I think someone’s Jewdar might be just the slightest bit off. A Chabad guy on Flatbush Avenue just now ignored me completely and asked some blonde girl on a bike if she was Jewish (she was, it’s Brooklyn), and so on, and so on. Well, I wasn’t having it. I made eye contact, so he approached, asked the question, to which I answered, “What do you think?,” in the tone that makes it clear I’m saying “yes, of course.” “I don’t know,” he said, looking perplexed. Oh dear. We sorted things out, and he gave me some Shabbat (Shabbos, I suppose) candles. I thanked him in Hebrew, since I don’t know Yiddish and it was the best I could come up with to affirm my identity.