Gentile
You make me wish I was born a Jew...like you...
To be part of a larger tribe
Knowing your roots, proud and unwavering
Faith in all you are, knowing you were chosen
I have only...my childhood Catholicism
Incense, wine and bread wafers
That tasted like styrofoam
Sticking to the roof of my mouth
(Can't chew on Jesus...that just isn't allowed...)
It made my feet dance on clouds each time I received communion
I can't deny
We were born different
To different families...mine Italian and Catholic;
Though, you once supposed...maybe to give me some hope
Italians might be the lost tribe of Israel
Since Jews and Italians seem to have a few social things in common
Like guilt trips, coddling their children,
Plastic on the furniture and good food (at least in Brooklyn)
Our childhood family stories weren't much different,
We spent hours comparing and laughing about them
But, even so...even so...you made me wish I was born of Hebrew blood
Thinking maybe...to myself...you might want to be with me more
Maybe then I could be there when your family lights the menorah,
I would love to watch, you see,
Maybe then, you would take me out to meet your family
Instead of making me feel somehow, there must be something wrong
Some gentile girl you're not that serious with
That way your family won't ask questions, and you can keep me in the closet
But, what if I told you
I loved you so much...
There's a possibility I would convert...to Judaism?
(I'd give up my savior to have another one)
Would you...
Would you...be proud of me then?
Would you admit to the world I'm more than just a deep friend?