Idon’t know your name. Maybe it’s Yanky, or Usher, or Chaim, or maybe I haven’t guessed it. But the picture of you I saw in the news keeps haunting me. I look at your beautiful eyes and your unreadable expression captured by the photographer outside the Israeli consulate in Manhattan at the demonstration against the Zionist persecution of religion. You stood there in silence, yet you were certainly conspicuous in the striped costume you wore, the uniform worn by the prisoners in Auschwitz. I assume the getup was your father’s idea, and just to make sure everyone got the point, he added a yellow Star of David patch inscribed with the word “Jude,” just like the badge of scorn every Jew under the Nazi regime was forced to wear.