2 Jewish 4 U ?
In my big fuss over Easter week, I forgot all about Purim - the holiday where you dress up in costumes, get drunk, and eat delicious cookies. What's not to love? If I were King of the Jews, every day would be Purim. (Acutally, in my life, every day is a little like Purim, but without the cookies.)
But the truth is, I don't celebrate Purim, and never have.
In spite of my recent, and many, references to things Jewish - traif foods, Jews for Jesus, and persecution, for example - the fact is that all of this shlemieling and shlemazzling is nothing but a big mishegas charade. In other words, I am fronting, not representing (i.e., it's just my shtik, I'm not forshteln).
Having lived in New York for the last 13 years, I have become more Jewish than I ever thought I could, or would want, to be. Whenever I see my family in California, I can tell they are a little alarmed. "Was she always like that?," they wonder, as I gesticulate wildly and complain about the dense, chewy bagels served after every funeral with farkuckt chopped liver. Even my surviving grandparents, who are first-generation Americans, bristle at my carefully-pronounced yiddish slang and pretend that I'm addressing them in some kind of foreign gibberish. For this their parents suffered? The whole thing leaves me sad and fartshadikt.
But the truth is, I don't celebrate Purim, and never have.
In spite of my recent, and many, references to things Jewish - traif foods, Jews for Jesus, and persecution, for example - the fact is that all of this shlemieling and shlemazzling is nothing but a big mishegas charade. In other words, I am fronting, not representing (i.e., it's just my shtik, I'm not forshteln).
Having lived in New York for the last 13 years, I have become more Jewish than I ever thought I could, or would want, to be. Whenever I see my family in California, I can tell they are a little alarmed. "Was she always like that?," they wonder, as I gesticulate wildly and complain about the dense, chewy bagels served after every funeral with farkuckt chopped liver. Even my surviving grandparents, who are first-generation Americans, bristle at my carefully-pronounced yiddish slang and pretend that I'm addressing them in some kind of foreign gibberish. For this their parents suffered? The whole thing leaves me sad and fartshadikt.
posted at 5:48 PM
5 Comments:
You'll never be too Jewish for me. I want you to start a Purim grogger collection. I want you to memorize Avi Hoffman's "Oy Glaucoma" (sung to the tune of "Oklahoma") and perform it at all future family gatherings. I want you to go Kosher, keep the fasts and stop answering the phone on Shabbos. Not that you ever answer when I call anyway.
Remember, when it comes to Judaism, genus is never genug:
http://oukosher.org/index.php/articles/single/2770/
Just be careful when trying out new religious customs and beliefs. Yesterday, my heathen and I decided to test out the old question "what do you think would happen if we both walked into a church at the same time on the holiest of holy days". Thus also proving, "God...not such a great sense of humor"
p.s. why has it taken me three tries to post a comment...well it's 9:30 a.m. on Monday and I am drunk.
Karma-
Actually, you posted four times, but as Blog God I was able to clean up your mistakes. If only it were so easy in the offline world ...
What kind of church was this, that you are (still) drunk on Easter Monday? Your heathen have some 'splainin' to do.
Please don't go kosher!
2 Jewish 4 u?
NEVER!
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