Two days ago, I was feeling very Grinch-like. 

“Why am I hosting this stupid holiday online concert?” I asked myself as I shuffled along Wilshire Boulevard, spitting on the floor.  “I don’t even like Christmas.  I don’t even celebrate the holiday.” 

I walked by a make-shift Christmas tree lot, set-up in the parking lot of a Chinese restaurant.  There was fake snow on the floor and tinny Christmas music was playing on a lonely speaker on the ground.  

“Bah, Humbug!” I said.  “I’m going to cancel the damn concert.  I don’t care about holidays and I don’t give a s**t about other bloggers anyway.  All they care about is advertising and links and NaBloPoMo and Facebook.  And their so-called “Holiday cheer” is fakery!  After the holiday, they just go back to stabbing each other in the back.”

That night, I started writing a blog post explaining why I was canceling the contest, and basically insulting every blogger I’ve ever met as a narcissistic loser or nutcase. 

“Why I should even write this blog for free when they all should be paying me $100 dollar a day each for the honor to read one of my posts.   Let Dooce entertain the masses.  I’m better than that!”

All the anxiety must have made me very sleepy, because I fell asleep on the couch before I had a chance to press “Publish.”

I was awaken suddenly by the presence of a shadowy figure.

“Sophia?”  I asked.  “Is that you?”

“No, Neil.  It is your father.”

It was the ghost of my late father.

“Dad?  What do you want?”

“What is this bulls**t about you cancelling the concert this year?”

“Eh, what’s it all for?  Hanukkah is already half over.  And we’re Jewish.  We don’t even celebrate Christmas.”

“But don’t you remember how much I loved Christmas?”

My father reminded me about how he dressed-up like Santa every year in the hospital he worked at.

“Well, you’re a more caring man than I am.  I’m selfish.  I ask you, “What’s in it for ME?”

My father’s ghost started to fade.

“Dad, where are you going?”

“Neilochka, my son, your heart has turned to stone.  I’m unable to change your ways.  Now the BIG GUN will come for you.”

“The big gun?  What are you talking about?  Who are you talking about? Are you talking about God himself?”

The entire living room shook like the Northridge Earthquake.   Smoke filled the room and another ghost walked towards me.  He was an older man, short, and smoked a cigar.  He was dressed in a brown suit and had bushy eyebrows.

“Neilochka… Neilochka…” he spoke…

“Who are YOU?!   You’re not God?

“Of course I’m not God, you schmuck.  I’m Irving Berlin.”

“Irving Berlin?  You’re the big gun?”

“Irving Berlin.  Born Israel Isidore Baline.  A nice Jewish boy like you.  My father was a cantor who certified kosher meat.”

“So what?  What do YOU want from me?”

“I also had my doubts about Christmas when I was your age.  What do I know about Jesus?  But then I said to myself, “What do these goyishe shmendricks know about writing a good Christmas song?  It takes a Yiddishe mind to come up with “White Christmas.”  You let some white bread in a cardigan like Bing Crosby sing it.  He gets the credit, but you get the dames.”

“The dames?  You got the dames from writing a Christmas song?”

“Come, Neilochka, let me take you to my Christmas past.”

Irving Berlin took my hand and we flew out the window.  We flew from Redondo Beach to Hollywood… and then into the past.  The Hotel Roosevelt on Hollywood Boulevard dissolved from 2007 to the time of the Golden Age of Hollywood.   It looked pretty much the same, just more glamorous.  We found ourselves in a penthouse room.   In front of the two of us was a scene from the past –  a younger Irving Berlin in bed with four Hollwood starlets.  

“You see, Neilochka.  Shiksas just love Jewish men who can write a good Christmas song…”

My eyed widened in astonishment.

“You mean if I put on the Christmahanukwanzaakah concert this year with all these female bloggers around… I will…?”  I asked.

“First… let me show you what will happen if you DON’T put on the Christmahanukwanzaakah concert this year.”

I grabbed the composer’s hand and back we flew to Redondo Beach, into the future — to MY FUTURE.  Time blew away like the wind and we found ourselves  in my  living room, watching the future Neilochka.  It was Christmas eve 2007 and I was sitting by myself, the laptop in front of me… my pants down…

“My God, what am I… am I looking at online photos of Penelope Cruz and playing with myself?!”

“That’s what it looks like!”  said Irving Berlin.  “Ha Ha!  The best part is that in a second, Sophia is going to enter the house with friends she invited over for some coffee and cake, and everyone is going to be shocked, especially the couple’s young daughter.”

“This is horrible.  I can’t stand it.  Stop it!  Stop the future!”

“What about the concert…”

“OK, OK, I’ll have the Christmahanukwanzaakah concert.  Just take me from this future.  Take me away.”  I screamed, sobbing…

I grabbed the arm of the ghost’s jacket and we flew out the window and into the night sky.  I was still crying.

“I understand now.  Thank you!  Thank you for letting me see what could happen.  I am a changed man!  I’ll never badmouth the Christmahanukwanzaakah concert again.  It is my duty to host the concert.  I want to be that inspiration, like you.  I want to make people happy.  I want to please those female bloggers so much that I get four shiksas in my bed, just like you did!  Please, Mr. Berlin.  Show me the alternative future.  Show me my REAL Christmas eve this year after I host the Christmahanukwanzaakah concert.

Time swirled around us like a  tornado and we were suddenly back in my living room on Christmas Eve 2007.

“Here is your REAL future, Neilochka.”

I was sitting on the couch, still leering at photos of Penelope Cruz, playing with myself.  Sophia was about to open the front door, her friends behind her.

“WTF?!” I yelled. ”It’s the exact same future as before!  What about the concert?  What happened to me shtupping MY four shiksas?!”

“The concert was great.  But you with four women?  What the hell do you want from me, you nudnik?  A miracle?   I’m only Irving Berlin, not God!” 

The 2007 Blogger Christmahanukwanzaakah Online Holiday Concert –

– is Monday, December 10th.  If you want to participate, send me an audio file or a link by Sunday, December 9th.  The songs I’ve already received are absolutely terrific, a great combination of fun and heartfelt!  If you are unable (or too wimpy) to sing, you can help “decorate” the set by sending me a Holiday photo of your family, your tree, your menorah, or something seasonal.   Or recite a poem.   Or make a video of you juggling snowballs.  If you are still having trouble recording your song, email me.

So far, we already have versions of Have Yourself a Very Merry Christmas, Sleigh Ride, and Silent Night.  You are welcome to do another version if you would like.  Remember to say what song you are working on in the comments so we won’t have too many duplicates.

Have fun making music!

Happy Hanukkah!

I hate to get all Al Gore on you on a fun holiday like Hanukkah, but I love when traditions are reinterpreted. And what is Hanukah all about anyway? — energy!

The temple lights worked for eight days when there is was only enough for one, thanks to God’s Miracle. As Jews, we believe that we should be helping God with His miracles. Who knows if this global warming threat is as severe as some say? I don’t think anyone can argue that issues of energy and the environment are essential to our lives. Maybe Hanukkah can finally come out under Christmas’ shadow by being about a little bit more than dreidels and latkes:

via PJVoice:

Sometimes issues like global warming seem beyond our reach - but they are quite easy to address when a lot of us take the same steps together. Here is a painless step - one that can even save you money - to reduce our energy consumption. And cut back the greenhouse gas that we (indirectly) generate by using electricity, raising the issue of global warming.

JCPA (the Jewish Council for Public Affairs) and COEJL (the Coalition on the Environment and Jewish Life) have announced a program entitled “A Light Among the Nations — How Many Jews Does It Take to Change a Light Bulb?”

Here is the main step in the program: For Hanukkah, the Festival of Lights, purchase and install an energy efficient, cost effective compact fluorescent light (CFL) bulb.

If you could conserve energy and help stop global warming in one simple step, wouldn’t you want to act? CFLs use 75% less energy than incandescent light bulbs. This means less production of greenhouse gas emissions, air pollution, and toxic waste. COEJL calculates that if every U.S. household replaced one bulb with a CFL, it would have the same impact as removing one million cars from the road.

So take this one easy action — install at least one energy efficient, cost effective compact fluorescent light (CFL) bulb to reduce greenhouse gas emissions. For more information visit A Light Among Nations.

Of course, sometimes old-fashioned energy works better.  I certainly wouldn’t want my latkes cooked by solar power.

Am I the only Jew NOT insulted by Ann Coulter’s statement that Christians are Jews “perfected?” 

C’mon, Jews, who wants to be perfect?  When I f**k up, at least I have an excuse — hey, I’m Jewish, I’m not perfect. 

“I’m sorry, Sophia, that I forget to buy you flowers for our anniversary.  But, remember — I’m Jewish.” 

“Oops, I didn’t expect to come so fast and roll over and go to sleep.  But then again, I am Jewish.  I’m not perfect. It’s a thelogical fact.  Too bad.”

“Yeah, I dented the car again  Oy Gevalt.  If only I was perfect and drove perfectly like my Christian friends.  On the positive side, as a member of the Tribe, I’m good at making money — unless you are a really stupid Jew like me — who spends way too much time wasting his energy blogging to entertain a bunch of married women who don’t even put out for him.  But then again, I am Jewish, so what do you expect?  I’m nuts!”

Maybe I should convert.  Eh, I would screw that one up too.  No offense, Catholics, but the bread-body wine-blood thing is a little weird to me.  And Protestants - well, you’re just boring.

My biggest problem is that most of you  ARE Christians.   You’re Jews perfected.   We all know why I’m in therapy.  But what the f**k is your excuse?

Jean Lafitte

Today is “International Talk Like a Pirate Day.” I don’t usually participate in this beloved holiday, although I did once write a post that was somewhat written in pirate-speak.

As a child, I was fascinated by many things — outer space, the French Revolution, my father’s Playboys — but pirates were not on the list. I never met a pirate in Queens, and never gave one thought of ever becoming a pirate. Who wants to ride around in those diseased pirate ships? Who wants to get scurvy? I’m sure the beds aren’t comfortable and the food is terrible. While it might be nice to get some treasure, I think it is wrong to use violence. Let’s be honest — all of you fascinated by pirates — would you really want to sit down for a meal at the Cheesecake Factory with an actual pirate? He’d eat like an animal. And wouldn’t leave a tip. I bet you that a real pirate doesn’t even sing as well as those at Disneyland’s “Pirate of the Caribbean.” And very few pirates have the nice Beverly Hills-saloned hair of Johnny Depp. Most pirate lore is pure fantasy.

I was about to say you’re never going to hear the word Jews and pirates in the same sentence, but WAIT! It seems that some Jews became pirates to escape the Inquisition. There is even strong evidence that Jean Lafitte, one of the most famous pirates in the New Orleans area, was Jewish. Who knew? Of course, some from the Louisiana area aren’t happy with the possibility. They take their pirate roots very seriously, and don’t want their hero to have been eating bagels for breakfast before he plundered a ship.

Here is an anonymous commenter writing on the Pratie Place blog. The hair on my arms always goes up when I hear people writing about “the blood of lafittes flowing through their veins.” –

I have family who has lived where Jean Lafitte settled in Louisiana sfor over 200 years. My people migrated here before this was America, and my French roots tie me to jean Lafitte. He was not Jewish. I am not Jewish, amd the same blood of lafittes flows through me. I am an authentic native Baratarian, we fought for New Orleans, and none of us are Jewish. My family is authentic Creole and Cajun, none of this is tied to any Jewish religion. Our people traditionally are Roman Catholic. There is absolutely no reason why Jews should attack our heritage this way and try to disprove one of our famous family members. It is disgrace to all who call Lafitte our brother and friend. I grew up swming in the bodies of water where Lafitte sailed his boats and I grew up being told the stories of his life… he was not Jewish.

Our people are French, we are from Acadiana, we originally moved from France West, but refused to bow to the British Crown and for that we were deported, killed, forced into labor etc…

While Jewish people would like to believe Jean Lafitte was jewish, he most certainly was NOT, as has been debunked by local Lafitte Historians.

The internet is a great place, but it is also a great place for rumors and undereducated guesses like this.

Jean Lafitte was not Jewish. And it is somewhat of an insult to have your family name and blood, constantly attacked by Jewish people trying to prove he was Jewish when he was not.

Jeez, what’s the big deal? Maybe if I had known that Jean Lafitte was Jewish, I would have actually been inspired as a young Jewish boy to dream of being a pirate rather than an attorney, doctor, or blogger. Today I salute you, Jewish pirates of yesteryear!

In honor of Jean Lafitte, may I now present “A Jewish Pirate’s Life” — a song based on the annoying song at the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disneyland.

Yo ho, yo ho, a Jewish pirate’s life for me
We pillage, we plunder, we eat bagels and lox
Drink up, me ‘earties, yo ho.
We pilfer and filch, we circumsize o’ cocks,
Drink up me ‘earties, yo ho.

Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate’s life for me.
We kidnap and ravage, we’re nice Jewish boys
Drink up, me ‘earties, yo ho.
We’re better marauders than even the goys
Drink up me ‘earties, yo ho.

Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate’s life for me.
We’re rascals, scoundrels, but do good in school
Drink up, me ‘earties, yo ho.
We’re devils and black sheep, but still go to shul
Drink up, me ‘earties, yo ho.

I don’t believe in Jesus being resurrected. I don’t believe Muhammed was a prophet. Why should I believe in the validity of the stories that are told in synagogue?

I don’t.   Or I at least take most of what I hear with a grain of salt.  Or I explain away things as allegory.  I don’t consider myself religious (although Sophia says I am — why?).  I do, however, appreciate the fact that religion deals with the big issues of life, and by that I don’t mean which young actress is or isn’t anorexic or just out of rehab.  Religious or not, as a storyteller, I do like stories, especially fanciful ones, and religion is filled with tons of them.  I don’t see “fiction” as less real than “reality.”  It just is another version of reality.  As I’ve mentioned in other posts, I treat the posts where I talk to my Penis as seriously as I do any other.   It is both untrue and very true.  In religion, symbolism and rituals can speak a truth far more important than reality.   I think Judaism has some really great symbolism and ritual.   I would be bored being an atheist.  That “story” would flop at the box-office.

I also think it is important for the non-traditional and not-very-religious to take an active role in religion. Can you think of anything worse than the world’s religions being run by people who are seriously ultra-RELIGIOUS — those who are totally convinced of their own beliefs?  I’m pretty sure we all can come come up with plenty of examples of how religion — and religious intolerance —  has screwed up mankind throughout history.  If I meet someone who is positive that their religion is “the one and only true one” or if this person has absolutely NO DOUBTS about their faith, I run the other way. 

That said, I love Rosh Hashanah.  It is all about renewal and hope for a better new year, for “being inscribed favorably in the Book of Life”.  It is also about making amends, thinking over your wrongs, and about how everyone’s sins are inter-related; about taking upon yourself the “sins” of everyone in the community.

Yesterday, we went to South Coast Botanical Gardens rather than the ocean,  to observe the ancient tradition of Tashlich -”tossing away our sins”, but this being Los Angeles, the lake at the gardens was closed for some dull-looking Showtime TV show that was being shot at the location.

I was ready to leave but Sophia, being Sophia, schmoozed with the bored sound man and he showed us how we can get around to the other side of the lake for Tashlich.

Rabbinic tradition states that it was preferable to go to a body of water containing fish, since “man cannot escape God’s judgement any more than fish can escape being caught in a net; we are just as likely to be ensnared and trapped at any moment as is a fish”. Another rabbinic interpretation that also prefers a body of water containing fish to perform Tashlich states that “the fish’s dependence on water symbolizes the Jews’ dependence on God, as a fish’s eyes never close, God’s watchful eyes never cease”. However, since Tashlikh or Tashlich or Tashlik is merely a symbolic ceremony, any body of water will suffice, even if it is water that runs from a hose or from a water faucet.

On Rosh Hashanah, Jews also recognize that God is above Time, and the idea of “forgetting” does not apply to Him, nor is He limited in “understanding” the inner thoughts of His creatures. Nevertheless, we ask that He “remember” only the “good” in our behalf when He Judges us.

For the Jewish People in particular, we ask that He “remember” the early loyalty of our People, who followed Him as a bride, as He said “I remember your youthful devotion, the love of your bridal days, how you followed Me through the desert, in a barren land” (Yirmiyahu 2:2)

Judaism’s central prayer: Sh’ma Israel, Adonai Elohainu, Adonai Ehad. “Hear O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is One.”

A blogger asked me why Jews wear yarmulkes, or kippahs in temple.

The uniqueness of a Jewish head covering is hinted at in the blessing we say every morning, thanking God for “crowning Israel with splendor” (Talmud - Brachot 60b)

Historically, in Eastern cultures, it is a sign of respect to cover the head (the custom in Western cultures is the opposite: it is a sign of respect to remove one’s hat). Thus, by covering the head during prayer, one showed respect for God. In addition, in ancient Rome, servants were required to cover their heads while free men did not; thus, Jews covered their heads to show that they were servants of God.

The Talmud says that the purpose of wearing a kippah is to remind us of God, who is the Higher Authority is “above us” (Kiddushin 31a). External actions create internal awareness; wearing a symbolic, tangible “something above us” reinforces that idea that God is always watching. The kippah is a means to draw out one’s inner sense of respect for God.

(sometimes, when you’re outside, Sophia’s hat will do, even if it looks totally dorky.  I must have to explain away wearing this hat as a “sin” next year, at least a fugly one.)

Rosh Hashanah is the Jewish New Year, but even if you’re not Jewish, September always feels like a new year, with school starting and fall approaching.    Hopefully it will be a “sweet” year for everyone.

Idea for Rosh Hashanah 2008 — To make going to temple more interactive, I suggest a new prayer book in which certain prayers have missing lyrics, and congregants have to guess the missing words to the prayers to win prizes such as bagels and lox at Canter’s Deli.

A Happy and Healthy New Year to all my Jewish blogger friends.

Here’s a little Rosh Hashanah primer for all you hot shiksas out there who don’t know the difference between Rosh Hashanah and Rush Limbaugh — (from Wikipedia)

“The traditional greeting on Rosh Hashanah is “Shana Tova,” Hebrew for “A Good Year,” or “Shana Tova Umetukah” for “A Good and Sweet Year.” Because Jews are being judged by God for the coming year, a longer greeting translates as “May You Be Written and Sealed for a Good Year” (ketiva ve-chatima tovah).

During the afternoon of the first day occurs the practice of tashlikh, in which prayers are recited near natural flowing water, and one’s sins are symbolically cast into the water.

Many also have the custom to throw bread or pebbles into the water, to symbolize the “casting off” of sins. The traditional service for tashlikh is recited individually and includes the prayer “Who is like unto you, O God…And You will cast all their sins into the depths of the sea”, and Biblical passages including Isaiah 11:9 (”They will not injure nor destroy in all My holy mountain, for the earth shall be as full of the knowledge of the Lord as the waters cover the sea”) and Psalms 118:5-9, 121 and 130, as well as personal prayers.

Rosh Hashanah meals often include apples and honey, to symbolize a “sweet new year”. Various other foods with a symbolic meaning may be served, depending on local minhag (custom), such as tongue or other meat from the head (to symbolise the “head” of the year). Other symbolic foods are dates, black-eyed beans, leek, spinach and gourd, all of which are mentioned in the Talmud. Pomegranates are used in many traditions: the use of apples and honey is a late medieval Ashkenazi addition, though it is now almost universally accepted. Typically, round challah bread is served, to symbolize the cycle of the year.”

And of course… the sound of the shofar –

I’m also guest-blogging for overly swamped Schmutzie at her blog!

At 6:00 AM, I was dragged out of bed with a mighty force. I was carried along the floor like a sack of potatoes until I found myself in the living room, lying at the feet of a white-robed man with a long white beard. In his hand he held a staff made from the finest wood.

“Moses?” I asked, surprised.

“How dare you insult God in your last blog post.” he said. “You and I are mere men and we cannot judge God for his actions. He was especially pissed off about you telling him to “talk to the hand.”"

“Tough. It’s my blog. If I want to show him the hand, I’ll show him the hand. I can say anything I want on MY BLOG… well, as long as Sophia approves of it first, and until I put Google Ads on the sidebar soon, which will restrict me from making fun of Google, and… oh, I can’t talk about my Aunt Tilly, who has been divorced four times and has a little bit of a drinking problem…”

“Is this what the Tribes of Israel have become… bowing down in front of false gold idols like the one you prominently display on this shelf for all to see?”

“Uh, Moses, that isn’t a false gold idol. V-grrrl sent this to me that after I wrote a post about the Peeing Boy of Brussels. And while I’m sure V-grrrl has money, I doubt she would send me anything made of real gold. My blog isn’t THAT good.”

“Apologize to God.”

“No. He’s been a pain in the ass lately. Sophia shouldn’t have to go through this again.”

“Why have you so hardened your heart?”

“And what do you care?”

“I am Moses. I have been sent by God.”

“Yeah, and what are you going to do about it?”

Moses lifted up his staff. The room lit up like a Hanukkah menorah as lightening blasted through the ceiling.

“With this staff I bring a plague of frogs into this home!”

Thousands of frogs jumped out of the Panasonic big screen TV. They covered everything, even opening the US Weekly magazine on the coffee table to read some article about the cast of “Gray’s Anatomy.”

“Eh, frogs don’t bother me. We already have silverfish in the bathroom. Have you ever seen a slimy silverfish? Now THEY are disgusting!”

“I have p–plenty of more p-plagues to inflict on you!”

“Huh? What did you say?”

“I have p-plenty of more p-plagues to inflict on you!”

“Wow, the Bible is right, Moses… you do stutter!”

“Tell me about it. Usually I have Aaron here to do all the talking. But I hate having such a Dependent Personality Structure. I wish Aaron wasn’t such an enabler.”

“You know, maybe Sophia can help. She does work as a dialect coach, after all. She’s worked with big Hollywood stars like Nicolas Cage to help them speak Russian properly. Maybe she can help you stop stuttering.”

“Hmm… I don’t really have any money on me… a few shekels. I can’t pay much.”

“Moses, Moses, Moses, you glorious fool… we could never allow Moses to pay.”

“Ha ha ha… Moses, Moses, Moses… from the Ten Commandments, right?

“You’ve seen it?”

“Can you imagine that NRA nut Charlton Heston as me?! He’s about as goyish as they come.”

“Did you really have a thing with the Pharaoh’s daughter?”

“Nah. Besides she was fugly.”

“Let’s go wake up Sophia.”

I went upstairs to wake Sophia. She wasn’t too happy at being woken up, since she was up late last night watching poker. I thought her demeanor would change when I told her that Moses was downstairs, but instead, she seemed more upset.

“Did you clean up the living room before he showed up?” she asked.

“I had no time! I was dragged there.”

“That’s no excuse. I don’t want him seeing my underwear sitting on the couch. Take him into the kitchen and clean up the living room before I come down.”

I told Sophia about Moses and his stuttering.

“But why would you offer my services for free?” she asked.

“He’s Moses!’ I protested.

“First him, then the next thing you know — Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob are all showing up, wanting things for free!”

Seeing that I already promised Moses, Sophia came down and started helping Moses with his speech.

Sophia’s tutoring of Moses went surprisingly well. Within a few hours, his stutter had practically disappeared.

“I love to preach
and eat a peach
while in Redondo Beach.” said Sophia. “Repeat that one more time.”

Moses took a deep breath.

“I love to preach
and eat a peach
while in Redondo Beach.”

“I think he got it!” I screamed joyfully.

“Mazel tov” said Sophia, and we all toasted him with some vodka.

“I feel like a new man.” said Moses.

“Can I be honest with you?” asked Sophia.

If there is one thing Sophia is famous for, it is speaking her mind.

“Shoot.” said Moses.

“Your hair is a mess. No one wears it so long anymore. I don’t mind that the hair is white. It looks good on men. But your white beard — it just makes you look so much older than you really are.”

“You think so? What can I do? I put myself in your hands. Darn it, there I am being dependent again! No, I want to change my appearance. This is for me. I think how your look outside sometimes reflects how you feel inside.”

“I know someone who can help,” said Sophia.

We all jumped in Sophia’s Prius. Moses was very impressed with the GPS system as we made our way to the Chris McMillan Salon in Beverly Hills. At first, Sally Hershberger’s assistant said that the famed hairdresser was busy all day, but we were able to convince her to squeeze Moses in at 1:15.

“Holy Vidal Sasoon!” said Sally Hershberger. “This is going to be a challenge. Have you thought about what you would like, Moses?”

“Well, I brought in a few photos from US Weekly, but I know you’re famous for Meg Ryan’s shag cut. Do you think you can do something for me that has that layered look, but is still masculine?”

“Absolutely!” said Sally Hershberger.

Sophia and I put our “thumbs up” for Moses, and went next door to wait for him at the Coffee Bean. About a half hour later, the door opened and a middle-aged man entered. He had salt and pepper hair, a cleanly shaven face, revealing a strong chin, and he was wearing a new Armani suit. Moses had a gorgeous body, a glint in his eye, and you immediately knew this was an ethical cool dude. This was not the type of man who would covet his neighbor’s wife, but rather one who would be there for any emergency, like taking a friend to the airport.

It was Moses.

Every woman in the Coffee Bean turned to check him out, even girls half his age. Outside, Leonardo DiCaprio passed by the window, and no one noticed.

Moses stepped up to the counter.

“I’ll have a double latte,” he said, without any stutter, to the admiring female barista.

Sophia and I ran up and gave the big guy a huge hug.

“Jesus, Moses, you look fantastic!” said Sophia.

I was totally shocked at his transformation from dusty lawgiver to chic hearthrob.

“Wonders of wonders! Miracles of miracles!” I said.

The moment was short-lived, as suddenly it felt like there was a major earthquake. But it wasn’t an earthquake. It was only the Coffee Bean that was being shook around like a fragile leaf in a storm. The roof of the store flew off, as if a giant hand had pulled it away and tossed it across Wilshire Boulevard. A blinding light shot into the Coffee Bean from heaven itself, making us shiver with fear. The sound was deafening.

It was God.

“Moses? Moses? Where are you?”

Moses nervously stepped forward, holding his latte.

“I am here, God.”

“What have you done to yourself? You look more like an ICM agent than a lawgiver.”

“Listen, God, I love you. But I can’t be dependent on others forever. I’m my own man. And I like my new look. Why can’t I be a lawgiver AND still feel confident about myself?”

“Are you QUESTIONING ME, Moses?

“C’mon, God. Mellow out. How perfect are you? If you were really perfect, why do people get sick? Why is there cancer?”

Lightening flew down, smashing the cappuccino maker into pieces.

“How dare you speak to me like that?! I am the only God. The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob…”

“OK, that’s it!” said Moses, angrily. “You made me spill my latte on my brand new suit!”

Moses looked up to God, raising his arm in protest.

“What are you trying to say to me, Moses?”

“I’m not saying anything to you, God! Talk to the hand!”

Have a wonderful Easter Sunday, you crazy Gentiles!  Passover is still better, but those Peeps are darn tasty!  Are they kosher for Passover?  Is anyone wearing a cool Easter bonnet?  Why do you always have “ham” at Easter?  Isn’t that a little bit pushing things in our face?  How about having brisket one Easter and inviting me over?   You think Jesus would want to have ham for dinner?  I love the painting of the eggs!  Genius!  Danny, Canter’s Deli tonight?

Today is Passover.   It’s one of my favorite holidays, because of the food and the re-telling of the dramatic story of the Israelites leaving Egypt.   Who cares how true it is!  I perfectly understand weaving a tale filled with half-truths and exaggerations.  Maybe the Israelites just crossed a little river, but who’s going to see that movie OR join that religion?  Let’s make it the entire RED SEA!  And let’s give it some action, with the Pharoah and the Egyptians at their heels, racing to capture them.

Sadly, the Middle East is still a place of conflict and hatred.   Arabs hate Israelis.   Sunnis hate Shiites.   Our troops are fighting in Iraq.   Iran is creating nuclear weapons. 

I hate to sound Pollyannish, but I think we’re all basically the same at heart.  If you’re a man — I don’t care if you are from Toledo or Timbuktu — you have the same SEVEN BASIC worries as every other man.

1)  Can I get a date to the prom?

2)  Will my wife still look good in twenty-five years or will she look like her mother?

3)  Is there any safe way to make my penis even bigger?

4)  Is this the clitoris and should I ask her to make sure?

5)  Why do I make such a small salary?

6)  Why do the assholes from college always become the most successful ones?

7)  Boxers of briefs?

We think we are different culturally, mostly out of pride or nationalism, but it isn’t true.  We are all the same.  And every once in a while there is a brave hero who acknowledges that.

One of these heroes is Hedieh.    Hedieh lives in Iran.  He wrote me this email from Iran.  Af first I thought it was spam, but it is actually from Iran –

Hi,
    
I have no idea how inconvenient this might be to write you an e-mail, but I thought it might be interesting for you to know that someone reads your blog from IRAN.
    
I was once browsing through weblogs trying to find one who talks about life, women, family, tough times, a bit of politics,…. And I came across your blog.  I started reading, and before I know it, I had been scrolling down for hours. Anyhow, just wanted to let you know that I truly enjoy your writing, your ideas and your style.
    
Oh, and you are funny, really.
    
Thanx
Cheers
Hedieh

Cheers to you Hedieh.   I knew it!  Deep down in their hearts, all men enjoy corny sex jokes!   In fact, wasn’t it the great Persian love poets of the Safavid era who combined both mysticism and erotic passion? 

Can blogging create world peace?  Hedieh, please tell you friends about some of the other blogs on my blogroll.  Read them carefully.    A bunch or weirdos, right?   Neurotic.  Horny.  Confused.  But dangerous?  War-monging?   Nah.   The just want to eat hummus, have orgasms, and watch sports on big-screen TVs, just like you do!   Why can’t we all get along?

May peace come about through blogging!  Happy Passover!

(update — this post makes less sense now that I learned that Hedieh is a woman!)

Thanks for the mention about “The Secret,” Star Tribune of Minneapolis-St.Paul.   I love Minneapolis, home to such wonderful people as Voix de Michele, Not Faint Hearted, and Mary Tyler Moore.

A Year Ago on Citizen of the Month:  Double Entendres and Croissants

As assistant rabbi at Bnai Shalom, Rabbi David Klein frequently received personal packages from his congregants, usually cookies or muffins sent to his home, kosher of course, as a thank you for him officiating at some bratty kid’s bar mitzvah.  This package was different.  The box was large and heavy.  After he ripped it open, Rabbi Klein saw that it was filled with 35mm film reels.  Attached to the top reel, was a letter:

Dear Rabbi,

If you are reading this, I have passed away to the better world.  I’m sure you did a terrific job at the memorial service and were able to drum up at least twenty mourners.  If you haven’t had the ceremony yet, please make sure that you order the expensive lox for the nosh afterwards, and not the inferior stuff they had for Max Feinstein’s funeral.  I lived a long and fruitful life.  Sadly, my work consumed me and I never married or started a family.  That is why I leave you my prized possessions — all the negatives and films that I have produced throughout the years.

Morris

“I didn’t know Morris was a filmmaker,” said Rachel, Rabbi Klein’s wife, who was looking over the rabbi’s shoulder.  “Let’s see one of his films.” 

The rabbi’s wife, a 1996 graduate of NYU Film School, took out an old projector from the closet and started screening the film on the wall by the living room couch.  As the title was emblazoned on the wall, Rabbi Klein took a loud gulp:  the film was called  “The Plumber Always Cums Twice.”   For several minutes, Rabbi Klein and his wife stared at the wall as if in shock, their eyes ablaze, the only sound in the room being the repetitive motion of the projector.

The film opens with a half-undressed housewife opening the front door for a hunky plumber with a hardbody and a glint in his eye, the type of plumber you would never actually see in real life.

“I need my sink unclogged,” purrs the housewife.

“Right away, Ma’am” he replies.

“Let me just put on something a little more comfortable.” 

Soon, they are making love on the kitchen table, in the bedroom, in the shower, and finally on the washing machine in the basement, where she almost faints from her orgasm.

The film ends with the housewife walking the plumber to the front door.  She is wearing a purple bathrobe and has a huge smile on her face.

“Thank you,” she tells the plumber.  “You did an excellent job.”

“I’m glad you’re pleased.” he laughs.  “Call me again if you ever need any more work done!”

THE END

“That was scandalous!” yelled Rabbi Klein, as the last frame went through the projector and the filmreel started flapping in the air.  He started dragging the box to the garbage.

“We should burn these!”

“No, wait!” said the rabbi’s wife, placing her hand on his.   “Maybe God had a reason for these films to come to you.”

“That’s meshuganah!  What possible reason can there be?  Every commandment is broken in this story.”

“Let me have a chance to edit the film.  Maybe together, we can transform what is sinful into something new, something even educational for the congregation.”

Rabbi Klein saw how eager his wife was to do this project.   He knew how much she missed her film-making  career, which she put on hold to play her role as rabbi’s wife.  Besides, he could never say no to his beautiful wife.

“Let’s give it a try!” said Rabbi Klein.

His wife dusted off her old editing machine, and they went to work re-cutting the film.  Rabbi Klein had a brainstorm and they re-named the film, “The Plumber’s Moral Choice.”  

The film opens with a half-undressed housewife opening the front door for a hunky plumber with a hardbody and a glint in his eye, the type of plumber you would never actually see in real life.

“I need my sink unclogged,” purrs the housewife.

“Right away, Ma’am” he replies.

“Let me just put on something a little more comfortable.” 

As she exits the room, the image FREEZES on the face of the plumber, as we hear his thoughts in VOICEOVER (recorded by the rabbi himself):

The Plumber:  Hmmm… while she’s away I could probably use less expensive parts, then charge her the full price.  And then, she might need to call me again for more work, and I can charge her some more.  I could make a bundle off of this client, even charging extra for labor while I’m just moving things back and forth under the sink, wasting time.  But WAIT a minute!  What am I thinking?  I can’t do that.  This is wrong.  This is immoral.  Wasn’t it Rabbi Hillel who said, “What is hateful to you, do not do unto others!”    I should be a role model for other plumbers.  That’s right.  I’m going to do the best job possible as her plumber!”

The film ends with the housewife walking the plumber to the front door.  She is wearing a purple bathrobe and has a huge smile on her face.

“Thank you,” she tells the plumber.  “You did an excellent job.”

“I’m glad you’re pleased.” he laughs.  “Call me again if you ever need any more work done!”

THE END

Rabbi Klein was very happy with the final result.   He and his wife had turned something seedy into something uplifting. 

That Saturday night, Rabbi Klein convened his congregation for a special “movie night” and had the world premiere of “The Plumber’s Moral Choice” right in the temple sanctuary.  After the screening, the congregants applauded the film with enthusiasm.   One after another, people came up to Rabbi Klein and complimented him on making “religion come alive” for them.

After all the accolades, Rabbi Klein saw that he was being beckoned by an elderly man with a beard, who was sitting in the last row.  This was Rabbi Josephson, the Rabbi Emeritus AND the founder of the synagogue.   Rabbi Klein fidgeted nervously.

“Go on,” said Rabbi Klein’s wife, trying to encourage him to not be afraid of his mentor.

Rabbi Klein dragged himself down the center aisle, looking as sheepish as he did the first time he blew the shofar at the Rosh Hashanah service.  He was afraid of Rabbi Josephson’s opinion of his unorthodox teaching methods.  Rabbi Klein sighed with relief when he saw the elder rabbi smiling and nodding in approval.

“I’m very impressed” says Rabbi Josephson.

“I’m so glad you liked it.   I think it is important to find new ways to reach our congregants about moral issues.”

“Absolutely!” said Rabbi Josephson, patting the younger rabbi’s arm.  “The only question I have is — those actors certainly seem familiar to me.  Weren’t they also in “The Plumber Always Cums Twice?”