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Dave’s Gone By Skit: RABBI SOL SOLOMON’S RABBINICAL REFLECTION #62 (4/7/2013): Roger Ebert

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RABBI SOL SOLOMON’S RABBINICAL REFLECTION #62 (4/7/2013): Roger Ebert

Aired April 7, 2013 on Dave’s Gone By. Youtube clip: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dAn_bgyfJ7s

Shalom Dammit! This is Rabbi Sol Solomon with a Rabbinical Reflection for the week of April 7th, 2013.

Hail and farewell to the respected, prolific and popular film critic, Roger Ebert. On Thursday April 4th, two days after saying he wanted to take things a little slower, he instead came to a complete halt, with cancer doing him in at age 70.

Anyone who loves movies is going to miss Roger Ebert, not just because he warned you what was a stinker before you laid down your six dollars. And then $10. And now $19, or 25 if you throw in popcorn. And not just because Roger could talk intelligently without being patronizing – something I haven’t mastered in 53 years. And not just because Roger’s love for good movies came through even when he pooped on bad ones. The biggest legacy of Roger Ebert – and Gene Siskel – was in remaking the idea of “what is a critic?” Admit it. Before those two, you probably thought of a movie or theater critic as this dreary, sepulchral, Ichabod Crane type, with a Bostonian accent, his nose in the air and his pen in someone’s back. He was better than you, and he sure let you know it. Or he talked so far over your head, sparrows would crash into his verbs on their way to Capistrano.

But not Roger and Gene. Of course they were smart, but they were next-door-neighbor smart, not nuclear physicist smart. And when they explained why Blake Edwards was a genius and dead teenager films are a scourge – even if you didn’t agree, you appreciated their conviction and knew they were treating you like a grownup. Roger may have won a Pulitzer, but he never came off like a pudknocker.

Oh sure, Ebert’s weight made him an easy target for many years. At one point, he was so out of shape, it seemed a miracle he could even lift his thumb. And then, he had to give up TV because of the Big C. The first time I saw a picture of him after all those operations, my jaw dropped. Well, not as low as his, but it was still a shock. And yet, he continued to write. A man who came of age in a time of typewriters and telexes kept himself relevant in our age of tweets and tablets. In fact, he posted more movie reviews last year than he did any year before that. If I had to give that many sermons in a year, my brain would turn to gefilte fish.

And if my cranium did become an amalgam of whitefish, pike, sawdust and carp, would I have the guts Roger Ebert had in being so visible? Of going on Oprah with his new voice or on the internet with his fake chin? If I get a pimple on my nose, I hide for three days.

Among the many quotable quotes of Roger Ebert, he once said that “your intellect may be confused, but your emotions will never lie to you.” Well, I may not be able to follow another Charlie Kaufman movie, but I’m sad that we lost Roger Ebert. I think of Gene Siskel in heaven, waiting all these years for the day he could go, “Awright. No cameras. No censors. Rog, let’s really talk about `Cop and a Half’” Go at it guys; no one did it better.

This has been a Rabbinical Reflection from Rabbi Sol Solomon, Temple Sons of Bitches in Great Neck, New York.

–> https://davesgoneby.net/?p=28994

Dave’s Gone By Skit: RABBI SOL SOLOMON’S RABBINICAL REFLECTION #61 (3/17/2013): Sugar Sugar

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Aired March 16, 2013 on Dave’s Gone By. Youtube clip: http://youtu.be/NUaspXp3-Kw

Shalom Dammit! This is Rabbi Sol Solomon with a Rabbinical Reflection for the week of March 17th, 2013.

How big is too big? This is a question asked by real-estate agents, businesses and gay men since time immemorial. Now the same question is being put to soft drinks – at least in New York. Mayor Michael Bloomberg, or, as I like to call him, Big Brotherberg, wants to make it illegal for restaurants to sell sugary beverages in containers bigger than 16 ounces. Places like McDonald’s and 7/11 and even Starbucks, with their grande-vente-sabado-gigante-ultra-maxi-mocha-poppachinos – would be subject to fines unless they gave customers less goliath-sized portions.

To give Big Brotherberg his due, his motivations are truly admirable. Obesity is a huge problem in this country. Not just that fat people are unpleasant to look at, or sit next to on a bus, or listen to when they’re not being jolly; no, it’s that bad eating sends healthcare costs through the roof. Billions of dollars are funneled into treating heart disease and diabetes and tooth decay, and Ritalin for kids who are so hopped up on sugar, we confuse their natural exuberance for ADHD.

The rationale of a soft drink ban is that if you put less crap in front of people’s mouths, they will pour less garbage into their guts. Psychologically, this is absolutely sound. If we see six pieces of cheese on a plate, we’re probably gonna eat all six even if we stopped being after hungry after four. And have you been to a supermarket lately? Shopping carts are bigger than Buicks. Why? Because the cart looks empty and lonely with only half a dozen items in it. But with 15 items, we consummate our urge to consume.

So the logic is, if you give people 16 ounces of Dr. Pibb with their 8,000 calorie happy meal, they’ll get used to having a little less fructose with their fries. And right there, that’s 200 calories staying in the fountain and out of your colon. It’s a really great idea – if it were voluntary. If chain restaurants and family-style eateries said, “Hey, we’ll charge a little less, and we’ll serve a little less.” Maybe, eventually, people will go back to portion control the way it was before America supersized everything from street pretzels to porn stars’ boobs.

But wait a minute – Americans have already been downsized, and it hasn’t done a damn thing to shrink their waistlines. For years, snack companies have been slicing candy bars just a notch smaller for the same price, hoping we won’t notice. Potato chip makers have kept their bags the same while putting fewer spuds in it. They’re just being health conscious, right? And it’s really made such a difference to people’s buying and eating habits, right?

But more than that, if we’ve learned anything from the failure of prohibition or Nancy Reagan’s war on pot, it’s that banning vices does not work. It just drives the market underground and turns cravings into criminality. And I don’t care how well-meaning his motivations, New York’s mayor is overstepping his bounds. If a mother tells a ten year old, “I’m doing this for your own benefit,” well, sure; she’s a mom and he’s ten. If a government official tells you, “I’m doing this for your own good,” you know it’s only a matter of time before everyone visiting City Hall has to bring frankincense and a sacrificial goat.

I realize my opposition to the soda ban can be viewed as contradictory to my support of reasonable gun control. After all, how can I support 32 ounces in a big gulp if I’m against 32 bullets in a chamber? The answer is, which would you rather come across: a psychopath pointing a semi-automatic at a classroom, or a chubby guy with a Mountain Dew asking you the time because his wristwatch doesn’t fit anymore?

In striking down Mayor Brotherberg’s soda ban last week, Judge Milton Tingling – love that name! – Judge Tingling said the law was arbitrary and capricious and virtually unenforceable. It’s also insulting to grownups who wanna make their own choices. Even worse, it turns presumably smart people into retards. Restaurants are complaining, “Oh, no! We can only serve 16 ounces now, we have to get smaller cups.” News flash: 16 ounces fits even better in a 24-ounce cup than it does in a 16. You can actually walk past the counter without spilling Pepsi on your fingers.

Most aggravating is the unfairness. If you can go in a bodega and buy 20 cartons of cancer-causing cigarettes; if you can pop in a liquor store and buy beer by the keg; if you can visit your local topless bar and get twelve lap-dances (and by the way, I recommend Tina; she does this thing with her kegels), if you can saunter into a supermarket and buy a 2-liter 7-Up for one-fifty – if you can do all of this – why turn fast-food managers into cup cops?

Mayor Brotherberg, if you truly wanna cure obesity, stop this nanny nonsense and make real change. New York City is so crazy expensive, poor and middle-class families can’t afford fresh, organic produce. Try giving people real salaries and livable budgets, and they’ll eat in better restaurants. They’ll save Burger King for a once-in-awhile guilty pleasure instead of eating there three times a week because it’s the only thing a single mother has time, energy or money to manage.

As far as portion control, tell ya what Mayor. Next time you try to get some cash out of your bank account, I want the bank manager to tell you, “No, you don’t need $30,000 at one time. I’m cutting you off at 20; you can come back tomorrow for the rest. I realize it’s your money, but I don’t trust some of the business deals you might make, so . . . I’m doing this for your own good. Have a nice day.” That noise you’ll hear from Bloomberg’s throat will be a very big gulp, indeed.

This has been a Rabbinical Reflection from Rabbi Supersize Solomon, Temple Sons of Bitches in Great Neck, New York.

—> https://davesgoneby.net/?p=28998

Dave’s Gone By Skit: RABBI SOL SOLOMON’S RABBINICAL REFLECTION #60 (3/10/2013): Whose Line Returns

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RABBI SOL SOLOMON’S RABBINICAL REFLECTION #60 (3/10/2013): Whose Line Returns

Aired March 9, 2013 on Dave’s Gone By. Youtube clip: http://youtu.be/Yhyv7lhIT6E

Shalom Dammit! This is Rabbi Sol Solomon with a Rabbinical Reflection for the week of March 10th, 2013.

A bit of happy, wonderful news from the world of television: “Whose Line is it Anyway” is coming back for a summer run. That delightful show, where improvisers take suggestions from people and do crazy things with them – kind of like Congress – it’s been off the air for six years. Even though reruns make it feel like it was just last Wednesday.

Still, the CW Network, which is co-owned by CBS and Warner Brothers – CW – that’s how they got their initials – did you know that? It’s a good thing it wasn’t Fox and Universal. Anyhoo, they’ll be airing the brand-new season of “Whose Line is it Anyway.” And it’ll be just like old times. Ryan Stiles, Colin Mochrie and Wayne Brady will all be back to do their thing. Which means Ryan will be genius, Colin will be bald, and Brady won’t be that funny but he can sing the phone book and shake his tush for the ladies.

Drew Carey will not be back to host, and let’s face it, that’s a blessing. He meant well, but he was the weak link when he was in scenes. And when he wasn’t, the camera would spend half the program showing him laughing instead of showing us what he was laughing at. If I wanna spend a half hour watching someone giggle like an idiot, I’ll go visit my uncle Brian in the mental home. And the tragic part is he works there in personnel. But I digress.

For all its flaws, “Whose Line is it Anyway” was an oasis of old-fashioned entertainment. And by old-fashioned, I don’t mean like barbershop quartets and public hangings. I mean simple, live-by-your-wits live performance. Look around: all the sitcoms now are shot like movies, all the movies look like video games, and all the video games look like the end of the world. “Whose Line” is just four brave souls and a piano-playing lesbian. How can you beat it?

I admit, I have had my secret dreams of being part of an improv troupe. I’m quick-thinking, I’m funny, I can imitate noises. Here, listen, listen: shhhhhhh – that’s a shower. Shhhhhhhhhh. Not bad, right. Sssssssssssss. That’s a bicycle tire running out of air. Or my Cousin Velvel pishing his pants. See? My talents are protean.

I can also spin comic monologues out of thin air. Here, wait wait. Okay. Hi, my name’s Rabbi Sol. Great to be here. Hey . . . how about those . . . sports teams. You ever notice how they, uh, play sports? One time I met a friend, he was going off to play tennis – no wait, softball. I was like, “Hey, friend. Where you going?” And he’s like, (different voice) “I’m going to play softball.” And I’m, like, (different voice) “Why” – no, wait, that’s his voice. I’m like, “Why?” And he says, (different voice) “Because I like it. Football’s too dangerous.” And then he hurts himself. See? My stories have an arc!

But I know improvisation is really about the other person, working with your partner to create magic. So let’s do this. You say something funny, and I’ll build on it. Go ahead: Uh huh, yes, and . . . Yes, and . . . Yes and . . . And how long have you been a gynecologist? The ostrich farm. Aaaand scene.

Of course, to be on a show like “Whose Line is it Anyway,” you also have to be musical. You have to take a topic and instantly fashion it into a song. I can do that! Here:
Doi doi doi doi-doi-doi-doi-doi-doi-doi.
I went to the synagogue to pray to HaShem.
There were many people there, I said hello to them.
They threw me on the beemah and started feeling up my crotch.
And when it was over I was missing my tallis and my watch.
My tallis, my wallet, and my watch. Yeah!

CW, you have my resume. I’m sure the show will be great as it is, but there’s always room for . . . improv-ment.

This has been a Rabbinical Reflection from Rabbi Sol Solomon, Temple Sons of Bitches in Great Neck, New York. You may now read the Talmud in the style of your own devising.

RABBI SOL SOLOMON’S RABBINICAL REFLECTION #59 (3/3/2013): Disappearing Delis

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RABBI SOL SOLOMON’S RABBINICAL REFLECTION #59 (3/3/2013): Disappearing Delis

Aired March 2, 2013 on Dave’s Gone By. Youtube clip: http://youtu.be/dXEmeT2NOd8

Shalom Dammit! This is Rabbi Sol Solomon with a Rabbinical Reflection for the week of March 3rd, 2013.

Oh, woe is me. Woe are all of us. There was a story in the Los Angeles Times this week about the decline of the Jewish deli in American life. The story bemoaned the closing of the 50-year-old Junior’s Deli in L.A., and the 75-year-old Stage Deli in New York. There used to be thousands of delicatessens in Manhattan, now there are dozens. And delis are being deleted from other major cities, too.

Why is this? All sorts of reasons. Changing demographics, the generation that grew up feasting on tubes of salami is now eating through a tube, and the younger people have so many choices of where to eat and what to eat. It’s hard to blame them when they don’t go for the old pickles-on-the-table, toothpick-in-the-brisket standbys. Also not helping is our so-called health consciousness, which sees fatty meat and red meat and cured meat and smoked meat as the four horsemeats of the apocalypse. Oh sure, McDonald’s and Burger King aren’t exactly dishing out broccoli quinoa, but you can buy a happy meal for five dollars. Try finding a heaping brisket sandwich for less than a sawbuck.

Deli owners complain they have to increase prices because food costs keep rising, rent goes up, and insurance is through the roof. Which, if you figure every third person in a Jewish deli is a candidate for a bypass or old enough for a plot in Baron Hirsch, you can see why.

Some delicatessens are going with the flow. They’re serving egg-white omelettes, they’re offering Cajun burgers, they’re doing paninis instead of blinis. The co-owner of Canter’s restaurant told the L.A. Times, “You don’t need to just have rye bread and pastrami to have a deli sandwich.” I agree. You also need Russian dressing and potato salad.

Yet we have to endure stories about delis in San Francisco bringing in homemade sodas and drinks – and removing Dr. Browns. A deli without Dr. Brown’s cream or black cherry soda? Is the world truly coming to an end? My God, Dr. Brown’s are the people who made a soda out of celery. The single most useless, hated vegetable on earth, and some genius at Dr. Brown’s made a delicious – well, tolerable – carbonated beverage out of it. And they say deli’s not health food. Pooey!

Look, I understand the need to change with the times, but you don’t fix what isn’t broken, and a good pastrami sandwich, cut thick, on fresh rye, with a shtickel of red pepper, is going to outlast doomsday – let alone garden burgers and tofu chicken. Things are cyclical, and just the way Yiddish has been brought back around by a new generation of Orthodox Jews, and just like record albums are selling again thanks to audiophiles and scary black people, I believe the virtues of an old-fashioned Jewish deli are bound to rebound in the public imagination. Much the way a chopped-liver sandwich ricochets from your stomach to your heart to your throat to your intestines to your eyes. You eat it once, you’re still eating it three days later – that’s value!

So let us not yet say kaddish for kishke and hymns for Hebrew National. Let us hope that owners of Jewish and Kosher delis – which are not the same, by the way. If someone hands you a corned beef on white toast with Swiss cheese over it, you’re probably not in a kosher establishment. If somebody hands you a pastrami with ham over it, you’re probably in hell. But either way, let us hope the deli owners find a way to keep prices down, quality up, hot dogs on the grill, pickles on the dill, kasha and knishes, herring and whitefishes, Cel-Ray in our glasses, and cellulite on our asses.

Anyone who has a belly knows the beauty of a deli.

This has been a Rabbinical Reflection from Rabbi Sol Solomon, Temple Sons of Bitches in Great Neck, New York.

–> https://davesgoneby.net/?p=29226

Dave’s Gone By Skit: RABBI SOL SOLOMON’S RABBINICAL REFLECTION #58 (2/24/2013): More Purim Jokes

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RABBI SOL SOLOMON’S RABBINICAL REFLECTION #58 (2/24/2013): More Purim Jokes

aired February 23, 2013 on Dave’s Gone By. Youtube clip: http://youtu.be/e9ICds0fO8k

Shalom Dammit! This is Rabbi Sol Solomon with a Rabbinical Reflection for the week of February 24th, 2013.

Happy Purim everybody! A wonderful day on the Jewish calendar where we give thanks that we weren’t all killed by Persians a couple of thousand years ago. We celebrate by reading the book of Esther, giving shalach manos – which is a charitable donation of food and snacks to people we care about. We celebrate by putting on costumes, getting drunk, and, in certain areas of the world, watching Nascar.

I like to celebrate by spreading laughter, by telling a joke or two, and then explaining the joke for people who are too shikkered up on Kedem to get the punchlines. Or, more importantly, the moral.

Let’s begin with the tale of three sons, nice grown Jewish boys, all of them successful abroad, all of them forever trying to impress their mama back in Brooklyn.

They meet for lunch in London, and the oldest son, Moishe, says, “I built mama a three-story house near Prospect Park. She just moved in last week.”

The second boy, Yitzchak, says, “Well, I bought mama a brand-new Mercedes with a round-the-clock driver to take her anywhere she wants to go.”

Avi, the youngest son, says, “I’m the only one who’s really thinking of mom’s needs. I bought her a parrot!”

“A parrot?” the other two go. “What are you meshuggeh?”

“Not at all,” says Avi. “Mama’s a widow, she’s lonely. I got her a beautiful parrot that is also brilliant. I spent thousands of dollars getting language teachers to teach the bird English, Hebrew and Yiddish. And then I paid a Rabbi even more money to help the parrot memorize all five books of the Torah, so whenever mama wants, he can recite.”

Just at that moment, Moishe’s cellphone rings, and it’s mama on the phone. He puts her on speaker and says, “Mama we’re all here. How do you like our gifts?”

And the old woman’s voice comes out the phone and says, “Well, to be honest, the house is very nice, Moishe, but it’s so big. I can’t deal with the cleaning, and I get lost from room to room. I think I’ll move back to my apartment.”

Moishe sighs and hands the phone to his brother. “Yitzchack,” the mother says, “I know you mean well, but a German car? And that driver, he never shuts up. Really, I’d rather walk.”

Yitzchak deflates and hands the phone to the third brother. “Avi, my youngest,” the mama says. “Thank you! Thank you! What a perfect gift! The chicken was delicious!”

We have all heard the old adage, “It’s the thought that counts.” It’s not how much money it costs or how puffed up you feel by making an impression. It’s trying to please the person you are gifting. You could buy a $200 pair of Nikes, but if you give them to Oscar Pistorius, what’s the point? Of course, if you gave him a Smith-Wesson, that he might have use for.

A studious but poor young Rebbe would sit in the backyard of his little shul and ponder and ponder and ask questions of God. This went on for months, years, until one day, HaShem decides to make it a conversation.

“I’m here,” He says, “What do you wanna know?”

“Well,” says the Rebbe, “I’ve been thinking about the nature of time. For example, what is a million years to you?”

God says, “You’re a human. A million years to you is just one second to me.”

The Rabbi thinks a little bit and says, “What about money? What is a million dollars to you?”

“Ha!” God laughs, He says, “a million dollars to you is less than a penny to me. It’s a pittance.”

“In that case,” the Rabbi says, “can I have a million dollars?”

“Sure,” says God, “in a second.”

If there’s one thing that Jews seem to know better than almost any other religion is that God, if He exists, follows His own rules and principles. We can assuage him with prayers and good deeds, we can interpret the Torah six ways to Shabbos, but really, HaShem does what He does, and we all follow furtively along. Like storm chasers. Get too near the tornado, you’ve got the Tower of Babel; stray too far from the tornado, and you wander for forty years. So the best bet is to pursue God with a lot of awe, a little fear, and a good pair of binoculars.

Last joke: What’s the difference between an Orthodox Jewish wedding, a Conservative wedding, a Reform wedding and a Reconstructionist wedding?

Simple. In an Orthodox wedding, the bride’s mother is pregnant. In a Conservative wedding, the bride is pregnant. A Reform wedding, the Rabbi is pregnant. And in Reconstructionist, both brides are pregnant.

What I love about this joke is that despite the mockery, it embraces all the different strands of Jewish practice. You don’t have to wear a fur hat and payes – especially if you’re a woman. Or if modern ways are a little too modern, you can create the niche of Jewish custom that works for you. So, if you want to celebrate Purim by going to synagogue and singing and hearing the megillah, great! If you don’t observe Purim at all, but you’re a good person and Jewish in your heart, also great. And if you’re somewhere in the middle, but you wanna send me some shalach manos – prune is my favorite, though the apricot isn’t bad.

This has been a Rabbinical Reflection from Rabbi Sol Solomon, Temple Sons of Bitches in Great Neck, New York. Purim Sameach!

–> https://davesgoneby.net/?p=29231

Dave’s Gone By Skit: RABBI SOL SOLOMON’S RABBINICAL REFLECTION #57 (2/17/2013): Pope Benedict Retires

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RABBI SOL SOLOMON’S RABBINICAL REFLECTION #57 (2/17/2013): Pope Benedict Retires

aired February 16th, 2013 on Dave’s Gone By. Youtube clip: http://youtu.be/H3KYHpwGAFs

Shalom Dammit! This is Rabbi Sol Solomon with a Rabbinical Reflection for the week of February 17th, 2013.

Big news for goyim this week when Joseph Ratzinger – aka Pope Benedict the 16th – announced that he would be stepping down from his Popery at the end of the month. It’s an unusual step, since most Popes either die in office or quit to take on consulting work in the fashion industry. But Pope Benedict felt that both his mind and body were starting to go, so rather than decline into a senile figurehead, he’s gracefully bowing out so the cardinals can groom someone else for the most important job in all Christendom. Well, apart from being CEO of Hobby Lobby.

In his eight years of Popeing, Benedict has racked up a decidedly mixed record. To be fair, he had a hard act to follow. In 2005, he succeeded Pope John Paul II, who not only traveled extensively but won the Miss Congeniality pageant four out of the seven years he entered. Following Pope JPII is like coming after Jimi Hendrix at Monterey; you can either burn two guitars and play a third with your shmeckel, or you go the other way, hang back, do your thing, and try to make your own little contribution while half the crowd is stumbling to the concession stands.

Let us also not forget that Pope Benedict did not exactly have the saintliest early life. He was a German. In the `30s. So when he was 14 years old, he was forced to join the Hitler Youth. He wasn’t crazy about it, but he didn’t exactly take a martyr’s stand against it, either. Two years later, he was a soldier in the German air force and then the infantry. Again, he wasn’t thrilled to be there, but tell that to any western allies he flew over or shot at. Then, when the war was all but over, he deserts and runs home. Interesting qualifications for being the holiest man in the world and spiritual guide to millions: be part of the most racist, homicidal regime in history, fight and be ready to kill for that country, and when the going gets rough, escape and be a traitor. In the same shoes, would I have had the moral fiber to be any different? Probably not, but I’m not Pope.

Nor am I likely to be. My application for the open position has already been rejected, they say because I don’t have Quark Express, but ehhh… I think it’s anti-Semitism.

Anyhoo, once he became Pope, no question, Benedict had the courage of his convictions. He was a conservative who believed in sticking with time-honored traditions and pulling Catholicism back from what he perceived to be a hastening secularized decay. When a religion is 2000 years old, there’s a comfort in that – hearing the Latin, upholding the old guard, knowing that the geezer charge has more in common with a monk from the 1200s than with a slacker from 2012. I compare it to the ultra-Orthodox Jews you see at the Wailing Wall in Jerusalem every day. They’re incredibly insular and right wing, and they believe the bible word for word, and anything new you throw at them is so terrifying, they shrink into their black coats like potato bugs curling up into a ball. But they’re also a link to the past that would be really sad to lose. They’re out there being perfect so the rest of us don’t have to.

Except, nobody’s perfect. And Pope Benedict’s back-to-the-dark-ages position on certain issues isn’t even close. Women priests? No way. Abortion? No, but no surprise there. Same-sex marriage? He likened it to anarchy and called it “contrary to human love.” Because a celibate ex-Nazi is certainly my go-to expert on love and matrimony.

He did better, much better, on Jewish matters, making sure to renounce the whole “Jews killed Jesus” thing and visiting Auschwitz in 2012 – and not just to reminisce with old classmates and relatives. He did restore to the liturgy a Latin prayer that had a part in it about making sure to convert the Jews. But they cut that line years ago. I think they replaced it with some lyrics from Led Zeppelin IV. And when it’s come to Israel and the Arabs, Benedict has tried to be even-handed and a champion of peace, which is exactly what you’d want and expect from the Pope. He also pissed off the Arabs when he audaciously mentioned that Islam doesn’t exactly have a peaceful reputation. That’s about as self-evident as saying Paulie Shore movies don’t reach the level of high art – but when the Pope says it, it’s news.

Did Benedict do too little, too laity about all those pedophile priests? Of course! Heck, as a Cardinal, he was as guilty as anyone of hushing things up and making sure all the horrors stayed inside the church. Heaven forbid they should get in the clutches of such pesky outsiders as police and courts and the public’s right to know. But ultimately, the biggest disappointment about Pope Benedict is the hypocrisy that I’m sure he doesn’t even see. He’s willing to leap into the modern era with a Facebook page and Twitter tweets, and he’s the first Pope in 600 years to step down instead of drop dead. So why is he willing to break those traditions, yet making the church evolve in its stance on women and gays and embryos – that would be heresy.

When all is said and done, the real story of Pope Benedict is that he’s a smart guy whose career was spent either saving his skin or salvaging the status quo. If the Nazis come, salute; if they put you in a uniform, fight; if they lose, run; if your colleagues are shtupping little boys, juggle; if you say something risky, backpedal; but if the world turns forward, stand still.

The Vatican has an opportunity now to turn the corner. They can get a Pope from Africa, or Latin America, or Passaic. They can elect a guy who’ll separate important moral principles from stuff that’s been done just because it’s always been done. I’m not expecting to see Catholicism suddenly embrace pro-choice rallies, lady priests and gay honeymoons – but why not? If a black man can become president, and a Hitler Youth can be Pope, and Honey BooBoo can be a TV star, anything can happen.

This has been a Rabbinical Reflection from Rabbi Sol Solomon, Temple Sons of Bitches in Great Neck, New York. Dominus vobiscum, zie gezundt.

–> https://davesgoneby.net/?p=29236

Dave’s Gone By Skit: RABBI SOL SOLOMON’S RABBINICAL REFLECTION #56 (2/10/2013): Valentine’s Day

click above to listen (audio file)

RABBI SOL SOLOMON’S RABBINICAL REFLECTION #56 (2/10/2013): Valentine’s Day

aired February 9th, 2013 on Dave’s Gone By. Youtube clip: http://youtu.be/yK-2Mmg9-yk

Shalom Dammit! This is Rabbi Sol Solomon with a Rabbinical Reflection for the week of February 10th, 2013.

Would you be my Valentine? Actually, you’re wise if you wouldn’t. St. Valentine, upon whom the Valentine’s Day holiday is kind of, sort of, not exactly really based, was a possibly apocryphal figure – well, all the saints were apocryphal to Yids like me. But if you’re a goy, and you believe in such stories, St. Valentine was one of two things: He was either a composite of a couple of different saints because he was so undistinguished as a saint himself. Or he was a good guy, a hard-working believer – who was clubbed to death and martyred on February 14th. Either way, who the hell wants to be him?

As for Valentine’s Day itself, very likely it was the Catholic Church’s response to a pagan celebration – the feast of Lupercal. Personally, I think Sustacal and Metrecal are more slimming. But the point is, the church couldn’t have some idolatrous holiday interfering with their practice, so like Halloween and Christmas, they morphed the comical into something canonical.

How did hearts and cupids and $180 Zales receipts creep into it? I have no idea, but I’m glad they did, because it makes Valentine’s Day a holiday everyone can celebrate. That human beings need an excuse to express affection is a sad thing. But if one day of the year, you can turn to your partner or spouse or well-paid escort and say, “I love you. Thank you for all you bring to my life. Please pick up some rye bread on the way home.” That’s a beautiful thing.

I realize that for those who are alone and lonely, Valentine’s can be a hollow holiday indeed. Seeing all those Hallmark cards in the Rite Aid, watching couples on the street holding hands, watching couples in porn holding glands, and finding 2-for-1 restaurant coupons in the Sunday paper, then wondering if it’s worth the embarrassment to go solo and put the second entrée in a doggie bag.

My single friends, I feel your pain. It’s just below the ribcage and spasms uncontrollably, but it’s okay, I’m on medication. The solution for everyone is to not look at Valentine’s Day as just for romantic couples. It’s for everyone who has loved you or you have loved in the course of your travels: family, neighbors, pets, inflatable dolls with lifelike genitalia. As Stephen Stills once put it, “Love the one you’re with.” Just make sure you have warm towels and a disinfectant.

And let us not forget that Valentine’s Day now has a whole other context thanks to The Vagina Monologues. Eve Ensler’s play about women and their nether parts became a global phenomenon. And now, February 14th is a day to protest violence and abuse against women, for women themselves to take pride in their achievements, and, of course, for us all to pay tribute to those hairy little pusselehs.

So let this and every Valentine’s Day be not just about $70 restaurants and 7-11 roses, but mutual appreciation. A day of smiles, and hugs, and thank yous and vaginas. If you’re lucky, not necessarily in that order.

This has been a Rabbinical Reflection from Rabbi Sol Solomon, Temple Sons of Bitches in Great Neck, New York.

–> https://davesgoneby.net/?p=29240

Dave’s Gone By Skit: RABBI SOL SOLOMON’S RABBINICAL REFLECTION #55 (2/3/2013): Oldies but Goodies 

click above to listen (audio file)

RABBI SOL SOLOMON’S RABBINICAL REFLECTION #55 (2/3/2013): Oldies but Goodies

Aired February 2nd, 2013 on Dave’s Gone By. Youtube clip: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-rWYhZ0sCBo

Shalom Dammit! This is Rabbi Sol Solomon with a Rabbinical Reflection for the week of February 3rd, 2013.

We are such a disposable society, any story – from a terrible flood to a bear lumbering into a shopping center – any event is good for two news cycles, and then it’s on to the next. We had a fiscal cliff – “Oy, the fiscal cliff, the fiscal cliff, the fiscal cliff!” Until some lunatic shot up a dayschool. Then it was “gun control, gun control, gun control!” Until next week, when it’s – Oh, I dunno, Chris Brown beating Rihanna again.

And the old 15 minutes of fame is now four minutes. Unless it’s an embarrassing or criminal kind of fame, in which case you get a show on VH-1 and live in perpetuity on Vimeo.

Our cultural motto is “What have you done for me lately?” And if lately is more than six months ago, we don’t even stay for the answer. So it’s heartening to find to find one trend bucking the trend. (And if you’ve ever had your trend bucked, you know just how pleasurable that can be.) The trend is for dinosaurs to roam the earth again. And by dinosaurs, I mean the great rock-and-roll stars of the `60’s.

When the entertainment community sought a charitable response to Hurricane Sandy, whom did they turn to? This week’s flavor of the month? No. Paul McCartney, the Rolling Stones, The Who. People whose combined ages would make Methuselah go, “Damn, they’re getting up there.”

At the benefit, Sir Paul rocked out with the members of Nirvana who weren’t driven to suicide by their wives. The Rolling Stones played two songs – which doesn’t sound like a lot, but in concert, that’d be 85 dollars worth right there. And then you had The Who – who reminded us how lucky Horton was to hear them. Yes, Roger Daltrey’s bare chest looked like the underside of a roasted ham, but the rest of him rocked out. And nobody does a windmill like Pete Townshend. Well, maybe the Dutch.

Anyhoo, around the same time, all the members of Led Zeppelin who didn’t drink 40 consecutive shots of Absolut were making the talk-show circuit with a DVD. Neil Young was putting out new music with Crazy Horse, David Bowie was finishing up a new album, and Paul Simon’s planning an Australian tour.

And yet there are grumblers who say that these people are all past their prime and should have retired long ago. Their voices are shot, all their best songs are three decades old, and fans are paying big bucks for diminished returns. In many cases this is true. If you go see Bob Dylan on his never-ending tour, you’re not getting 1966 electric Dylan and the Band; you’re getting 2013 eccentric Dylan and the bland. But that’s not just a function of age. Bob Dylan’s been giving shitty concerts since 1978. And 20, 30 years ago, a bad night could be infuriating. But now?

Is it enough to just see Zimmerman stand there onstage, mumble through a dozen classics and then give everyone hearing damage from his overmiked harmonica? You’re damn right it’s enough, because he’s still here, and we’re lucky to have him. Same with all these groups. If the Rolling Stones can’t make another “Goat’s Head Soup” – because they don’t have enough teeth to chew goat meat anymore; if David Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust rises and falls – and can’t get up; if Leonard Cohen sings “Hallelujah” because he made it to the toilet before soiling his Huggies; if Paul McCartney sings “Help!” less often than he presses his Life Alert for help, if Neil Young has a heart of gold – and a hip of titanium; it’s still nice when they make albums. It’s what they do.

Retirement comes hard to artists, especially if they don’t want to become an oldies act, or even if they do. I guess patient zero in this case history is Frank Sinatra. By his final concerts, he was forgetting lyrics, repeating songs, stumbling over the fine line between indulgence and embarrassment. But ask anybody who went if they’d have missed a second of it. If they wouldn’t gladly sit through 90 minutes of, “Well, that’s what he’s like now” to be reminded for just five, “ahh, that’s what he was like then.”

So hail to the dinosaurs who walk among us. If their joints creak a little when they stomp, well, so do mine. And if they wanna make a little more noise before they go extinct, that’s not a shame, it’s a gift. With all due respect to Neil Young, the great ones don’t have to burn out or fade away. Just play.

This has been a Rabbinical Reflection from Rabbi Sol Solomon, Temple Sons of Bitches in Great Neck, New York.

–> https://davesgoneby.net/?p=29244

Dave’s Gone By Skit: Rabbi Sol Solomon’s Rabbinical Reflection #54 (1/27/2013): THE BATTLE OF ALGIERS

click above to listen (audio file)

Rabbi Sol Solomon’s Rabbinical Reflection #54 (1/27/2013): THE BATTLE OF ALGIERS

Aired January 26, 2013 on Dave’s Gone By. Youtube clip: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YnXLGyFEdC0

Shalom Dammit! This is Rabbi Sol Solomon with a Rabbinical Reflection for the week of January 26th, 2013.

Let’s say I go to the supermarket and buy a box of donuts. “Why am I eating that?”, you ask. “Well,” I say, “donuts are a health food.” “Health food?” I hear you gasp. “But they’re loaded with sugar and white flour.” “Yes, but they’re a health food,” I reply. “But they’re glazed with chocolate coating made out of corn syrup,” you counter. “I don’t care, they’re a health food,” I persist. “But look at the box!” you yell. “Half the ingredients are red dyes and preservatives and fiberglass insulation.” “You’re making wayyy too much of that,” I say. “Donuts are a health food.”

And now you start screaming, “But if you eat donuts, you get fat, your teeth rot, eventually you’ll risk heart disease and diabetes.” “Oh, don’t be so politically incorrect,” I say. “Donuts are a health food.”

Sounds crazy, right? Like I should have my head examined for not admitting what’s plainly in front of my face – or in my stomach.

Fine. How many times have we heard left-wing pundits and middle-east apologists say that Islam is the religion of peace? That’s the big slogan – religion of peace. And no amount of 9/11’s or Munichs or Lockerbies or Benghazis will convince these people that maybe Islam isn’t such a friendly how-do-ya-do.

“Oh, it’s just a small faction; it’s just the radicals,” comes the response. True. The millions and millions of Muslims in this world aren’t out there blowing up embassies any more than every NRA member is out there shooting up schools. However, no other religion since Christianity in the Middle Ages has caused so much needless, vicious and sociopathic bloodshed. Except, perhaps, the Death to Disco Movement of the 1970s, but they had a point.

So this time, the horror springs from Algeria – instead of Iran or Pakistan or Egypt or Syria – or, well, point to a map of the Middle East and find an Arab country that isn’t a killing field. Last week, a hostage crisis in Algeria resulted in more than two dozen civilian dead, including one American. Plus, 32 dead hostage takers, or, as I like to call them, refuse.

The Algerian government is being blamed for jumping the gun on its rescue mission. After three days of a bloody stand-off, Algerian troops stormed the gas plant that was under siege – which resulted in pretty much everyone dying. Mainly because the terrorists began executing the hostages once the fun started.

Other countries are now saying, “Oh, we weren’t informed, we could have done it better, we could have ended this with more survivors, blah di bloo di blah.” Algeria’s position is, “Sorry, we don’t negotiate with terrorists.” And to that, may I add, especially not terrorists who are killing the hostages anyway, who are strapped to the gills with explosives, and who come from a radical culture where suicide is the expected outcome of a violent event. Kind of tough to negotiate with someone who actually wants you to shoot him. It’s like going up to an alcoholic at a party and saying, “Look, I can either drive you home, or I can pour you another scotch.” That’s a win-win either way for the booze-hound.

Terrorists are sick, desperate people who can be dealt with in only the most extreme, desperate ways. Like full-on raids, waterboarding and being forced to watch “Teen Mom 2.”

We can mince words all we want so as not to offend Saudi Arabia and Qatar and UAE and other countries that could afford to buy the Statue of Liberty and sell it back to us in pieces. However, until every country, east and west, takes full action in crushing radical, violent Islam, we’re just gonna get more Algerias, more World Trade Centers, more Koran-concocted carnage. Just ask Israel, which has endured sixty years of anti-Semitism and anti-Americanism disguised as Palestinian nationalism. Israel realizes: the only way to say “no more” is to say, “no,” more. And that means, when terrorism rears its ugly covered head, you gotta put the religion of peace in a world of pain.

This has been a Rabbinical Reflection from Rabbi Sol Solomon, Temple Sons of Bitches in Great Neck, New York.

RABBI SOL SOLOMON’S RABBINICAL REFLECTION #53 (1/20/2013): Lance Armstrong

click above to listen (audio file)

RABBI SOL SOLOMON’S RABBINICAL REFLECTION #53 (1/20/2013): Lance Armstrong

Aired January 19, 2013 on Dave’s Gone By. Youtube clip: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ksF769ibSjk&feature=youtu.be

Shalom Dammit! This is Rabbi Sol Solomon with a Rabbinical Reflection for the week of January 20th, 2013.

I never understood the appeal of bicycle racing as a spectator sport. Oh sure, it’s fun to pedal a Schwinn through the neighborhood while running errands, looking at the scenery and zipping past poor bastards in cars who have to stop for red lights. It’s healthy exercise uphill, and it’s a mechayah downhill.

Granted, the man who invented bicycle seats must have worked for the Nazis. I ask you: if they can design a chair cushion that makes you feel like you’re floating on a cloud, why can’t they make a bicycle seat that doesn’t mash your testicles halfway up your groin.

But be that as it may, watching people bicycle is about as much fun watching people roller skate. Twelve seconds and you wanna shoot yourself. Thirty seconds and you wanna get on a bicycle and run the skaters over.

So the whole Tour de France mystique is lost on me. Cyclists spend day after day for three weeks riding two thousand miles just to put on a yellow jersey. Sorry, but I can give Jet Blue some money, fly two thousand miles in half a day, and they give me a free headset. No contest.

But I do not deny the skill, athleticism or endurance of those who compete in these races, especially Lance Armstrong, who survived cancer to win the Tour de France for seven consecutive years. (It was testicular cancer, by the way, for which, as I said – I blame the bicycle seat!) Anyhoo, Lance Armstrong represented everything great about athletics. Training, discipline in body and mind, healthy diet, the will to win, grace under pressure and battling back against all odds. He was one of those athletes parents could point to on a cereal box and say, “You could be like him, if you eat your Wheaties.” What we didn’t know is that you had to sprinkle your Wheaties with corticosteroids and substitute the milk with Red Bull.

Now, believe it or not, I’m not categorically against performance-enhancing drugs. Who’s to say what’s a natural additive and what’s going too far? If one guy makes a morning shake out of a special secret recipe of wheat grass, crushed vitamins and horny goat weed, is he getting an unfair leg up on the guy who’s just eating pancakes? And what if – just what if – Lance Armstrong decided to race competitively while he was still recovering from cancer? Not expecting to win, but just to prove something to himself and to the world. So his body is all full of these chemo chemicals that are keeping him alive – and, perhaps, enhancing his performance. Where does therapy stop and doping begin?

I cannot answer these questions. These are questions for doctors, chemists and Ozzy Osbourne. What I can say is that Armstrong’s behavior has been reprehensible. Not only did he lie for years, he discouraged, harangued and even threatened others who wanted to tell the truth. He was a bully, and one of those people who breathe such rarified air, they imagine rules that apply to everyone else don’t apply to them.

Finally, when his back was against the wall – and his tuchas impaled on a banana seat – and there was nothing else to tell besides what we already knew, Armstrong allows himself to be cross-examined in prime time by Oprah Winfrey. Because criminality is so much more palatable when it’s packaged and sold as entertainment. And because for Oprah to get ratings, it’s either this or getting Dr. Phil and Mehmet Oz to french each other.

As for the special itself, Armstrong admitted to some things, denied others, and looked for all the world like someone who’s about to lure you into a scientology booth. One day Christopher Walken will play Armstrong in a movie, and he’ll actually be less creepy than the real thing.

Should we expect remorse? I know that’s big with defense attorneys – “Ooh, he feels really bad, let’s be nice to him.” But Armstrong’s ego is such that he seems almost proud of getting away with cheating as long as he did. Sure he’s sorry – sorry he got caught. Which makes him little different from all the baseball players who turned the 1990s into a home-run derby. They sure gave us a lot of thrills while the commissioner looked the other way. But try telling kids, “Don’t do drugs! Always play fair! Drink your juice!” when their heroes are juicing in a very different way. As for punishment, well, what will all those steroids will do to their bodies when these guys turn 60 or 70 – if they even get there? It’s like a chemical version of “Faust”; one day, you have to pay back the devil. Or Vince McMahon, take your pick.

But I do have a confession to make: I myself, have a problem with `roids. Hemorrhoids, and they’re killing me. Oprah would you like the scoop?

This has been a Rabbinical Reflection from Rabbi Sol Solomon, Temple Sons of Bitches in Great Neck, New York.

–> https://davesgoneby.net/?p=29254