History never precisely repeats itself. I was cleaning up after dinner the other evening when I heard my daughter, Samantha, now nearly 17, on the phone; she was talking with a guy named Vinnie.
"Vinnie?" I said, as she hung up. "I think we should be focusing on Jewish guys now, don't you?"
"He's a friend, Mom," said Samantha.
And to my surprise, I let it go at that because I wasn't sure what else to do.