The other day I suffered the ordeal of reading Senator Chuck Schumer’s awful little book, ANTI-SEMITISM IN AMERICA: A WARNING. Until Mr. Schumer came along, no Jew had published a book on alleged rising anti-Semitism in the US since the last … 48 hours. If so, to what music?” Above my piano hang photos of my late Mother’s family: her mother, father, and two siblings. But, somehow, I don’t recall ever wondering, Did my Mother’s mother ride her bike on the weekend? Schumer credits his co-author for bringing “poetry to my thoughts.” Is this Shakespeare or schmaltz?