Blowing The Shofar

Ron, a Catholic chauffeur, was bragging to his friend how well the Jewish family who employed him treated him.

“You wouldn’t believe it,” he bragged. “I get tips galore, and they always buy me lunch or dinner when I drive. My salary is great, with benefits. I get off all holidays, including the Jewish ones, like Rosh Hashanah.”

“That sounds pretty good,’ said Dave, a friend. “But what’s Rosh Hashanah?”

“Oh, that’s when they blow the shofar,” answers Ron.

“‘What?” spluttered Dave, “That’s some benefit?”

CRAZY MUSLIMS by Peter Nolan Smith

Yesterday I called my ‘niece’ Andy to wish her Happy new Year. She had already left the diamond exchange and explained that she was having a drink at the Plaza Hotel bar. “I’m meeting my sister and her wife for Rosh Hashanah.”

“Nice, I’m in Brooklyn, otherwise I’d come and meet you.” The beautiful brunette and I were ex-workmates from the 90s. We once made out in my old apartment. Andy couldn’t do anything more and I became her ‘uncle’.

“Uncle Pete, maybe you can tell me, what’s with all these bomb attacks? Are these Muslims all crazy?” I could hear other people in the background. None of them were in a panic. New York was safe from any threats at least for today.

“Andy, the bombs are attacks against America in revenge of our bombings in the Middle East.That attack on the embassy in Benghazi because that film about Mohammad really pissed them off.” I had seen the fourteen minute trailer. THE INNOCENCE OF MUSLIMS was clearly aimed at setting off Muslims.

“I hear jokes about Jews all the time and I don’t go around wanting to burn down anything. My grandfather said that the best thing we could do would be to drop a hundred atomic bombs in the Middle East and get rid of them.”

“That’s how the Nazis spoke about the Jews. It’s stupid talk. Sorry, but I believed in the one land /one state solution and everyone living as one. It is an impossibility, but while I’m an atheist, I do believe in miracles.”

“But why are they so crazy about an insult? I was watching on CNN_____”

“Andy, you can’t believe what you see on TV, especially the news. CNN, NBC, CBS. None of them have reporters on the scene and good news takes time to report. Their producers look at the images and then try and figure out what to say that people want to hear.” I imagined Andy holding an elegant glass in her delicate hand with men at other tables admiring her eternal beauty.

“You mean CNN doesn’t tell the truth?” Andy sounded like I had stolen Santa Claus from Hannukah.

“Not in the least, but the reason for the outrage is that for most of the last century these people were repressed by dictators. Anyone who tried to speak out was killed. Any protestors were tortured. Everything was stolen from the people. Everything, but their religion, and this they will not let be defiled, because it is the last of their freedom.” It was a simplistic rationale for the murderous attack on the Libyan embassy, but my feeling was a hunch. “What we have to ask is who made this film and what did they have to gain by showing it on 9/11?”

“Who did it?” She really wanted to know.

“Not anyone they said did it.” The name Sam Basile had been mentioned in every first report. There was no Sam Basile. “I think the person with the most to gain____”

“I got to run. Here comes my sister.” Now was Andy’s turn to cut me off.

“You have a good New Year.”

“I will.” She airsmacked a kiss to the mouthpiece and I ended the call. Nobody had invited me to blow the shofur or the lamb’s horn, so I was head down to Frank’s for a beer. It was my home away from home and everyone there was family.

Same as was Andy.

It’s a small world after all.

I Blew The Shofar

Several years ago I was out on Montauk with Richie Boy. The summer rental of his shack had finished the previous Sunday and his beach house was his again. We worked around his cottage in the morning and played with his twins, then hit Ditch Plains at noon. The waves were ankle-high, but the surfers in the water discussed the upcoming swell on Wednesday.

“There’s a hurricane out there.” Richie eyed the ocean.

“Potentially the biggest waves of the season.” Another surfer said sitting on his board..

“I’m taking off the week for Rosh Hashanah.”

Nobody argued with Richie’s choice. He was almost a local. We spent another hour at the break, then returned to his shack for a BBQ.

Later I caught the last train to New York and slept in my own bed.

The following morning I woke up thinking that today was the High Holy Day of Awe and said as much to my landlord.

“No, it’s next Wednesday,” AP told me.

“I blew it.”

“Better than blowing the chauffeur.”

I made a mistake, but what can you expect from a goy?

ps the ocean was flat last weekend, but lovely all the same.

Yom Kippur Squirrels

Yom Kippur 1972.

Syrian and Egyptian tanks swarmed over Israeli defenses on the Golan Heights and the Suez Canal. The Arab Forces initial successes were reversed by strategic blunders and Israeli air cover, however the losses to the IDF were catastrophic for the small nation. If a country the size of the USA had suffered the same casualties, the deaths would have mounted into the 100s of 1000s. Russian intervention was deterred by a stern warning from President Nixon.

DefCon 3 to DefCon 4.

Nuclear war.

MAD.

Cooler heads prevailed and prevented Mutual All-Out Destruction on a global level and Yom Kippur has resumed its position as a day of atonement for the Jewish People with Bobby Vinton leading the way by singing his hit I’M SORRY.

No holiday is without humor.

A small town had two churches, Presbyterian and Methodist, and a Synagogue. All three had a serious problem with squirrels in their buildings. Each in its own fashion had a meeting to deal with the problem.

The Presbyterians decided that it was predestined that squirrels be in the church and that they would just have to live with them.

The Methodists decided they should deal with the squirrels lovingly in the style of Charles Wesley. They humanely trapped them and released them in a park at the edge of town. Within 3 days they were all back in the church.

The Jews simply voted in the squirrels as members. Now they only see them at Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.

Of course my late father hated squirrels. Not so much hated them, but cursed them during his visits to my mother’s grave. The town cemetery was overrun with the tree rodents. They scrambled into the paved roads before cars.

A game for them.

An accident waiting to happen for humans.

My father swerved away from a daredevil squirrel and crashed into a gravestone almost 100 feet from the road.

“Damn Squirrels.”

He drove over the next squirrel brave enough to play ‘chicken’.

And he was a Convert to Catholicism.

No Yom Kippur for him.

For him the only good squirrel was a dead squirrel.

Stealing the Shofar

Joseph, a deeply religious man, went to his temple for Rosh Hashanah and forgot his prayer shawl [Tallit], so he borrowed one from “the rack” by the door.

At the end of the service, he realised that he really liked this Tallit so much so that he actually decided to stuff it down the front of his trousers and take it home.

After the service when he was walking through the reception line, the Rabbi Lionel stopped him and whispered, ‘Joseph, I am sorry, but I saw you stuff a tallit down your pants. Why would you do this?’

Joseph, totally embarrassed and ashamed, explained the situation, whereupon Rabbi Lionel suggested he remove it from his trousers and give it back. By now, the Tallit had managed to slide half-way down his leg. While Joseph was bent over pulling the it out of his pant leg, he accidentally let out a loud fart.

Rabbi Lionel, exasperated, said, ‘Joseph … you took the Shofar, too?’