WHEN BB TAUNTED me with continual cries of “You killed Jesus, you killed Jesus … ” I had no idea what he meant. But I sensed that the nuggety, pasty-faced English lad was not paying me a compliment. After all, BB had a well-earned reputation as the school bully.

It was 1964. I was ten and attending a government primary school in a small village in Kent, England. My twin brother and I were the only Jewish kids in the school. Our family was seriously secular and my parents negotiated an exemption from the compulsory religious instruction (RI) class, which they regarded as indoctrination. This meant that while the RI class was on, we sat in another classroom. Because that room had a bookshelf along one wall, it was called the library. We read books while the rest of the class listened to tales of how God created the world and Jesus saved mankind.