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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?

click above to listen (audio only)

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.

Dave’s Gone By Skit: RABBI SOL SOLOMON’S RABBINICAL REFLECTION #123 (5/3/2015): Popeyes

click above to listen (audio only)

RABBI SOL SOLOMON’S RABBINICAL REFLECTION #123 (5/3/2015): Popeyes

aired May 2, 2015 on Dave’s Gone By. Youtube clip: http://youtu.be/FgAWY957oPY

Shalom Dammit! This is Rabbi Sol Solomon with a Rabbinical Reflection for the week of May 3, 2015.

I don’t know how much a gold nugget is worth, but I’ll tell you how much a chicken nugget is worth: $400. Let me explain.

Last month, Marissa Holcomb was working at a Popeye’s fried chicken in Channelview, Texas. We can already feel sorry for Marissa Holcomb because if there is a tenth layer of hell, it would be a Popeyes Fried Chicken in Channelview, Texas.

So Ms. Holcomb is doing whatever managers do in a Popeyes franchise—dipping claws and beaks into a secret combination of garlic and sawdust, keeping the grill reasonably free of pestilence, and coping with the kinds of customers who find Kentucky Fried Chicken too high-end. And this was a busy night for Popeyes because they were running a special: two nuggets for $1.19. I mean, why pay more for arteriosclerosis when you can get two lumps of toxic entrails for the price of a Bruno Mars download?

So Marissa Holcomb, mother of three, with another on the way, is selling customers breasts and thighs—since she was obviously giving hers away for free—when in comes a robber. He leaps over the counter, waves his big, scary gun around, and gets away with $400 out of the register.

Now, you would think this thief, this animal, this cowardly piece of garbage with a weapon in his hand and a beanie over his face—you’d think he was the villain of this story, but oh no. He’s not the Bluto of this Popeye parable.

After the robber runs out the door, one of Holcomb’s superiors approaches her. Does he ask her, “Are you okay?” No. “Would you like the rest of the day off?” No. “Do you need to change your underwear?” No. The manager says, “you owe Popeye’s $400.”

“Exqueeze me?” says Holcomb, her eyes popping. Because it’s Popeyes.

“You owe us the 400 bucks the thief took when you were on your shift.” Why? Because employees are supposed to make sure that the cash registers don’t hold that much money at one time—specifically because it encourages crime, and if a thug does rob ya, he gets away with pocket change instead of a big score.

So because this woman was too busy to unload the till, she was on the hook for what the crook took. Still, she told her overlord, “I just had a gun to my head, and if you think you’re going to hold me up for 400 bucks, you know where you can put that drumstick.” They fired her, and that’s when the fire-storm began. The story went viral, with readers swearing they would never set foot in a Popeye’s restaurant—and those were just the ones trying to avoid diarrhea.

Of course, at Popeyes corporate, the high mucky-mucks were shamed into making nice-nice. They explained—and this is true—that they can’t be there to oversee every manager and every decision at every independent franchise. It’s like asking the Baseball commissioner to stop players from grabbing their nuts and spitting; he can only fine them after the fact. And heck, I can’t even get the Rabbinical council to stop doing it.

More importantly, Popeyes apologized to Holcomb, offered her her job back AND $2,000 in lost wages . . . which is a small price to pay for the company to win back a smidgen of consumer respect. Too small. As of this writing, Holcomb was weighing her options, which no doubt include hiring a lawyer to sue Popeyes for $80,000 per nugget.

To be fair to Popeyes, this woman had apparently been warned a few times to make sure the cash registers weren’t bulging wider than Aretha Franklin’s stretch pants. So she may have been due for a dressing down or even a suspension for ignoring an important rule. But that was not the time. You don’t tell a person crawling out from under a desk after a California earthquake, “I told you not to put the stemware in the breakfront!”

Like so many mega-businesses, Popeyes put profit before the proletariat. The truth of the matter is: If I was working in a store and someone came up to me with a gun, I would give them the register, the silverware, the carpeting and three of my best-looking daughters. And if I was managing a store where this happened, I would send the employees for counseling, give everyone a week off, and hire a big, shtarka security guard. I couldn’t pay him much, but he could have the leftover daughters. And if I was a thief hoping to rob the store, I’d move to Baltimore where everybody’s getting stuff for free! And if I was a customer hoping to eat Popeyes’ chicken, I’d look both ways, carry a gun, and double-check to see if there are any stray cats left in the neighborhood.

This has been a Rabbinical Reflection from Rabbi Sol Solomon, crossing the road with the proverbial chicken, to Temple Sons of Bitches in Great Neck, New York.

—> https://wp.me/pzvIo-1VU

Dave’s Gone By Skit: RABBI SOL SOLOMON’S RABBINICAL REFLECTION #122 (4/19/2015): Campaign 2016

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RABBI SOL SOLOMON’S RABBINICAL REFLECTION #122 (4/19/2015): Campaign 2016

(aired April 18, 2015 on Dave’s Gone By. Youtube clip: http://youtu.be/h-wdAa7RXFM)

Shalom Dammit! This is Rabbi Sol Solomon with a Rabbinical Reflection for the week of April 19, 2015.)

Well, the Presidential race for 2016 officially began this week when Hillary Clinton threw her hat into the ring as the presumptive Democratic nominee. Her decision to run came as a shock to an order of Trappist Monks in Burkina Faso, but pretty much everyone else in the universe was expecting this, oh, seven-and-a-half years ago.

And why not? For all the negative publicity and setbacks, the past six years of Obama-America has been moderately successful—spectacularly successful if you compare them to the previous eight years under Shrub. The economy slowly turned around, real-estate is up, gas prices are down, we managed the wars that Dubya started, gay marriage and legal pot became the norm (and, astonishingly, the empire did not collapse), people who couldn’t afford healthcare . . . still can’t afford healthcare but now they have to have it, we’re making nice-nice with Cuba, and we turned bin Laden into fish food. Not perfect but not bad, considering Obama inherited a country that was so rotten, it could have been a Renny Harlin movie.

Through it all, Hillary Clinton took her lumps in 2000 and bided her time visiting a million countries between then and now in order to keep us out of new wars and, let’s face it, to avoid spending quality home time with her husband. The GOP is gonna hammer Hillary over Benghazi and ISIS and her seeming inability to answer a direct question, but half the Republican candidates won’t answer a direct question, either–`cause they can barely speak English.

I kid, I kid, but look at what the Red States are throwing at the next election: Jeb Bush. Do we really want to hear that last name connected with the White House ever, ever again? Sure, comparing Jeb to his brother George W. is like comparing Steven Spielberg to the guy who directed “Gummo.” But Jeb’s intelligence is a danger in itself. Let’s not forget who was governor when Florida hijacked the presidency from Al Gore 15 years ago. (In case you forgot, it was Jeb Bush.) And while he’s pro-education and more sensible than most in his party about immigration, he would decimate social services and be so right-wing on abortion, he’d make jacking off illegal because you’re killing a bajillion potential human beings in spermatozoic form.

Then you’ve got Ted Cruz. He looks like Joseph McCarthy, sounds like Rick Santorum, and comes off like a Sunday preacher on acid. Gotta love him for being pro-Israel, but no Federal money for Hurricane Sandy? No leeway on gun control? No compassion for unwed mothers? No comprehension of global warming? No remorse for shutting down the government in 2012? No admitting that he can’t even run for president because he was born in Canada? (Actually, he can `cause his mom’s American, but why isn’t he up north shooting moose and ordering Terrence and Philip to get a haircut?)

Then you’ve got Marco Rubio, who makes one crowd-pleasing speech, and suddenly he thinks he can run the free world. (Remember how that hot-speech thing worked out for Sarah Palin?) Anyway, he’s Latino, and he’s got charisma. Good for him. I liked Desi Arnaz, but I wouldn’t’ve voted for him. Rubio is anti-same-sex marriage and has so little experience in foreign policy, he makes pre-2008 Barak Obama look like Henry Kissinger. Including the glasses. Worst of all, Marco was mentored by none other than Jeb Bush — the guy he’ll run against in the primaries. Who says there’s no loyalty in politics? I do; I say there’s no loyalty in politics.

Also in the hunt: Rand Paul. He’s so right wing, he makes the Koch Brothers look like Emma Goldman. Paul is another of those religious fundamentalists who thinks conception begins in the nut sack, and he is the epitome of the Republican who believes the way to govern is to block anything and everything the Democrats wanna do. If Obama says walruses have tusks, Rand Paul will filibuster to make sure they’re called “long teeth” instead.

Other rambunctious Republicans who might give Jeb a jolt include Chris Christie, who was desperate enough to accept a Democratic handout but arrogant enough to clog up the George Washington Bridge. Rick Perry, who is currently under indictment, hates gays, hates abortion, and worst of all, comes from Texas. Scott Walker comes from Wisconsin, for which he deserves sympathy. And I hear he’s very much an advocate of two-year colleges – by which I mean that he’s cut so much funding from state universities, they won’t be able to afford four years of teachers.

And did I mention Donald Trump was running again? Just take a moment to process that. Donald Trump, who went bankrupt three times and yet brands himself as a financial genius. He does have a magnificent knack for self-promotion, but he spends money he doesn’t have like it’s going out of style—so why isn’t he running as a Democrat?

Oy. It’s gonna be an interesting year and a half. Night after night of Rachel Maddow shilling for Hill and Sean Hannity sugarcoating anything the Republican party scrapes off its shoe and smears on a ballot. My parishioners tell me, “Rabbi, you bitch and bitch and bitch but don’t offer an alternative. Why don’t you run for President, you’re so smart?” The answer is, I’m smart enough to know my limitations. If I were President, the first thing I’d do is declare war on every country threatening Israel. The second is to make it illegal to use the New Testament as anything more than literature or a doorstop. And the third would be to make pastrami a mandatory part of all school lunches. As for immigration: look, my wife and I have 21 ½ children. Where the hell are we supposed to get nannies for less than six bucks an hour if we send back all the illegals?

Global Warming? Half my relatives live in Florida, and their skins are like komodo dragons from the sunshine. For the sake of the Jews, let’s at least get some umbrellas down there and maybe a few icemakers. Quality of life crime, like graffiti or noise pollution? A simple and effective plan. First offense, 25 hours of community service. Second offense? Death penalty.

As you can see, I am not meant to be the leader of the free world. `Cause I’m a schmuck. I’m saving you the trouble; I’m telling you, I’m a schmuck. The hard part is keeping some other schmuck from becoming president. For 227 years, we have failed at this almost uninterruptedly. I wouldn’t hold out much hope for the next four.

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

—> https://wp.me/pzvIo-1YP

Dave’s Gone By Skit: RABBI SOL SOLOMON’S RABBINICAL REFLECTION #121 (4/5/2015): Passover

RABBI SOL SOLOMON’S RABBINICAL REFLECTION #121 (4/5/2015): Passover

(aired April 5, 2015 on Dave’s Gone By. https://davesgoneby.net/?p=27305. Youtube clip: http://youtu.be/P5iBQJD75tg)

Shalom Dammit! This is Rabbi Sol Solomon with a Rabbinical Reflection for the week of April 5, 2015.

Friends, are you constipated? I certainly hope so, because that would mean you are eating your matzah, the traditional food of the Passover holiday, which we are in the midst of celebrating as we speak. Well, as I speak; you’re just listening.

But yes, Passover is one of the most important Jewish holidays—certainly the most labor intensive. Other holidays, you cook a meal, you make a blessing, maybe you don’t eat for a day—boom, you’re done. Okay, Sukkos, you have to build a little house, which is a pain in the ass, but you get to use it for a week, and you can make believe it’s a gazebo or a cozy shed. And if you’re too lazy to build, you can always go to the local shul and stay in theirs. Just make sure to use the guest towels.

But Pesach? Oy, what a production. You have to clean the whole house, top to bottom, of every crumb, every last bit of leavened bread. You have to sell everything in your fridge and cupboards to your local Rabbi–because what Rabbi doesn’t want to be responsible for two-week-old meatloaf? You gotta change all your dishes and cutlery, because a fork that touched pizza is somehow satanic for a week. And then, throughout Passover, you can eat only foods that are approved for holiday use. Wheat and beans and whole-grain products are verboten, and everything you reach for has to be certified Kosher L’Pesach. Which means a bottle of ketchup that’s $2 the rest of the year now costs $7.50. Why? Because some mashgiach was there to make sure that no tomato came into contact with a pretzel. HaShem forbid.

It’s a lot of nonsense, of course, but like all religious rituals, the doing of them forces us to remember who we are and the legacy to which we are tied. God doesn’t give a rat’s tushie if we hide the Afikomen or not; but my great, great, great grandfather hid the Afikomen—probably from the Cossacks—and my 21 ½ children will hide the Afikomen from my (god willing) 150 grandchildren. It’s not the activity; it’s the legacy.

Or, on Passover, it’s leprosy. And blood and frogs and boils and murrain and darkness and death of the first born and all the things usually caused by Comcast/Xfinity. We remember the 10 Plagues God visited upon the Egyptians as payback for subjugating the Hebrews. And when Moses visited Pharaoh and told him, “Look, we’re leaving. Can we get a severance check and a few weeks of interim health insurance?”, Pharaoh said no, so God made him suffer. Actually, Pharaoh didn’t say no. I mean, at first he did, when Moses was turning water into blood and making frogs jump out of underwear drawers. Pharaoh saw a bunch of magic tricks and said, “Copperfield does them better.”

But as the plagues turned nastier, Pharaoh was ready to be done with the Jews and let our people go. Until HaShem hardened his heart–I guess with some kind of aortic Viagra–and forced Pharoah to make ruinous choices, essentially robbing the king of Egypt of his free will.

I admit, I’ve always found something unsettling in that story. It’s one thing if Pharaoh is so evil, or so moronic, that he invites torture upon his empire through his own pig-headedness. But the Torah makes it clear that God is pulling the strings. He’s like the schoolyard bully that grabs your fists and makes you sock yourself in the face, all the while saying, “Stop hitting yourself. Why are you hitting yourself?” In the Pesach story, God puts Pharaoh through ten rounds with Mike Tyson, and then a bonus round with Muhammad Ali. The Jews finally hit the road, Pharaoh sends soldiers after them—presumably all second-born sons–and what happens? They all drown. God is nothing if not thorough.

So what do we learn from that gruesome fable? First, that if you mess with the Jews long enough, you get payback of biblical proportions (pun intended). After all, the Hebrews served as Egyptian slaves for generations before the big rescue. Stopping the punishment at flies or even flaming hail just wouldn’t send the same message as mass murder.

The second thing we learn is a rational reason why we spill drops of wine during the Passover seder. The Haggadah explains that even though Pesach is a happy holiday, and we’re delighted to recall the deliverance of Israel from Egypt, we’re not supposed to celebrate a hundred percent. We diminish our wine glass literally and our joy metaphorically, because even though our enemy treated us worse than the worst Jennifer Lopez movie, they are still human beings. They are still God’s children being destroyed.

Personally, I don’t spill a whole lotta wine on Passover—and not just because we have to use the same tablecloth for two nights. I rejoice freely when my enemy falls. When the Navy Seals took out bin Laden, I tore off my clothes and started dancing naked around the house. Which caused some problems because I was outside. But oh boy, did I shake my tailfeather! Miley Cyrus could have studied my tuchas for twerking lessons. And if I’d been alive in 1945 to witness V-E Day, I would have kissed a girl for every German that got a bullet through his eye or a bayonet through his heart. (You could probably call it VD Day…) I still would do this, so if any young girls want to stand in the street and let me kiss them, drop me an email, and I’ll get my sailor suit out of the cleaners.

Don’t get me wrong; I like the idea of being a good sport when my adversary is vanquished, but in reality, the misery and death of my enemies gives me less pause than a skip on my CD player. (For those of you under 30 who don’t know what that is, a CD player is like Spotify on a pancake.)

Anyhoo, my point in all this is however you celebrate Passover—if you follow all the rules, some of the rules, or if you serve bacon croissants during the Seder—and however you feel about Passover—whether you’re there just for family or you’re looking for a greater spiritual purpose in choking to death on horse radish—enjoy the holiday, appreciate the history, and take comfort that you don’t have to fast and no one gets circumcised.

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

–> https://davesgoneby.net/?p=27305