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I Live Here, Too  55
 Once I got out of the closet about being Jewish in my husband's home town,
I began to enjoy my status there as Resident Jew. My husband's sister had
become -the guardian of their family traditions — the cranberry business;
the Congregational Church, where their mother played the organ; the ancestor
worship, centered around the successful grandfather on one side and the newspaper
editor on the other. She died the same year as my husband. No longer were
there guardians of the family memory to bar my entrance to this kingdom.
I stopped trying to be one of them. I could pick and choose what part of
this lore I wanted to accept as mine, and what part to reject. And I stopped
mentally air-brushing myself out of their family pictures.
 I started identifying myself as a Jew in public places and in print. It
is no longer news, and the hidden Jews come around to say they are glad I
live here. I am glad, too.