A Bed, Bath, & Beyond Blessing

I was on my way into the local Bed, Bath, and Beyond when I encountered a young Orthodox Jew. He was sporting a beard, yarmulke, and tzitzit, the fringe at the bottom of his prayer shawl. 

That’s the fringe at the bottom, not on the fringe on the top.      

              

“Excuse me,” he asked “are you Jewish?”

“Yes, I am. How’d you know?”

“Oh, I had that sense.”

Ah, Jewdar is a many-splendored thing!

“My name is Ari," he said. "Would you like to perform a mitzvah with me?”

“But why here?” I asked.  “Is there some special religious significance about a Bed, Bath, and Beyond?”

“It’s where the bus lets off.”

Mitzvahs are acts of kindness or reverence generally thought of as “good deeds," which may benefit individuals or the world at large. There are 613 formal mitzvahs in Judaism.

I haven't even yet performed the Top Ten. I’m way behind on my mitzvah bucket list!

“Yes, I would,” I said. “But I should tell you that I’m a Reform Jew. Frankly if we had ‘Instant Judaism,’ ‘Quick Judaism,’ or ‘Mix and Pray Judaism,’ like speeds of Cream of Wheat, I might be one of those too."

“Oh, that doesn’t matter,” he laughed. “We’re all Jews.”

I liked his attitude!

“Now what we’re going to do,” he said “is wrap tefillin and say some blessings.”

No, tefillin is not a kind of fish.

Tefillin are two small leather boxes containing Hebrew prayers attached by leather straps which very observant Jewish men wrap around their head and left arm. 

This “Mix and Pray” Jew hasn’t wrapped tefillin since his Bar Mitzvah.

I began to wonder if Ari had an ulterior motive. Was he using tefillin to tie me up to prevent my escape while he tried to sell me timeshares, futures in a matzoh ball mine, or …

OMG, what if he’s a ….

“Ari,” I said “you’re not a Jew for Jesus?”

Jews for Jesus are “Jews” who believe Jesus is the messiah even though they generally practice Jewish customs. Most of them try to convince you that without Jesus you’re headed straight for the bargain basement.

If there is anything after life, I’m sure we’re all going to the same place, although I hope I’m not sharing a room with Ivan the Terrible.

“No, I’m a Jew,” he said. “No worries.”

Ari guided me through a number of Hebrew prayers, culminating in the Shema, the central prayer of Judaism:

“Sh'ma Yis-ra-eil, A-do-nai E-lo-hei-nu, A-do-nai E-chad.”

Which - roughly translated - means:

“Hear o Israel the Lord our God, the Lord is one."

The mitzvah only took about 30 seconds to perform and then Ari unwrapped the tefillin. No ulterior motive. As Ari probably intended, I now felt more in touch with my Jewish roots. 

I also felt like I wanted to perform a mitzvah for somebody or group of persons in particular, not just for the planet.

I had a few ideas.

We took a selfie and I said goodbye and entered the store. Although a mitzvah is not necessarily supposed to provide a tangible benefit to the person performing it, my mitzvah did.

“I’m sorry, I forgot my 20% off coupon,” I said to the sales associate, as I stood in line with a food processor in hand.

“No problem, sir,” she said. “I’ll get you one!”

How about that?

Not only did I help repair the world, I wound up with a Bed, Bath, and Beyond blessing too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If the Lone Ranger had a Jewish Faithful Friend, or Hi-Ho Hyman Silvers!

Like every child of the fifties, I returned to those thrilling days of yesterday whenever I heard:

“A fiery horse at the speed of light, a cloud of dust, and a hearty Hi-ho Silver! The Lone Ranger!”

But things have not gone so well for the Lone Ranger since then.

A few years ago, the Ranger's long-time Faithful Friend Tonto walked out on him - claiming he wanted to do a "single" - and began dating Cher. The Masked Man hastily started interviewing for a new Faithful Friend.

Then the bombshell that rocked the nation:  

 The Ranger was refusing to interview anyone who wasn’t wearing feathers! 

The Equal Employment Opportunity Commission (EEOC) swiftly intervened and the Masked Man agreed to embrace diversity and reach out to white guys.  

And now, we children of the fifties may once again return to those thrilling days of yesteryear whenever we hear:

"A fiery horse at the speed of light, a cloud of dust, and a hearty Hi-ho Hyman Silvers! The Lone Ranger!"  

 The Ranger hired 57-year-old Hyman Silvers, an accountant from Queens NY, as the new Faithful Friend. Mr. Silvers had done well in the personal interview, making the Ranger laugh when he answered the question "Where do you see yourself in five years?" with “Buried deep within the arms of a young shikseh, Mr. Ranger."

 At first there were problems along the trail.

“This is where we go to the bath room, CHHemosabe?” asked Hyman. “A cactus?”

“Just don’t lean into it," said the Lone Ranger. “And that’s kemosabe, not CHHemosabe!”

 “Hyman,” said the Lone Ranger, “help me make camp.”

 "I can't really help you make camp, Lone, but I'll be glad to help you make reservations."

 Ambushed by the Butch Cavendish Gang, the Ranger had to make a run for it, calling out “Faithful Friend, cover me!” 

 “Here’s 15 bucks, Lone,” said Hyman. “Does that cover you?”

 Gradually Hyman Silvers developed into a worthy Faithful Friend, trusted and appreciated by the Lone Ranger himself.

“Hyman has introduced me to some delicious grub called herring,” beamed the Ranger, “and he knows so many great jokes about guys in the garment district named Ginsberg!”

“Plus he came up with idea of my ditching this idiotic mask! I don’t have a secret identity and this mask does nothing but get people shooting at me thinking I’m an outlaw!”

 “That mask is totally farcacta, Lone!” added Hyman Silvers.

“That’s right, Faithful Friend,” agreed the Lone Ranger. 

“Now get the hell out of here and make camp, you schlemiel!"  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Joel Tannenbaum, Who Brought Kayleigh McEnany Home for Passover Dinner

We’d been going out for almost three months now and it being Passover I decided the time was right to bring my girlfriend home to meet Mom and Dad.

So it was with some trepidation but a positive attitude that I brought Kayleigh McEnany of CNN broadcaster and Donald Trump supportcaster fame to my parents’ house for the Passover Seder.

“Joel Darling,” squealed Mom as we came through the door, “Happy Pesach!”

“Happy Passover, Mom,” I reciprocated “and this is the girl I’ve been telling you about, Kayleigh McEnany, whom you’ve seen on television and … umm … my girlfriend.”

“Welcome!”  Mom replied.  “Gee … umm …that’s … umm … such a nice cross you have around the neck!  So golden and prominent.  And what’s that you’ve brought today?”

“A fruitcake,” replied Kayleigh.  “Just like at Christmas, the time of our Lord’s birth.”

While Mom valiantly fought off a gag reflex as if someone were stuffing a live pig down her throat, Dad chipped in to save the day.

“Tell me, Kayleigh” he offered cheerily, “do you really believe those nonsensical things you say on TV or are you just set up to be the bad guy, like in professional wrestling?”

Maybe I forgot to mention but in addition to being as Jewish as a chopped liver grinder in the home of every member of the Chosen People in the 1950’s, my parents were Democratic Liberals who were rooting for Adlai Stevenson, although dead many years, to still make a rousing comeback.

“Oh, no,” said Kayleigh, “I fervently believe that Mr. Trump is a new kind of leader for America, one who will take our nation under God to places never before charted.”

“Yeah,” Dad smirked, “like the sewer.”

Everything was going just as well as I hoped.

We went into the dining room and Kayleigh met my Uncle Sol and Aunt Miriam and their son, weird cousin Melvin, who was unmarried at age 50 and loved reading and re-reading Notes of a Dirty Old Man by Henry Bukowski.

“Kayleigh,” murmured Melvin shyly, “do you happen to know if Erin Burnett is seeing someone?”

“I believe every bit as much as I believe in Mr. Trump,” answered Kayleigh, “ that she’s married.”

“Oh no-o-o-o!” Melvin let out a howl like a wounded animal. "See, I’ve got this picture of Ms. Burnett over my bed, and I .…”

“Shall we go to the Seder table!”  Mom gasped.

The table looked beautiful, and I tried as best I could to explain the Seder plate to Kayleigh.

“Everything seems burnt,” she observed. “The egg, the shank bone, the smell of dinner.  Is Jewish food always burned to a crisp?”

Oy vey!

We began the service and it fell to me as the youngest male (42) to ask the traditional Four Questions.

"Why on this night do we eat matzoh," I inquired, "when we could have a corned beef special with Russian Dressing and cole slaw?"

“But why do you ask the questions if you already know the answers?” asked Kayleigh. “Is it like when Don Lemon and Jake Tapper ask stupid questions that I know all the answers to?”

“Jake Tapper – now there’s a newsman!” beamed Mom. “A nice Jewish boy from the Philadelphia area.  Kayleigh, have you ever met Jared Kushner?  You know … um … Ivanka converted for him.”

“I haven’t yet had the joyous pleasure to meet either one of them yet,” Kayleigh replied.

“Well, meet them!” urged Mom.

“Say, Joel,” whispered Uncle Sol, “have you shtupped her yet? How is Kayleigh in the old sack?”

I hadn’t the heart to tell Uncle Sol that when I thought Kayleigh was shouting “Oh Boy, Fuck Me!” for the first month of our relationship she was actually shouting “Oh Boy, Huckabee!”

“Now it’s time to welcome Elijah into our home,” said Dad.

“Who is this Elijah?” asked Kayleigh, “and how does he have the chutzpah to come so late?”

“Hey, Kayleigh!”  I said excitedly. “Can’t believe you said Chutzpah! We’re making progress.”

Actually the doorbell did ring about then and I went to answer it.  It wasn’t Elijah though. 

It was Jeffrey Lord!

“I thought you might need some help, kid.”

I’d never been so happy to see another batshit crazy Trump supporter in my life.

Well, that’s my story --- me, Joel Tannenbaum --- about the time I brought Kayleigh McEnany home for Passover Dinner.

Happy Passover, Everyone!

And, between you and me, boychick, if you’ve ever got a hankering to bring someone from CNN home for Passover Seder, please take my advice.

Make it Dana Bash.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Trump Costing Jewish Comedy Writers Thousands of Jobs

Donald Trump has claimed emphatically that he is “the least anti-Semitic person you’ve ever seen in your entire life.”

Yet Trump has now been unmistakably identified by all 17 United States Intelligence agencies as the direct cause of the loss of thousands of jobs held by Jews throughout the United States and the world.

Since Trump’s election, talk show hosts and stand-up comics have directed their mirth-making attention towards the President because the jokes practically write themselves.  And with the emergence of self-writing jokes, Jewish comedy writers have become obsolete and are now being fired by the tens of thousands.

Jews working for The Late Show Starring Steven Colbert, Late Night with Seth Meyers, The Daily Show, Last Week Tonight with John Oliver, and Full Frontal with Samantha Bee have all been sacked.  (No writers have lost jobs with The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon because the show sucks and had employed no Jews.) Judd Apatow, Woody Allen, and Mel Brooks have all filed for bankruptcy and Larry David has gone into hiding to escape irate creditors

And what does President Trump have to say about all this misery and strife being visited upon the Jewish people? Today Trump tweeted:

The "intelligence" services and Fake News have said I caused all these problems, but as usual they lied.  It wasn't me.  It was ....

The Jews!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My thanks to Samantha Bee, whose original line "Jokes don't write themselves. Jokes are written by Jews" inspired this post.

Proselytizing Rhythm

 I was sitting in a neighborhood burger joint eating a hamburger when a middle-aged man approached me.

"Excuse me," the guy said," I was wondering if by any chance you are Joe Dorfman."

"Now I don't happen to be Joe Dorfman, but I always like to please whoever I'm with whenever I'm with them.  So fighting off my burning desire to say "yes, I am indeed Joe Dorfman," I replied:

"No, sorry, I'm not."  

Good Going, Perry.

"You sure look like him," the guy replied, "although now that I see you more closely, he's younger than you."

Terrific.

"Mind if I sit here a minute?" he asked.

Well, why not? I'm all alone here with my hamburger and frankly, a slab of cooked ground meat is not very good company.

"Sure," I said, "my name is Perry."

“I’m George, good to meet you,” he said taking a seat.  “By the way, Joe is a minister of the Church of Jesus Christ Amen Hallelujah 2.0. Ever heard of it?"

"Can't say that I have.  I have heard of Jesus Christ though."

"Well, that's great! Tell me," asked George, "what religion are you?"

What?

That’s an odd question to ask someone you’ve just met, especially someone whose ethnicity is so obvious that once years ago a clerk armed with a message meant for a Mr. Hirschberg waded through a crowded hotel lounge at great effort to present it proudly and directly to me.

"I'm Jewish,” I answered.

"Well, how about that!" enthused George. "A lot of my good friends are Jewish!"

Wow. What’s next?

“By the way, Perry, would you pass along to whichever one of you controls the media on Tuesday nights that I’d like ‘Alf’ back on?”

"I’ve always felt,” George continued happily, “that the Jewish people are our spiritual forebears."

Uh-oh.

"Why don’t you stop by Joe's congregation,” George said, “and pay us a visit?”

I hesitated. I’ve heard this kind of thing before. Don’t want to insult him. 

But I was in no mood now to please him either.

"I’m sorry, George. I’m kind of into being a Jew. Just like you’re into being an Amen Hallelujah 2.0.”

Good going, Perry.

George graciously accepted my turn-down and politely peeled off, presumably to call Joe Dorfman and tell him that Amen Hallelujah 2.0 had today failed to reel in a neighborhood Jew.

I often wonder why some people think there’s only one way to make it to heaven. If there is somebody up there, it’s hard to believe he or she would design things to work in such a bureaucratic manner.

I wish people like George would give that some thought. 

And stop thinking so small about the infinite.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If Batman Had a Jewish Mother, or My Son, the Dark Knight

As the scene opens, high above Gotham City, the Bat Signal cuts through the evening sky.

Mrs. Wayne: Bruce ... Bruce? 

Bruce:  Yes, Mom. 

Mrs. Wayne: Come see what I made special for you. 

Bruce:  Matzoh Ball Soup!  Thanks, Mom.

Mrs. Wayne:  You're welcome, darling.  You're looking frightfully thin, Bruce, have another matzoh ball.  Light as a feather, aren't they? 

Bruce:  Mom! Look outside!  In the sky!

Mrs. Wayne:  I don't see anything. Here I'll close the drapes so you won't be bothered ....

Bruce: No, no!  It's the Bat Signal.  I must switch to my alter ego, the Batman!

Mrs. Wayne: Now, darling, you know you have to wait 45 minutes after eating before you change into Batman. Even longer if you're going to have to swim as Batman!

Bruce: I can't wait for that, Mom. Gotham City needs Batman!

Mrs. Wayne: Gotham City needs to kiss my tuchas!  And I expect you home by 12:00 sharp or you're grounded! 

Bruce: Aww, Mom!   I can't promise that.

Mrs. Wayne:  Then I'm coming with you.  Somebody's got to keep Mr. Dark Knight out of mischief!

Off into the night roars Batman's supercharged vehicle across the Bat Cave waterfall and towards Gotham City.

Mrs. Wayne:  Bruce, Bruce, slow down for crying out loud! You'll give your mother a heart attack!

Batman:  But, Mom, Commissioner Gordon is counting on me.

Mrs. Wayne:  Counting, schmounting!  He put a coat around you one night, you weren't even cold and I wasn't even dead! Say, darling, did you remember to bring your inhaler?

Batman:  Oh, shit!  I did forget it.  Well, we're not going back for it now!

Mrs. Wayne: Suit yourself, bubbeleh!  And watch your mouth.  

Batman:  Sorry!   That reminds me, Mom, when I'm dressed up like this, please remember to call me Batman!  You screwed up twice last week and called me Bruce right in front of Jim Gordon.

Mrs. Wayne: You think he doesn't know who you are, Mr. Big Shot?  You think he doesn't have a brain?  That husky voice wouldn't fool a four year old sitting in Santa's Lap.

Leaping from a tall building, Batman glides down to confront the Joker.

Batman:  Hand me the detonator, Joker.  I'm going to stop you from destroying Gotham City!

Joker:  But destroying Gotham City is my hobby, Batman.  What do you want me to do,  take up Mah Jong?

Mrs. Wayne: Did I hear my favorite hobby mentioned? 

Joker:  Who are you?

Mrs. Wayne:  I'm Bruce's Mom.

Batman:  No, you're Batman's Mom!  Batman's Mom!

Mrs. Wayne: Sure, darling.  Mr. Joker, look at you!  This is how you come to destroy the city? You look like Flo from Progressive.

Joker:  How should I look, Mrs. Batman?

Mrs. Wayne: Go home, wash your face, put on a nice suit, and then turn yourself in to Commissioner Gordon.

Joker: I will!  Thank you, Mrs. Batman.  If I'd had a mom like you, I'd be a successful dentist by now.

The Joker departs.

Mrs. Wayne:  All done!  And it isn't even 9:00 P.M. yet.

Batman: I have to admit you're right, Mom.  But I have a question.

Mrs. Wayne: Yes, Bruce?  I mean, Batman.

Batman:  Is there any more soup? 

Mrs. Wayne: Of course, darling!  Nothings too good for my boy who just single-handedly saved Gotham City from the Joker!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hello Yahweh!

Hello Yahweh!

Rabbi Debbie King is perhaps the last person you'd expect to invent a whole new branch of Judaism. 

In Rabbinical School she was voted "Most Likely to Pass Out at Circumcisions." 

Yet the world is now abuzz with news that Rabbi Debbie has wrought the greatest innovation to Judaism since Moses lugged two engraved tablets down the mountain and advised the Jewish people to take one and call him in the morning.

Her innovation is an entirely new branch of Judaism called "Hello Yahweh."

 "The state of the world had caused me to wonder," Rabbi King said. "How could a just God allow war, poverty, disease, and ABBA?  Why would the Supreme Ruler of the Universe permit the Jews to be so unfairly mistreated for centuries when only one Jew, comedian Bob Saget, actually deserves it? 

And why is there death when we already have blind dates?"

"God cannot be evil," Rabbi Debbie said, "so there can be only one answer to why the world is so troubled."  

"God just doesn't consider it a full-time job."

 From that she developed Hello Yahweh,  the purpose of which is to get on God's case. 

"We begin each service with a special greeting for the divinity,"  explained the Rabbi. "The Congregation in unison says: 

"Hello, Yahweh," 

just like Jerry Seinfeld says to Newman.   And  God responds: 

"Hello, Jewry" 

("He doesn't actually say this, adds the Rabbi, "or we'd all get a shrek! It's in the liturgy.")

"We next partake of Chodosh Orov or the Holy Performance Evaluation, in which we review the Supreme Ruler of the Universe's performance for the past week," explained the Rabbi. "The congregation reads the Evaluation Form silently while I read aloud.

 We then rate the Lord in three specific categories: Omnipotence,  Omniscience,  and Punctuality."

“How does he generally do? So far this year hasn't been great. He’s being tutored in everything except Punctuality.”

"It's Tough God Love!" said Rabbi King. 

"We're holding Hashem accountable. When he acts like a schlub, we treat him like Newman. If he does better, more like George and so forth."

News of Hello Yahweh is spreading and  many feel a deep sense of comfort in knowing that God can be every bit as much of a lame ass as they are.  And if even one war ends or disease is cured as a result of God working harder to raise his D in Omnipotence up to a C+ ,  there's hope for the rest of us to stop screwing up too. 

Plus getting rid of the disease and war are kind of good things on their own. 

"I believe God doesn't want us to always be kissing his ass," concluded Rabbi Debbie King, the now famous founder of Hello Yahweh. 

"He just wants us to give it a good swift kick every now and then." 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hangin' Haman

The holiday of Purim is a relatively minor though fun Jewish holiday that comes in March. There's dress-up in costumes like Esther and Mordecai and the other characters in the Purim story, a carnival with games and prizes, and a delicious pastry called hamantashen shaped like the hat of the villain, Haman, who is hung at story's end.

One additional tradition of the holiday is the amusing game called  Hang Haman, the Jewish version of Hangman.  Through this charming custom, Jewish children the world over have fun while experiencing the unvarnished delight of bloodthirsty revenge and learning all about the joys of capital punishment. 

It's Purim now in a home somewhere in America:

"Hi, Joel! Hiya, Max!"

"Dad, Happy Purim!"

"You too, boys.  Ha, ha! You guys killing Haman again?"

"Yeah, Dad!  Joel's been missing a lot of words at Hang Haman, so we've been stretching that bastard's neck all afternoon!"

"Wonderful! Look at those rope burns! And what have you done there, Joel?"

"Max missed one word so badly that hanging seemed too good for Haman. So we changed the game so that Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson worked over Haman until Max got the next word!"

"Coooool!  Looks like he beat the pulp out of him! What word did you miss, Max?"

"Decapitation, Dad!" 

"That's a common word, son.  Missing that might have warranted castration of Haman instead of Dwayne Johnson knocking his head in."

"If only we thought of that!  But at least we used the word castration earlier in the game."

"Dad ... what's that?  A tear in your eye?" 

"I'm just so proud of you guys and the wanton and vicious manner in which you hang Haman!"

"We had a good teacher, Dad."

And the delightful  tradition that is Hang Haman doesn't stop there. There are various other versions of the game played around the globe such as Draw & Quarter Haman,  Play ABBA Over & Over for Haman, and  Governor Christie Sit On Haman. 

Now Haman truly was a bad guy.  In addition to trying to destroy the Jewish people, he was never around when you needed help moving  and would frequently hog the sports section even after you told him you just wanted it for a second!  He deserved what he got. 

But doesn't making his death into a spectator sport perhaps sends a bit of a wrong message? And in truth Hang Haman is just a tiny part of Purim that hopefully has been de-emphasized in recent years.  So for me,  I'm content in 2014 to forgo battering the living daylights out of Haman and just eat his hat. 

Maybe this time around, sans chapeau, he'll simply catch cold and die.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~