, whose name wasn't Barry Abramowicz, but was close enough to that to be suitable for our purposes. His name was Jew-y, Jew-escent, Jew-nificent. You get the point. But was Barry Jewish? Welllllllllll.
Barry's father was Jewish (thus the name) and Barry was married to a Jewish girl. Barry hadn't been raised with the religion but he was familiar with the culture, knew the holidays, the traditions, etc. He was raising his children Jewish. All to the good.
But, Barry also loved, loved Christmas music. He listened to it year round. To the point where even our Christian co-workers thought it was — hmmmm how do we put this? — a tad overdone? A little much? Extra-super-creepy?
We'll let you fill in the appropriate adjective.
In other words, Barry Abramowicz was a Reuben Sandwich. After all, what's more Jewish than a corned beef sandwich on rye with sauerkraut? Doesn't everyone judge their favorite Jewish deli by the quality of the Reuben?
But then what's less Jewish than putting swiss cheese and mayonnaise (that's what Russian dressing is, people, ketchup and mayo) on a corned beef on rye? Quite the conundrum that.
Well, fortunately life doesn't revolve around rating the Jewishness of co-workers or sandwiches. We liked Barry when we worked with him and while we deplore his taste in music, that doesn't mean we have to listen to it. And we enjoy a Reuben sandwich on occasion, so why would it matter how Jewish it is? Seriously, who cares if a freaking sandwich is Jewish or not?
Oh, apparently we do.