RABBI SOL SOLOMON’S RABBINICAL REFLECTION #180 (12/31/2023): 2023 Farewell
airs Dec. 31, 2023 on Dave’s Gone By. Youtube clip:
Shalom Dammit! This is Rabbi Sol Solomon with a Rabbinical Reflection for the end of the year, 2023.
What a joyful and encouraging year it’s been, hah? A terrific celebration of peace and love and reason and decency. And if you believe that, you must not have the internet. Or any access to the outside world, which has been steeped in anxiety and hatred — mostly, with good reason!
COVID is still here. Remember COVID? The virus that killed a zillion old people and is now a common cold? Only it’s so common, everyone’s still getting it! Almost four years after the disease erupted, many of us are still wearing masks everywhere. Granted, some people are such meeskeits a mask is an improvement—a public service even—but still! How many variants can one illness have? Someday, they’re gonna be able to trace all the way back, and they’ll learn that COVID is just another strain of Caveman Breathing Disorder.
And speaking of cavemen, Donald Trump is running for President again. Look, he wasn’t a bad POTUS; he was great for Israel and the economy. But he’s also old. And nuts. That’s a combination you put in Assisted Living, not the Oval Office. Meanwhile, Trump’s opponent is Joe Biden, who’s so old, when he got his driver’s license, he just had to learn two words: “giddyup” and “whoa.” I did not make that joke up, but I also couldn’t make up that the combined age of the two presumed 2024 candidates is 158. I know age brings wisdom and experience, but it also brings senility and special underpants. Ronald Reagan was a powerhouse in his first four years, but the last two he fumbled more than the New York Jets o-line.
Meanwhile, Trump might not even be allowed to run because State Supreme Courts, like the one in Colorado, are holding him accountable for the Capitol insurrection. He hasn’t been convicted of that, by the way. Oh, sure, he’ll get convicted of fraud and sexual harassment, but by gosh, the treason thing is still a mere accusation. As such, I think the Denver judges got ahead of themselves and hijacked an election decision that should be made by the voters, not the courts. Remember: the last time judges got involved in politics, they installed George W. Bush as commander in chief, which was like putting Rose from The Golden Girls in charge of NASA.
So if Trump doesn’t run or can’t run, we might get Ron DeSantis, who’s slightly to the right of Mussolini and thinks gay people should be, you know, ungay. Or there’s Nikki Haley, who, like DeSantis, is pro-Israel but also believes fetuses are viable at the sperm stage. So… as ever, our choice for the highest office in the land will come down to least worst. I’d rather have knoblewurst.
Meanwhile in 2023, the Dow Jones set new highs, but so did global temperatures, housing prices, gas prices, and groceries. By the end of the year, inflation improved, which is just a euphemism for prices still rising, only less quickly. And the national debt is now $33 trillion. I mean, can’t we just ask Taylor Swift, as a favor, to pay it off?
Nearing its second year is the Ukraine War, a fierce battle between Russia and…more Russians. Ukraine’s president keeps thanking us for all our money and weapons, but no: thank you, Vlodymyr Zelenskyy for keeping our military industrial complex chugging along. Maybe you can also beg for a bunch of Chevys and Toyotas and help us bring Detroit back. As for Russia-Russia, we all thought Vladimir Putin would be dead by now. Instead, he’s just deathly: pale and shaky with purple streaks on the tops of his hands. The CIA speculates those are either intravenous marks or he’s been fisting the California raisins.
Speaking of good taste, the Hollywood studios finally came to their senses and settled with the Writers Guild. They realized that having Artificial Intelligence write boring screenplays with lame dialogue, cliched plots, and obvious themes was no substitute for having real writers churn out scripts with lame dialogue, incoherent plots, and woke propaganda. The only movies that weren’t bombs were Oppenheimer, about a bomb, and Barbie, about a bombshell.
But, hey, where’s the A-bomb when you need it? On October 7th, Hamas fired hundreds of rockets from Gaza into mainland Israel. Arab gunmen also stormed an Israeli music festival where they massacred 300 attendees, tortured others, and took hostages. They also raped a bunch women, many of whom were later found dead. It’s unclear whether the women were violated before or after they were killed because, let’s face it, Muslim terrorists aren’t the pickiest bunch when it comes to pussy. They see a woman with an uncovered thumb, they’re like, “What a whore!”
When the first wave of horror was over, 1400 Israelis lay dead. I have no jokes for that: 1400 slaughtered in a day by the same batch of people who have poisoned the world for 70 years with their fundamentalism, despotism, and terrorism.
And so, a day later, Bibi Netanyahu says to the Palestinians in Gaza, “Pack your shit. Your have 24 hours. Get the fuck out.” And the world, which had spent 10 whole seconds commiserating with Israel in grief and mourning, said, “You can’t do that. You’ll cause a humanitarian crisis!” And Israel said, “Just maybe-perhaps-possibly Hamas should have thought of that before their ambush.”
Israel commenced revenge immediately, although Netanyahu did allow Palestinians more than a week to take their camel caravans and find another country to despoil. But was that enough for the UN? Was that sufficient for world opinion? Of course not! When an errant Arab bomb fell on a Gaza hospital, who got blamed? Who’dya think? Meanwhile, Hamas fighters are using hospitals and schools as their command posts. They know that if Israel attacks, liberals weep; and if Israel doesn’t attack, Jews die.Win-win. Well, you know what, OXFAM, and World Health, and Red Cross, and Doctors Without Brains? Sometimes Jews have to kill the people who make them die.
But do college kids understand that? These Ivy League-bush-league, moss-covered troglodytes who glom onto any cause as long as it makes them feel like they’re saving the world from their parents’ mistakes? While they live in their parents’ basements? Like toadstools blossoming out of excrement, pro-Palestinian protests are everywhere, stopping traffic, blocking libraries, frustrating commuters, and doing nothing except proving just how many anti-Semites there really are. “Oh, but we don’t hate Jews,” say Ilhan, and Rashida, and Alexandria, and Susan, and Roger, and, oh—in for a penny—Ice Cube and Kanye. “We just hate colonialist Israel”—forgetting that Hebrews have lived in Israel since forever, and that Jews ask for no other safe place in the universe apart from this tiny country.
In my stage show, Shalom, Dammit!, I made a joke about Jews for Jesus, saying that the term is an oxymoron, like Vegetarians for Brisket. Believe it or not, something even more incomprehensible has emerged: Queers For Palestine. I am not kidding: Queers For Palestine. These are a passel of LGB-D-Bags promoting the very people who would cut their schvantzes off for being who they are. You know, earlier this year, Out Traveler magazine picked the 15 best cities in the world for gay people. Coming in 8th, two slots ahead of Miami: Tel Aviv. You know how many other places in the Middle East made the list? (makes a zero with his fingers) If the list was the best 200, you know how many Middle Eastern cities would be on it? A handful—and they’d be in Israel, too.
And yet, Queers for Palestine. How can these foolish freaks have their heads so far up their own tucheses? Well, they’ve likely been trying that as a sex technique. But seriously, what’s next for them? Faggots for AIDS? In their case, I’d donate. And I wish AIDS, leprosy, and spina bifida on anyone who chants “From the River to the Sea: Palestine Will Be Free.” No way! “From the Sea to the River, IDF Will Make Hamas Quiver.” “From the Sand to Mud, Gaza Will Run with Terrorist Blood.” “From Jerusalem to Miami, We Will Slice our Enemies Like Pastrami.”
Okay. Enough rage. Now it’s time for sadness. As I often do with these annum-end reflections, I’d like to honor, poetically, some of the notables who did not make it out of 2023 alive.
We start with Norman Lear, of All in the Family and Maude.
And Richard Roundtree, who’s now giving the Shaft to God.
To Tina Turner we said goodbye
Her talent was river deep and mountain high
Farewell Tony Bennett, who left his heart in San Fran
and cartoonist Al Jaffee, who was a true Mad man
Ted Kaczynski died, and he was the bomb
Henry Kissinger gave us the director’s cut of Vietnam
As First Ladies go, Roz Carter seemed nice
And, sadly, Bob Barker has barked his last price
We lost Tim McCarver, so pleasant and plucky
and David McCallum, from UNCLE, our Ducky.
We lost Michael Gambon—Glenda Jackson, too
And Rolf Harris tied down his last kangaroo
Farewell Alan Arkin, of movies and theater
Bye Raquel Welch and Suzanne Somers — both jiggling for St. Peter
We toast Shane MacGowan with joy and affection
And director Bill Friedkin, who made a Connection
Jimmy Buffet’s margaritas became a huge trend
while booze and drugs took Matthew Perry, our Friend
We lost Pat Robertson, who thought he was holy
and Dame Edna tossed her last gladioli
Andre Braugher and Lance Reddick were marvelous cops
Richard Belzer was dean of the microphone drops
Farewell to Jeff Beck. Bye bye Tom Verlaine
No more will Burt Bacharach write about rain
The princely Treat Williams is now in an urn
Farewell Cindy Williams, who’s up with Laverne
Sandra Day O’Connor has judged her last case
While Sinead O’Connor has reached a better place
We lost Adam Rich of “Eight is Enough”
and Marty Krofft, panjandrum of “H.R. Puffnstuff”
Gordon Lightfoot made his way down with the sun
and farewell to Tom Jones — no, the off-Broadway one
Bon voyage Belafonte, a King among men
And ciao, David Crosby, the C of SN.
Robbie Robertson’s up with the Hawks in a Band
And let’s all give Pee Wee Herman a hand
We mourn Jerry Springer who sent chairs flying
And all the good people who are sick, dead, or dying.
But enough lamentation! I don’t want to bore
Let’s pray for survival in 2024.
This has been a Rabbinical Reflection from Rabbi Sol Solomon, Temple Sons of Bitches in Great Neck, New York. Happy Jew Year.
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