Judaism never troubled Ben Shirazi the way it troubled some,
nor was it the subject of an abiding, metaphysical discomfort
with himself and the world. It did not even harbor
the mystical, unspoken promise of redemptive brotherhood. And perhaps this
was why he wasn’t ill at ease with being Jewish
and didn’t have to constantly have to pick at it,
the way children pick at scabs they wish would go
away. He was okay with being Jewish. He was okay
with himself, the way he was okay with his body,
with his looks, with his choice of books, film, friends.
Paraphrases from the novel Call Me By Your Name by André Aciman.