This afternoon a young man in a black suit and a yarmulke stopped me and asked if I were Jewish. I told him sorry I wasn’t, and he said “it was the nose.” It amused me because of a family story about my great-grandfather, named “Yacob,” who with his hooked nose was frequently misidentified as a Jew, to his exasperation. But in our enlightened times, I took it as a compliment.