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Dave’s Gone By Skit: Rabbi Sol Solomon’s Rabbinical Reflection #133 (12/20/2015): WORD OF THE YEAR

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Rabbinical Reflection #133: Word of the Year

aired Dec. 19, 2015 on Dave’s Gone By. Youtube clip:https://youtu.be/YIhD_FGHX7I

Shalom, Dammit! This is Rabbi Sol Solomon with a Rabbinical Reflection for the week of December 20, 2015.

Well, Chanukah’s over, so I can go back to being my crotchety, miserable self. Perfect timing, too. You’ve got terrorists shooting everybody, Republicans shooting their mouths off, and, as usual, my poop chute hurts—and I’m low on Desitin.

All I want towards the end of the year is a little good news, a bit of lightness to counter the darkness and stupidity all around. So what do I get? First, Time Magazine —- remember Time Magazine?—no one does. I’m sure it’s four pages long and printed on tissue paper at this point. But Time Magazine tries to stay relevant by picking its person of the year. Now, that doesn’t always mean the honored person is honorable. Past People of the Year have included Hitler, Stalin, and the Ayatollah Khoumeini —- who are always my top three when planning a holiday party. But Time has also singled out U.S. presidents, Pope Francis, Bono—pretty much anyone who’ll sell at the newsstand.

This year, Time chose Angela Merkel, the Chancellor of Germany, as person of the year. I know, right? Your guess is as good as mine. Aside from my lingering fear of anything German—including measles, cars, and ovens—did this nice lady do anything at all that affected my life? I mean, she could have gotten me a bagel from the grocery downstairs or maybe paid forward my last meal at the deli, but pfft, nothing. All Merkel does is strengthen the Euro, which is fine for Germany but hasn’t exactly been a boon for Greece, Finland, or the American greenback.

But Time Magazine is not why I am grumpy. Last week, Merriam-Webster announced its Word of the Year. Now, that’s a nice thing. In order to stay somewhat relevant in a world where dictionaries are just those clunky things we used before spell-check, Webster’s reminds everybody they still exist. How? By choosing a word that has been particularly relevant or popular over the past annum. For example, last year’s number-one word was culture. Lovely word! Culture. It means the behavioral customs of people, as well as the fine arts. And also what they take from your throat when you’ve got strep.

But you know what? People don’t listen anymore. They don’t play by the rules; they don’t follow directions. Webster’s Third International Dictionary has 470,000 words in it. That’s nearly half a million choices the editors could make when picking a word of the year. They could select words like lambrequin, which is a hood or covering for a helmet; or rasophore, which is the lowest order of Greek monk; or flabelliform, which means shaped like a fan. If people aren’t using these terms regularly, maybe making one of them Word of the Year could change all that. Undercover spies from Webster’s and Oxford could sneak the word into common usage: “Hey, isn’t that the guy from ZZ Top?” “No, he’s just a lowly rasophore. You can tell by the cassock.”

But okay, maybe these words aren’t at the top of everyone’s text-message suggestion bar. So how about cheese or synergy or the word everybody googles: porn? Somehow, even these simple words weren’t good enough for Merriam and his life-partner, Webster. As I said, they had hundreds of thousands of options for Word of the Year, and the one they chose . . . the word these scholars, in their infinite wisdom, selected as Word of the Year is: Ism. I’ll say it again: Ism.

Why do I have a problem with this? Very simple. You have a swath of geniuses using computer programs, volumetrics, and common sense to come up with a word, and the word they choose . . . last time I checked, IS NOT A WORD. It’s a suffix. Look it up! No, really, look it up IN WEBSTER’S DICTIONARY. I-S-M: it’s not a word, it’s the end of a word! Imagine if Baskin-Robbins held a contest for ice cream flavor of the year, and the winner was “ocolate!”

Now the dictionary dances around these semantics by saying that “ism” is a noun, that represents a whole bunch of words ending in ism. Which sounds to me like a tautologism. And the reason for the choice of ism this year has to do with all the web searches for ism terrorism—thanks to ISIS, socialism—thanks to Bernie Sanders, racism—thanks to Freddie Gray, capitalism and fascism—both thanks to Donald Trump, and, of course, jism, thanks the aforementioned porn.

Please understand, I have nothing against “ism” as a suffix. After all, where would I be without Judaism? Probably, happily sipping martinis on a yacht. And I’m also pretty big on Zionism, secular humanism, and the occasional aphorism. But if the sacred guardians of words can’t be bothered to find a word, what’s the world—and the word—coming to?

The answer is that it’s already come and gone. Yes, dictionary.com chose its own word of the year, identity, a gratifyingly rational decision there. But the Oxford English Dictionary—the gold standard of linguistic lexicography—they, too, had a word of the year. They didn’t pick a prefix, no. They didn’t pick a compound word or phrase. They didn’t go with slang or an abbreviation. My friends, the O.E.D. chose, as word of the year: a drawing. More specifically, the “tears of joy” emoji. You know, the Japanese-y face with the tear drops and the slanty eyebrows and one long tooth smiling while crying? This is their Word of the Year. You can’t even say it. It takes a paragraph to describe it. I thought a picture is supposed to be worth a thousand words not replace all of them!

If the best and smartest of us can’t even get simple instructions right, what hope is there for the rest of us numbnuts to solve immigration, feed the hungry, and slow down climate change? That is why I have, not one, but two words for the Webster’s and Oxford dictionaries. Each word is one syllable. The second word is a pronoun. The first word is a transitive verb that is, quote, “usually vulgar.” In case you haven’t guessed it by now, my words are—well, picture an emoji of a big yellow hand with its middle finger lifted in defiance. Or, in a different language, geh kaken oifen yam! And yes, I realize that’s a yiddishism.

This has been a Rabbinical Reflection from Rabbi Sol Solomon, Temple Sons of Bitches, in Great Neck, New York. Can I get a lambrequin for my shtreimel?

Rabbi Sol Solomon’s Rabbinical Reflection #133 (12/20/15): WORD OF THE YEAR

NON-FICTION – ESSAY – HUMOROUS: Rabbi Sol Solomon’s Rabbinical Reflection #133 (12/20/15): WORD OF THE YEAR

Dave’s Gone By Skit: RABBI SOL SOLOMON’S RABBINICAL REFLECTION #132 (12/12/2015): HANUKKAH HAIKU

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Rabbinical Reflection #132: Hanukkah Haiku

aired Dec. 12, 2015 on Dave’s Gone By. Youtube clip: https://youtu.be/6AxN-ZfHRak

Shalom, Dammit! This is Rabbi Sol Solomon with a Rabbinical Reflection for the week of December 12, 2015.

With everything going on in the world – the craziness, the killing, chaos in the GOP, E. coli at Chipotle—which is really confusing because how the hell are you supposed to differentiate noro-virus diarrhea from regular Chipotle diarrhea? Such distinctions are lost on me. But what we must not lose this mid-December is the arrival of Chanukah. Eight days of happiness and food and gratitude, and a reminder that every Jewish holiday isn’t about fasting and wishing you could afford maid service.

Sometimes we win. Sometimes the enemy who is trying to destroy us, or weaken our faith, gets a shank in the ribs. We did it to Egypt in a thousand BC, we did it to the Greeks—who bent over and took it—and one day we’ll do it to ISIS and ISIL and Al Qaeda and Boko Haram, and maybe the first guy who said, “Hey, it’s Halloween soon. Let’s put pumpkin spice in everything. Lattes, pancakes, donuts, beef wellington—doesn’t matter. Pumpkin spice is the new oxygen.” We need to get him.

Anyhoo, Chanukah commemorates a small band of Jews who would not succumb to the hellish Hellenic hellions who tried to hinder our Hebrew historicity. The second temple in Jerusalem was recaptured from the Greeks, re-consecrated as a synagogue, and retrofitted for Wi-Fi. And when the Hashmonaim were cleaning the temple, and making it minty fresh, they had only a drop of oil with which to light the holy candelabra, the menorah. And yet that oil burned day and night for eight straight days. The electric bill must have been horrendous, but the point is: miracles do happen. They happened then, they happen now. It’s a miracle that a computer can digitally print working human organs. It’s a miracle you can stare at a hole in the ground in a city block, come back six months later, and it’s an office building. It’s an astounding miracle that someone like me is on the radio.

So let us delight with our family, our friends—all the people we barely tolerate for fear of loneliness—and cheer the miraculous holiday of Chanukah. To do so, I have written a few short poems celebrating the Festival of Lights in haiku form. Haiku is a Japanese poetry style that is perfectly marvelous because it’s so short. As soon as you get started, you’re finished. Like a teenage boy on prom night. Your entire thought process must fit into a mere 17 syllables, which proves the Japanese not only invented haiku but twitter.

I pray that you enjoy these holiday poems from me, Rabbi Sol. Chanukah Chaikus:

Eight candles burning
On my shaky menorah.
Shit! Call 9-1-1.

Headline: Polish Jews
Suffer Third-Degree Burns When
Bobbing for Latkes

Judah Maccabee
And sons beat the Greek army
Yay for terrorists!

Happy holidays, my friends, and may all your dreidel spins come up hay. I’d say gimel, but why press your luck? This has been a Rabbinical Reflection from Rabbi Sol Solomon, Temple Sons of Bitches, in Great Neck, New York.

NON-FICTION – ESSAY – HUMOROUS: Rabbi Sol Solomon’s Rabbinical Reflection #132 (12/12/2015): HANUKKAH HAIKU

Dave’s Gone By Skit: RABBI SOL SOLOMON’S RABBINICAL REFLECTION #131 (8/22/2015): Jimmy Carter

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RABBI SOL SOLOMON’S RABBINICAL REFLECTION #131: Jimmy Carter

aired Aug. 22, 2015 on Dave’s Gone By. Youtube clip: https://youtu.be/ref1EipPIz8

Shalom, Dammit! This is Rabbi Sol Solomon with a Rabbinical Reflection for the week of August 23, 2015.

Two weeks ago, 90-year-old former president Jimmy Carter announced that he was battling an advanced stage of cancer—or, as Jewish people call it (whispers) cancer. Snipped from his liver was a tumor, but they also found badness elsewhere, which is not surprising since both of Carter’s parents, his two sisters, and his brother all died of pancreatic you-know-what.

Jimmy still has his 87-year-old wife, Rosalynn, who says she will be “right there with him” throughout his treatment. So will the town of Plains, Georgia, and a lot of Americans who remember Carter as one of the smartest, most honest, and most decent of men to occupy the oval office.

My feelings are a mite more mixed, however. Just because Carter was a mensch doesn’t mean he was a good President. In fact, up until George W. Bush, he was the worst Commander in Chief in a hundred years. And considering that crop included Richard Nixon and Warren G. Harding, that’s saying something.

In case you weren’t around from 1977 to 1981, what you missed was the recession, the oil crisis, the hostage crisis, the Cold War, and the confidence crisis. You know your President is a bona fide schlemiel when he has to go on television to tell everyone, “It’s not me, it’s you. Have a little faith.” Faith is hard to come by when you’re idling at the gas station for two hours on odd and even days, or when you can’t find a job to pay what gasoline costs, or you’re turning your thermostat to 50 because the Mullahs at OPEC want you to.

And speaking of the Arabs, the Carter years were also, of course, the years of the Ayatollah Khomeini. Fifty-two American hostages were taken prisoner as part of the Iranian Revolution. I suppose we should be grateful all the hostages survived. If they were captured now, Isis would cut their limbs off and rape the stumps. Still, these Americans remained in captivity for a year and a half, until Ronald Reagan made backroom deals to have them released on the first day of his presidency.

Until then, Jimmy Carter had three responses to the Iranian hostage crisis: He barricaded himself in his office for a hundred days, because as any eight-year-old knows, if you hide in the closet, nobody knows you’re there, and all the bad stuff goes away. His second tactic was to wear sweaters, because that’ll show those big bad oil sheiks we can live without heat. And finally, he sent helicopters to try a rescue mission—and they all crashed in the desert.

It was right about then America stopped laughing at Billy Carter and turned her woeful eyes on his older brother. If Watergate was a cancer on the Presidency, Jimmy Carter was a herpes all over it.

Still, lousy as Carter’s term was, I would still want to respect the man. After all, he brokered an impossible deal between Menachem Begin and Anwar Sadat to create a small piece of peace in the Middle East. It truly was and remains an unbelievable, wonderful, and, alas, one-of-a-kind event in that region. And yet, can peanut boy leave well enough alone?

No, he spends the last few years bleeding through his sleeve for the poor, poor Palestinians. He writes a damn book with the inflammatory title, “Palestine: Peace, not Apartheid,” equating Israel with racist South Africa—even though the Palestinians are demanding land that belongs to Israel, land Israel annexed after being attacked, land that should be for Jews and Israeli citizens because the Arabs have a zillion other places to live.

Carter tries to play both sides of the fence. He sometimes makes nice-nice to Israel, saying he doesn’t support a boycott of the country over its policies. But then he turns around and chastises Eretz Yisroel for the way she conducts a war against an enemy that’s lobbing rockets in her backyard.

Like so many liberals and misinformed do-gooders, Jimmy Carter loves to invent a moral equivalency when there isn’t one. “Both Israel and Hamas are equally wrong and share equal blame,” which is not true; and let’s harp on Israel but be really gentle with the Arabs because we don’t want to make them mad. After all, Islam, the religion of peace, blows a ton of shit up, peacefully.

My main point is: considering his failure at almost every aspect of domestic and foreign leadership, and how he was humiliated by the Ayatollah—a guy who looked like Sean Connery wearing a microwavable heat wrap on his head—Jimmy Carter has as much business telling Israel what to do about the Muslims, as Michelle Duggar has telling the Pritzkers how to raise children. Of all people, Jimmy Carter should be the last one to believe you can reason with radicals, bargain with bullies, and mollify murderers.

After all, as we speak, Jimmy Carter’s body is being invaded by cancer cells that mean him only harm. Should the president’s doctor say, “Well, it’s not right to kill these invaders; it’s your fault for having a desirable host they want to live in. But tell you what. Why don’t you sacrifice so you can live in harmony with your cancer. Let them take your pancreas, your liver, your balls and your bones, and you can live side by side. And they promise never ever ever to move into your blood. Or least not for a week or two. Whaddya say?”

I say, “Jimmy Carter, you’ve done some good in this world, so I don’t wish you prolonged suffering. Still, if you had to get the big C, couldn’t you have gotten it in your mouth?”

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

NON-FICTION – ESSAY – HUMOROUS: Rabbi Sol Solomon’s Rabbinical Reflection #131 (8/22/2015): JIMMY CARTER

Dave’s Gone By Skit: RABBI SOL SOLOMON’S RABBINICAL REFLECTION #130 (8/2/2015): Cecil the Lion

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RABBI SOL SOLOMON’S RABBINICAL REFLECTION #130 (8/2/2015): Cecil the Lion

aired Aug. 1, 2015 on Dave’s Gone By. Youtube clip: http://youtu.be/44sQ6T8v98w

Shalom, Dammit! This is Rabbi Sol Solomon with a Rabbinical Reflection for the week of August 2, 2015.

As if there weren’t already enough reasons to hate dentists, last week brought us Walter Palmer. Wally, who obviously makes a good living from his crowns and extractions, paid $50,000 to go on a hunting expedition. More specifically, he wanted to take his little bow and arrow and bring down a mighty king of the jungle. Which he did.

In early July, Palmer trekked to a nature preserve in Zimbabwe and lured a mighty lion to a spot where he could shoot him in the ass and kill him. Palmer only wounded the beast, which then had to be tracked down and shot in the head. Isn’t hunting a fair and noble sport?

The sad part isn’t just that African lions are endangered, but this was Cecil, a beloved 13-year-old jungle cat who brought in millions of tourists dollars to the preserve. Nobody wanted to slaughter him; they just wanted to drive by slowly, be frightened a little, and get the hell out of there and buy a stuffed panda at the gift shop. And yet, poor Cecil the lion spent much of his adult life in captivity only to die by assassination. Hell, even JFK left the White House to shtup Marilyn once in awhile.

Now this sadistic dentist—which Little Shop of Horrors reminded us is a redundant phrase—this Walter Palmer was not some lunatic running around like Cupid with a bow and arrow and a “George of the Jungle” fixation. This trophy hoarder is a life-long big-game blaster who used legal permits and guides for his latest expedition. Which means there were people who allowed this man to lure a fish out of a barrel . . . and give it both barrels.

What’s funny and marvelously ironic is that in the days after this yutz posted his victory spoils on social media, public outrage has been so vituperative that Palmer has gone into hiding. Faced with death threats, protests, cancelled cavities, Walter Palmer is crouching behind the high grass until the public cools off or gets bored or find another Bill Cosby victim to wonder about.

I say, what we need to do about Palmer in hiding is find the motel he’s staying at, and have two guys knock on the door and say they’re from Publisher’s Clearing House, and he’s won a million dollars. Then, when you’ve coaxed him to the parking lot – BAM! – turns out the guys are really Jehovah’s Witnesses, and boy, is he in for a miserable afternoon!

Seriously, though, I am not against hunting per se. I love steak and duck and venison and the occasional kosher muskrat. And if you are using the inside for beef and the outside for clothing, I believe you are abiding by the natural order of things. I’m not some Birkenstock-wearing vegan shouting “meat is murder” and making believe tofu actually tastes like something edible. Also, there are legitimate times when you need to thin the herd and stop a breed from over-multiplying. I wish we could do with the Kardashians.

But when you are killing just for sport, and you take the sport out of it, what’s left is bloodlust and murder. Walter Palmer may not have broken the law, but his ethics are lower than a Republican’s IQ. Remember, this is not about gun control; it’s not about the NRA; it’s not about ditching the second amendment. It’s about the rich getting away with murder. In this case, it’s literal, but you could say the same about some company that pays hush money to dump chemicals in a lake, or oil companies that bribe politicians for fracking rights, it’s about paid-off scientists who’ll fudge numbers that show Antarctica isn’t melting, it’s about the teenager next door who’ll show you her boobs for $20. All right, not all of these are bad, we can’t keep allowing millionaires to stick pricetags on everything they want, or, in other words, money must never dictate morality.

This has been a Rabbinical Reflection from Rabbi Sol Solomon. And, if you would like me to come speak at your next corporate event, my fee is $30,000. $50,000 if you want me to endorse Palestinian statehood. Hey, I’m only human. And you can find me at Temple Sons of Bitches, in Great Neck, New York.

–> https://davesgoneby.net/?p=26454 <--

Dave’s Gone By Skit: RABBI SOL SOLOMON’S RABBINICAL REFLECTION #129 (7/12/2015): With a Little Help

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RABBI SOL SOLOMON’S RABBINICAL REFLECTION #129 (7/12/2015): With a Little Help

aired July 11, 2015 on Dave’s Gone By. Youtube clip: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AbnngK8Kmws

RABBI SOL: Shalom Dammit! This is Rabbi Sol Solomon, the founder and spiritual leader of Temple Sons of Bitches.

DAVE: And this is Dave Lefkowitz, host of the “Dave’s Gone By” radio show –

RABBI SOL: with a Rabbinical Reflection for the week of July 12th, 2015. Take it away, Dave.

DAVE: Those of you who have seen Rabbi Sol onstage know that he loves music. It doesn’t always love him back, but the Rebbe feels that music and lyrics –

RABBI SOL: And a well-placed trombone solo –

DAVE: The combination of all those musical elements can say more in three minutes than a dozen speeches.

RABBI SOL: Or even a baker’s dozen, which is 13, and a nice deal, since you’re paying for 12, and they throw in an extra one for no charge. They should do that with condoms. Anyhoo, because music is so potent, songwriters are obligated to write lyrics that say something. Not just, “Ooh, I wanna shtup you,” or “Ooh, why did you stop shtupping me?”, or “Ooh, why are you shtupping my best friend?” or, if it’s a country song, “I love my truck.”

DAVE: And songs can also be cryptic, or indirect, with words that convey multiple meanings. Every tune is a byzantine Rorschach test for the listener.

RABBI SOL: Boy, doesn’t that sound like fun? My job as Rabbi is to help guide you, my listeners and parishioners, through the truth of these songs. The subtleties, the answers, the keys to their changing meaning and the meaning to their changing keys. I also chastise the songwriters if they’re being lazy or prurient or Michael Bolton.

DAVE: To that end, Rabbi Sol has volunteered to deconstruct a popular song, line by line, and offer his commentary. You may not agree with his interpretations, but as the Rabbi says:

RABBI SOL: Who the hell are you? Write your own Talmud.

DAVE: Today’s song is a classic by The Beatles. Written by Lennon and McCartney and sung by Ringo on their “Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band” record.

RABBI SOL: A concept album that pretty much runs out of concept after the first two songs.

DAVE: Nevertheless, “With a Little Help from My Friends” remains among the catchiest and most enduring of The Beatles’ pop hits. But does it stand up under the Rabbi’s scrutiny?

RABBI SOL: I dunno, does it?

DAVE: Let’s find out. I’m gonna sing “With a Little Help from My Friends,” and Rabbi Sol will interrupt when he has something to say. Or even when he doesn’t.

RABBI SOL: Wait a minute. You’re gonna sing? You’ll do more damage to The Beatles than Yoko!

DAVE: Very funny, Rabbi.

RABBI SOL: You’re telling me! I saw you in a nightclub once where you promised to sing an entire album by the Beatles. You asked for audience requests. Everybody said, “Help!”

DAVE: All right, all right. Are you ready?

RABBI SOL: Am I ever?

DAVE: This is “With a Little Help from My Friends” . . . and from Rabbi Sol.

(play song with commentary)

DAVE: “What would you think if I sang out of tune?”

RABBI SOL: I’d think, “why are you singing? What, do you wanna torture me?”

DAVE: “Would you stand up and walk out on me?”

RABBI SOL: No, I would probably stay until the end of the song; I would be polite. But I would not be buying the CD.

DAVE: “Lend me your ears, and I’ll sing you a song.”

RABBI SOL: You just told me you sing out of key. Why are you gonna sing me a song?

DAVE: “And I’ll try not to sing out of key.”

RABBI SOL: Oh, you’re gonna try. Oh, thank you. Oh, thank you so much for your mercy! I’m gonna try not to vomit in my mouth.

DAVE: “Oh, I’ll get by with a little help from my friends.”

RABBI SOL: Ah, don’t we all?

DAVE: “Mm, I get high with a little help from my friends.”

RABBI SOL: You must live in Colorado.

DAVE: “Mm, gonna try with a little help from my friends.”

RABBI SOL: Yeah, try harder.

DAVE: “What do I do when my love is away?”

RABBI SOL: Flirt with teenage girls on Facebook?

DAVE: “Does it worry you to be alone?”

RABBI SOL: Worry me? I love being alone! I have 21-and-a-half children; I’m never alone!

DAVE: “How do I feel by the end of the day?”

RABBI SOL: How do you feel by the end of the day? Obviously, not exhausted by singing lessons.

DAVE: “Are you sad because you’re on your own? No, I get by with a little help from my friends.”

RABBI SOL: Maybe you need some more help.

DAVE: “Mm, I get high with a little help from my friends.”

RABBI SOL: So, basically, your friends are enablers?”

DAVE: “Mm, gonna try with a little help from my friends.”

RABBI SOL: I really hope they’re helping.

DAVE: “Do you need anybody?”

RABBI SOL: Yes, I need a roofer.

DAVE: “I need somebody to love. Could it be anybody?”

RABBI SOL: Well, it’s carpentry work, so I would prefer Irish.

DAVE: “I want somebody to love.”

RABBI SOL: Yes, you and me both. Natalie Portman, are you listening? And do you charge by the hour?

DAVE: “Would you believe in a love at first sight?”

RABBI SOL: Yes! Me and a pastrami sandwich!

DAVE: “Yes, I’m certain that it happens all the time. What do you see when you turn out the light?”

RABBI SOL: When I turn out the light, it’s dark. I don’t see anything. What are you, a moron?

DAVE: “I can’t tell you but I know it’s mine.”

RABBI SOL: I don’t know what’s yours but don’t be touching it in the dark. That’s just perverse.

DAVE: “Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends.”

RABBI SOL: Oy, again with the friends.

DAVE: “Mm, I get high with a little help from my friends.”

RABBI SOL: Again with the high? Have you tried edibles?

DAVE: “Yes, gonna try with a little help from my friends.”

RABBI SOL: Keep trying.

DAVE: “Do you need anybody?”

RABBI SOL: I need a minyan this Friday night.

DAVE: “I just need someone to love. Could it be anybody?”

RABBI SOL: We’ll take men, women, dogs. Doesn’t really matter.

DAVE: “I want somebody to love. Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends.”

RABBI SOL: You need a lotta help, buddy.

DAVE: “Mm, I get high with a little help from my friends.”

RABBI SOL: I get chai with a little help from my friends! Heh heh.

DAVE: “Yes, gonna try with a little help from my friends. With a little help from my friends. With a little help from my friends.”

RABBI SOL: So, nu, where are these friends who are supposed to show up already?

DAVE: “With a little help from my friends.”

RABBI SOL: Oy, I need a lotta help from my iTunes if it’s playing this shit.

(song ends)

RABBI SOL: Well, that was painful. But I hope you all learned something about not taking songs for granted. The composers are trying to tell you something, so it’s important to listen, digest, and make up your own mind. Or make up your own lyrics. (sings, “There’s a bathroom on the right…”) Speaking of which . . .

DAVE: Oh dear, it’s the Rabbi’s private time. With his privates. So this has been a Rabbinical Reflection with me, Dave Lefkowitz. (sings) Her majesty’s a pretty nice girl, but she doesn’t have a lot to say.”

RABBI SOL: Count yourself lucky. I got a queen at home; she never shuts up! Temple Sons of Bitches in Great Neck, New York. and ani, Rabbi Sol Solomon

Dave’s Gone By Skit: RABBI SOL SOLOMON’S RABBINICAL REFLECTION #128 (6/28/2015): Scalia

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RABBI SOL SOLOMON’S RABBINICAL REFLECTION #128 (6/28/2015): Scalia

(aired June 28, 2015 on Dave’s Gone By. Youtube clip: http://youtu.be/TzqQMAOhz7g)

Shalom Dammit! This is Rabbi Sol Solomon with a Rabbinical Reflection for the week of June 28, 2015.

Well, it’s taken awhile, but I know what I wanna do when I grow up. I wanna trade places with Antonin Scalia. Appointed by Ronald Reagan, he’s the longest-running chief justice on the U.S. Supreme Court. Thirty years on the bench voting strictly along conservative lines and interpreting the constitution so narrowly, you couldn’t fit a dragonfly’s wing between “we” and “the” in “we the people.”

This man has held back—or tried to—the progress of American civilization, be it women’s rights for abortion, minorities facing discrimination, immigrants facing deportation, and gays being able to do their thing…gaily. They should just pull Antonin Scalia off his bench and replace him with a television airing Fox News; it’d be the same thing.

Of course, Scalia got his head handed to him twice last week. First, the Supreme Court upheld Obamacare. Surprisingly, they voted the spirit of the law–rather than the letter of the law. “So what if the wording is vague,” said the Court. “The President meant well, and he’s trying to help people.” Six justices agreed, including all the liberals, plus Roberts and Kennedy. Scalia dissented, angrily, as did Alito and the schvartze.

Twenty-four hours later, the court made another historic ruling, this one on gay marriage. They’re for it. Well, five out of nine of them were. Amazing how this Court had more consensus on a twisted insurance law than they did on two people wanting to tie the knot.

John Roberts was the stick-in-the-mud this time. He argued that he had nothing against same-sex chupahs, but making it the law of the land somehow circumvented peoples’ rights to vote yes or no on it. Whatever. The fun part is reading Scalia’s dissent. In challenging the idea that sanctioning gay marriage would expand personal freedom, he argues: “hey, on what planet has any marriage ever expanded freedom? You’re stuck together, day in, day out; you can’t leave unless you separate or divorce, and in the bedroom…?” I think comedian Chuck Bartell put it best when he said, “If you enjoy watching the same porno film over and over and over again . . . you’re great marriage material.” So Scalia has a point when he writes, quote, “One would think Freedom of Intimacy is abridged rather than expanded by marriage. Ask the nearest hippie.”

Granted, the last time anyone saw a hippie was 1973, but you get the gist.

Unfortunately, it’s the gism that bothers Scalia, and he’ll torture the words of the constitution to make sure that his good religious values aren’t ruffled by anything as upsetting as two dudes feeding each other cake on a dais.

Which is why I belong up there in Washington DC holding forth on legal and moral issues, while Scalia would kill on radio and TV. The man’s got a gift for phrasing, like when he likened Roberts’s opinions to the contents of a fortune cookie. Or back when he was asked whether he found it difficult to vote on complex issues. “The death penalty?” he said. “Give me a break. It’s easy. Abortion? Absolutely easy. Homosexual sodomy? Come on. For 200 years, it was criminal in every state,” unquote.

So this is a dangerous guy, but a funny guy. He doesn’t b.s., and like Bill O’Reilly, he gives really good soundbyte. He expresses himself with crystal clarity — even when his morality becomes a fatality. So he’d be terrific doing these mini-sermons, my amusing, Robert Fulghumian ruminations. Meanwhile, I should be in the Supreme Court, agreeing with Justice Kagin, arguing with Justice Thomas, diapering Justice Ginsberg . . .

See, I can spout crazy, offensive things, and the occasional brilliant, profound thing, and listeners can take it or leave it. I’m an entertainer, a pundit, a gadfly, a horsefly even. And so is Scalia. It’s just that his word is law, literally.

We do have commonalities. Scalia is a devout, Italian-American Catholic; I’m a depraved Jewish-American Jew. But I’m not sitting on the highest court in the land trying to turn the clock back on social progress.

So Anto, bubbie, let’s do celebrity life swap. I’ll take your robe; you take my tallis. I’ll listen to people drone on and on about the most tedious minutiae; you listen to my wife talk about her day. I’ll make laws that advance human rights and personal freedoms; you get on the radio once a week and tell prostate jokes. Whaddya say? I’ve even come up with your catchphrase: “Buongiorno Cazzo!” Heh? Not bad, right? Scal, my pal, this looks like the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

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

Dave’s Gone By Skit: RABBI SOL SOLOMON’S RABBINICAL REFLECTION #127 (6/21/2015): Jenna Jameson

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RABBI SOL SOLOMON’S RABBINICAL REFLECTION #127 (6/21/2015): Jenna Jameson

(aired June 21, 2015 on Dave’s Gone By. Youtube clip: https://davesgoneby.net/?p=26942 )

Shalom Dammit! This is Rabbi Sol Solomon with a Rabbinical Reflection for the week of June 21, 2015.

After World War II, the nation of Israel was so depleted that Hitler’s final solution felt most of the way there. But we survived, and at least the way the Orthodox are being fruitful and multiplying, we’re on the right track, and on the welfare track, but still. . . We also must be grateful for converts: people from other religions who are crazy enough to switch from Benson and Hedges to Bernstein and Hedgowitz. Sammy Davis Jr., Elizabeth Taylor, Tom Arnold, Joan Lunden, Helen Reddy, the late Anne Meara–they all put down the rosaries and picked up the rugelach.

Most of them did this for marriage. The nice Jewish boys these women hijacked from their mothers, the boyfriends said, “Look, I’d like to marry you, but the idea of a Christmas tree in the living room, or our baby, Herod, taking communion–it’s just too much. It’s like Tevye in Fiddler on the Roof tolerating every obstacle except intermarriage. Jewish boys will date a debutante, they’ll shtup a shikseh (if they’re lucky), and they’ll even co-habitate with a Catholic. But when you bring marriage into it and the continuation of the Jewish race, well, it’s easier for you to give up Jesus than me to swear off Purim.

Now, the issue of who is a Jew–convert or otherwise–has been plaguing the various sects of Judaism for decades. For some, if your mother’s Jewish but your daddy’s not, fine, have a brisket. If your daddy’s Jewish and your mommy’s not, goodbye, get a ham sandwich. If they’re both Jewish, but they like mayonnaise and sailboats, that’s confusing. Talmudists wrangle with all sorts of permutations to ensure the so-called purity of Jewish lineage. I understand the impulse, but from where I stand–which is usually three inches away from the refrigerator–I say we must welcome those who wish to join our people. It’s not as if we have such a surplus of Jews that we can afford to turn away a few hundred. So if converts are willing to abide by the rules–and I don’t even mean kashrut, daily prayers, and the holidays–I just mean no New Testament and, at 68, you have to move to Florida. If you’re willing to be part of our misunderstood, maligned but magnificent people, by all means welcome. Bring pastry.

I mention all this because news broke last week that Jenna Jameson—oh, don’t make believe you never heard of her—Jenna Jameson, the former pornographic actress, will be converting to Judaism. She’s marrying an Israeli Jew, a diamond merchant noch besser, and to make him happy–though I’m sure she makes him happy in other ways–Jenna has begun keeping shabbos, cooking Jewish foods, and doing all the things a Jewish wife does, like . . . bitching and nagging.

Some Jewish feminists are not happy about adding Jenna Jew-ison to the fold. They ask, “How can this woman who’s had so much sex on camera become Jewish, since Jewish women never want sex anywhere?” These ladies find Jameson’s behavior degrading to women, not to mention that her husband to be is a typical Jewish man: instead of going out with dumpy J-Dates, he has the hots for a skinny blonde shikseh.

I object to this objection to Jenna Jameson’s years as a sex object. Who among us, Jewish or not, is without blemish or has no kinky fetishes? Me, I like to dip my testicles in warm borscht while I’m being spanked with a yad. As did Rashi, by the way. Let he who is without sin throw the first stone. The rest of us will enjoy her skin and grow the worst boners.

For even if Jenna Jameson had not retired from the intercourse industry, what’s so terrible and anti-Jewish about her past? She showed off her beauty? She gave men a thrill? She proved that a tuchas could be used for more than constipation and proctology?

I just hope that if she ever goes back into the porn business, she’ll bring some Jewishness into her films and even her film titles. Instead of her famous, “Where the Boys Aren’t,” she could do, “Where the Goys Aren’t.” Instead of “Jenna’s Built for Speed,” she’ll do “Jenna’s Built for Shopping.” Instead of “I Love Lesbians” she could do . . . well, she can still do “I Love Lesbians”; that totally works for me.

So if Jenna Jameson Judaifies, God bless her, literally. If some frummie wummies resent her intrusion into our culture, maybe that isn’t prudishness at all. Maybe they just feel threatened by a woman who made it rich on her own, can whip up a gourmet meal, can boink like a buffalo and is used to faking it, and doesn’t mind putting something in her mouth bigger than a Midol once in awhile. So welcome, Jenna Jameson, and baruch habah, which literally means “blessed is the comer.” You may find it hard at first, and sometimes you’ll blow it, but I hope you can feel me deeply behind you.

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

—> https://wp.me/pzvIo-1UA

Dave’s Gone By Skit: RABBI SOL SOLOMON’S RABBINICAL REFLECTION #126 (6/7/2015): The 2015 Tony Awards

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RABBI SOL SOLOMON’S RABBINICAL REFLECTION #126 (6/7/2015): The 2015 Tony Awards

(aired June 6, 2015 on Dave’s Gone By. Youtube clip: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZeVn-yaW9-g)

Shalom Dammit! This is Rabbi Sol Solomon with a special theatrical Rabbinical Reflection for the week of June 7, 2015.

You know, 69 is a very fun number — but get your minds out of the gutter! I’m talking about the 69th annual Tony Awards, happening June 7th at Radio City Music Hall. This is where Broadway people pat themselves on the back–or, considering the number of homosexuals involved, pat themselves on the tuchas.

In a completely subjective and almost arbitrary way, some of the actors and directors and designers are vaunted over bunches of others, with arts journalists voting their hearts and producers on the road voting with their pocketbooks. Still, I love the theater, and any excuse to celebrate live artistic entertainment is a blessing in a world of Angry Birds, X-boxes, Netflix and other pastimes that are more sedentary, solitary, and affordable.

Of course, me being a Rabbi, I focus on other factors in the Tony nominations besides who’s the best and who’s long overdue, and which show kept my mind off my weak bladder, even late into the first act. Since Jews are a cornerstone of modern American theater, I keep tabs on where the Jewish race is in the Tony race. For example, the front runner for Best Musical is An American in Paris. This features music by George and Ira Gershwin, of the Russian-immigrant Gershowitz family that settled in Brooklyn, New York–which is about as Jewy as you can get without moving to Haifa. Or Florida.

Competing against An American in Paris is the new chamber musical Fun Home, which tells of a budding lesbian and her closeted-faigele dad. Although the graphic novel upon which Fun Home is based was written by a lapsed Catholic, the musical’s bookwriter, Lisa Kron, is a Jewess–daughter of a Kindertransport Holocaust survivor and a mother who later converted to marry him. That’s enough baggage for a miniseries, let alone a 90-minute musical.

But let’s not leave out one other tuner: The Visit, by John Kander and the late Fred Ebb (they of Cabaret and Chicago and Zorba and Kiss of the Spider Woman and The Scottsboro Boys and you get the idea). When John Kander was seven years old, his teacher caught him daydreaming in math class. “What are you doing?” she kvetched. “I’m writing a Christmas carol,” he says. Not only wasn’t he punished, they performed the song at the holiday assembly, but not before that excellent teacher asked for Kander’s parents’ permission: “I know you’re Jewish,” she said. “Is this all right?” (Why little Kander couldn’t have written a Chanukah song is a mystery. Four million Christmas carols out there, and just three Chanukah numbers: “Dreidel Dreidel Dreidel,” the Tom Lehrer song, and the Adam Sandler song, and the last two weren’t even written yet. Goddamn Christmas.)

Anyway, as you can see, Jews are well represented in musicals this year. But plays? Meh! Not one play with a Yiddish theme or, so far as I can tell, a Jewish playwright. I’m not sure about Simon Stephens, who penned The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time. Simon’s a Jewy first name, and a previous play of his featured an anti-Semitic character getting his comeuppance. But the other plays in the category?

They’re all soaked in religion, but none about Judaism. Hand to God features a satanic hand puppet in Christian bible school . . . I guess I should be grateful that one’s not set in a synagogue. And there’s Wolf Hall, Parts 1 and 2, which spends six hours watching Henry VIII making an end run around the Catholic Church so he can divorce women instead of lopping their heads off. Now, see, if he were Jewish, he wouldn’t have either option. He’d just avoid his wives by hiding in the basement with a hobby.

The other Best Play nominee is the Pulitzer-winning Disgraced, by Ayad Akhtar. As you can tell by all the Khhh’s, he’s a Muslim. But he’s so anti-fundamentalist and so distrustful of Arab culture, if a Jew had written Disgraced, he’d be accused of anti-Muslim hate speech. Oh, sure, there’s a Jewish character in the play, and he’s a jerk, but compared to everyone else onstage, he’s Mister Rogers. Well, Mister Rogerstein.

Scrolling through the acting categories, I notice an alarming dearth of Jewish names, the closest being featured actor K. Todd Freeman – and he’s a schvartz! Thank God, therefore, for Featured Actor in a Musical nominee Brandon Uranowitz. Yes, Uranowitz. With a name like that, he must be a whiz!

I am also delighted to note that this year’s winner of the non-competitive Isabelle Stevenson Award is Stephen Schwartz. He’s getting an award for service to the industry, which, in his case, meant a bunch of charitable work and being president of the Dramatists Guild, which looks out for playwrights’ rights, right? Now, Stephen Schwartz did help create Godspell, which is all Jesus-y, but he also wrote Wicked, so he’s obviously drawn to myths and science fiction.

I should mention that two play revivals this season boast Jewish authorship. One was The Heidi Chronicles, Wendy Wasserstein’s look at a nice girl discovering feminism and motherhood, all in 160 very long minutes. Elisabeth Moss, the scientologist shiskeh who was Peggy on Mad Men, is Tony nominated for playing the non-Jewish Heidi. But the standout was Jason Biggs, a shaygitz in real life who plays Heidi’s schmucky boyfriend, Scoop Rosenbaum. That is, of course, the first and only time I’ve ever heard of a Jew named “Scoop.” In fact, the closest Jews ever get to a scoop is when we’re putting half a cup of flax flakes in our All-Bran.

The other play with Hebraic heritage is the classic, You Can’t Take it with You, by George S. Kaufman and Moss Hart. It’s about a family of creative eccentrics who don’t quite fit into society, but they mean no harm, and, in most ways, make life better for everyone around them. Come to think of it, that’s a pretty good description of my people.

Of course, on Sunday night, my people are theater people, reveling in the joy of performing, working, sharing, showing off and calling their agents. I’ll be watching, rooting, bitching, cheering, and biding my time. After all, next year they’re reviving Fiddler on the Roof, so can Shalom Dammit! be far behind? Well, yes. Yes it can. But a man can dream. Which is what theater is all about.

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

Dave’s Gone By Skit: RABBI SOL SOLOMON’S RABBINICAL REFLECTION #125 (5/23/2015): Harry Shearer

RABBI SOL SOLOMON’S RABBINICAL REFLECTION #125 (5/23/2015): Harry Shearer

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(aired May 23, 2015 on Dave’s Gone By. Youtube clip: https://youtu.be/PO1sDbOFvbo)

Shalom Dammit! This is Rabbi Sol Solomon with a Rabbinical Reflection for the week of May 17, 2015.

I’m just wild about Harry, but he’s not wild about us . . . anymore. Last week was a sad time for television viewers–not a tragic one, just sad–because the producers of The Simpsons announced that one of their main voices, a crucial shard of their audio mosaic, Harry Shearer, would not return for the last two seasons of this legendary program. I know, I know. The Simpsons without Harry Shearer is like The Dick Van Dyke show without Mel Cooley. It’s like an all-you-can-eat buffet without a salad bar. It’s like a rabbit vibrator without those extra ears on the bottom. Or sure, it still does a competent job, but your clitoris knows something’s missing.

Harry Shearer, a nice but strange Jewish boy, will always hold my allegiance, not just because of Spinal Tap and A Mighty Wind, and The Simpsons, but because he was also a devoted fan of the early Chabad Lubavitch telethons. He would hold parties for friends and cheer for John Voigt, and presumably do a shot every time the Rabbis started dancing. That kind of mockery blended with admiration is something I aspire to every day.

I also aspire to make $7 million a year, something that will never happen unless I hit Lotto and get in Bill Gates’s will. Harry Shearer could make $7 million for the next two years. All he has to do is continue voicing characters on The Simpsons: Principal Skinner, Ned Flanders, Mr. Burns, Kent Brockman and the goyische Reverend Lovejoy. If a studio offered you $14 million to stand in front of a microphone and say funny things once a week, would you turn it down? My God, for $14 million, I would bite off the penis of a live goat three times a day and five on Shabbos.

But Harry Shearer is above all that. Negotiations may not completely be finished, but Shearer has so far turned down the opportunity to make a paycheck so astronomical, Stephen Hawking couldn’t count the zeroes. And Shearer turned it down on principal. Principal and interest. If you believe his tweets, Shearer is mad because his contract doesn’t allow him the leeway to do other projects. Which is weird considering he’s done bunches of small movie roles, a stage play on the West End, and a weekly podcast for NPR.

On their side, the Simpsons producers still hope for a change of heart. They say Shearer’s contract is the same as all the other major players, and there’s only so much they can bend before they start looking like Mr. Burns.

The weird news is that showrunner Al Jean has stated that instead of retiring characters, as they did when Phil Hartman kicked the bucket, The Simpsons will keep Shearer’s menagerie and just recast them with different voices. Really? Ask yourself, has Kermit really been Kermit post-Jim Henson? Don’t we still feel trauma about the two Darrens in Bewitched? And can you watch later episodes of Cold Case without wondering “Whatever happened to that pretty blonde actress who starred in the show?” before realizing, “Oh, it’s still her”?

I certainly hope Harry Shearer reconsiders and brings us two more seasons of “oodley doodleys” and “Smithers” and “Boo-urns.” But if he must be sprung from Springfield, leave his people be. It’s a big city. You can have new neighbors and school administrators and evil bosses—just as in real life. And all those fans who bitch on the internet, “Oh, The Simpsons has been in a rut since the third season” – now they’ll say, “Oh, The Simpsons has sucked since the third season, but at least they’re not in a rut.”

And you know, if they’re looking for new faces in Homer’s neighborhood, this does coincide with the last season of Aqua Teen Hunger Force. So there’s a meatball, a French fry and a shake that are busy house hunting. Just keep Lisa away from Carl. No good can come of that.

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

–> https://wp.me/pzvIo-1Vx

Dave’s Gone By Skit: RABBI SOL SOLOMON’S RABBINICAL REFLECTION #124 (5/9/2015): What’s in a (Baby) Name?

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RABBI SOL SOLOMON’S RABBINICAL REFLECTION #124 (5/9/15): What’s in a (Baby) Name?

aired May 16, 2015 on Dave’s Gone By. Youtube clip: http://youtu.be/p8xmxxCuBnY

Shalom Dammit! This is Rabbi Sol Solomon with a Rabbinical Reflection for the week of May 17, 2015.

By the time I am old enough to enjoy Social Security, there probably won’t BE Social Security, so I’m going to enjoy it now. Last week, the Social Security Administration released its annual statistics on the most popular baby names in America. What, pray tell, are mamas and papas naming their spawn? If they’re celebrities, they’re naming them Apple, and Moon Unit and Ol’ Dirty Bastard III, for all I know. But the rest of us are picking pretty standard monikers for their toddlers.

For example, girls’ names in the Top 10 include Olivia, Charlotte and Abigail. I presume that Olivia comes from Law and Order – Special Victims Unit running on every cable channel, every hour of every day. And since no one can spell Mariska, let alone pronounce it, they went with Olivia. There’s also Emily, which could be named for that hot actress in Bones. Obviously, you can’t name a girl “Bones,” unless you want her to be a little too popular on prom night.

Also on the ladies’ list at number five: Ava, a name I haven’t heard since Frank Sinatra was cheating on her, and Madison, which I guess is better than naming your daughter Jefferson or Roosevelt. Or, for that matter, Bush.

On the penile side of things, name number 10 is Daniel, nice Jewish biblical name. Daniel was a man of apocalyptic visions and good deeds — so good that an angel saved him from a den of lions, which, let me tell you, was much scarier than their living room.

Speaking of the Old Testament–which, being a Rabbi, I am wont to do–only one woman’s name, the aforementioned Abigail, originally comes from the Bible. Abigail was a hottie handmaiden who ended up marrying King David. Never underestimate the appeal of a good handmaiden job.

Meanwhile, unlike the women, half the names on the men’s list have Hebrew or biblical ties. There’s Michael, the archangel, and the goyische James. At number eight you have Ethan, or Eitan, which is Hebrew for strong, firm and safe. Good description for Ethan Allen furniture, though for Etan Patz, not so much.

At number four on the list, there’s Jacob, who went down a rung on the ladder from last year. While, as he did in 2013, flooding the top spot is Noah. I guess people Noah good name when they hear one. Heh heh. I apologize.

Other hot names the past two years include Liam, Alexander and Mason, which could be a tribute to the Freemasons, or those heavy glass jars, or, my guess: former child actor Mason Reese. William is on the list, of course, because William’s always on the list. Alas, there’s no Solomon. Perfectly good name if you ask me.

And as far as the men are concerned, I’ve gotta say, biblical though it may be, it’s a boring roster. Roll through the top 20, and you see Benjamin and David and Joseph and Matthew. Where’s the Yerachmiel? Where’s the Chuchelmaimen? Where’s Teufenvogel and Zazu and Willebold and Mbutu? How about showing some initiative people. How are your children going to get famous and rock one name like Cher, or Moby or Beyonce if they’re all named Elizabeth, or Andrew or John?

At least in the Arab countries you get some variety. The top name is Mohammed. But you also have Muhammed, and Muhammad, and Mohammed, and Mohammad, and Marmaduke.

I’m not thoroughly convinced that a baby name is all that telling about what a person will grow up to be. Nobody names their kid “Adolf” anymore, but that’s no reflection on Adolphe Menjou and Adolph Green. And maybe Harvey Fierstein and Harvey Milk could have compared notes, but if you can find a connection between Don King and Don Knotts, you’re just trying too hard.

So if you’re having a baby this year, remember that 2015 offers all sorts of opportunities to supplant Emma and Noah as the names of choice for American infants. Pinchas and Gittel, your chariot awaits.

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