NON-FICTION – ESSAY – HUMOROUS: Rabbi Sol Solomon’s Rabbinical Reflection #179 (4/1/2023): PASSOVER 2023

RABBI SOL SOLOMON’S RABBINICAL REFLECTION #179 (4/1/2023): Passover 2023

aired April 1, 2023 on Dave’s Gone By. Youtube clip: https://youtu.be/9Gc9Tmb_bMo. https://davesgoneby.net/?p=38155

My friends, we are only days away from Pesach, the Jewish holiday of Passover, when we commemorate escaping from Egypt and making our slow pilgrimage through the desert, into Israel, and later to Miami and Crown Heights. Although we mourn all the Arabs God had to kill to save us, we rejoice in the holiday because it means we are no longer slaves. We get paid for our labor, and we are vassals only to the bank, the mortgage, the car loan, the student debt, and Equifax.

Shalom Dammit! This is Rabbi Sol Solomon with a Rabbinical Reflection for this Passover week, 2023. 

Of course, Passover comes with much labor of its own: you have to clean the house, change out your dishware, cook a big and strange meal, invite people to the Seder, disinvite people to the Seder when one of them is Uncle Yakov, who doesn’t get along with Cousin Malka because of a business deal with her late husband that went south, and now she won’t even be in the same room with Yakov, even though he likes her, in fact, he likes-likes her, which he won’t admit, not even to his therapist, but you can tell.

The cleaning and work of modern-day holidaying remains a chore, but one aspect of Passover has improved significantly over the years. Remember back in the day, when you’d go shopping for Pesadiche food, and the supermarket would allow two shelves for items marked K for P? On the top shelf, you’d see gefilte fish, bullion cubes, and a bag of walnuts. And on the shelf below, dessert! Which meant matzoh smeared with dark chocolate, which is what passed for a snack in 1976; macaroons, which tasted like sponges dipped in coconut and shame; and honey cake, about which the less said, the better. 

But that was the selection. You’d head to the checkout, just hoping the gentile ahead of you wasn’t laying a pork roast on the conveyer belt for your box of matzoh to soak in. 

Yes, if you wanted Jewish food, you’d fry your own matzoh meal pancakes, you’d roast a roast, you’d shred your knuckles making charoset that everybody else would eat at the seder, so by the time the bowl got back to you, you had one speck not even big enough to stop up a bluebird’s tuchas. 

Oh, my chaverim, times were tough. But now? Jewish neighborhoods have entire stores devoted to Passover edibles. You enter surrounded by kashrut. You almost expect them to hand you a tfillin with your shopping cart. And you can barely imagine a food that doesn’t have a Passover hack. Bacon? Fried pastrami. Breakfast cereal? Apple-cinnamon Crispy-Os (that’s a real thing). French toast? Matzoh brei. Shrimp cocktail? Okay, you’re on your own there, but the variety astonishes. 

Let’s say, however, that you don’t live in Cedarhurst. Because you have a life. Your neighborhood is so goyish, they put up Christmas trees in October and leave them up until October. And yet, visit the supermarket, and guess what? Even there, an aisle will be set aside for all these Passover foods Jews don’t want to eat but we have to. And if you’re a shut-in, Amazon has an entire online Pesach portion, where you can buy everything from matzoh-ball soup to nut butter. (Those of you who are laughing at “nut butter,” grow up.) You can purchase Exodus-brand, Kosher for Pesach beef jerky! And Amazon will sell you Manischewitz granola and Lieber’s gluten-free elbow macaroni. Is that almost too secular? Don’t worry. You can still find chocolate lollycones, Joyva ring jells, and a good-ol’ bottle of Gold’s horse radish so red, it’s guaranteed to ruin any shirt sleeve you dip into it.

I complain a lot. Because I’m Jewish. And also because many things in life have progressively worsened: air travel, doctor’s appointments, cost of living, insurance, sitting in a theater with a mask on watching plays designed to make me feel guilty for being me. The world is a little crazy right now, and a little crazy always. So it’s a rare pleasure when something gets better and easier. As a child, by the third day of Pesach, I was so bored and constipated, people mistook me for Ben Stein. A Jewish kid growing up right now could eat a week of Passover food and not even realize it’s Passover.  

Isn’t that what’s great about America? Assimilate or stay insular, but either way, the culture assimilates you. You can roast your own shankbone — which is painful and not recommended — or visit a community Seder, You can celebrate as much Passover as you can take. 

So boil those eggs, gather those haggadahs, and get ready to tell the story one more time of how our ancestors went from enslavement to enfreement. And if the pandemic is still keeping you from spending next year in Jerusalem, load up a virtual background with the Wailing Wall on it, and boom, you’re there. As I said, we can long for yesteryear, but every often, we’re lucky to be living in thisteryear. 

Wishing you all a zissen Pesach, this has been a Rabbinical Reflection from Rabbi Sol Solomon, Temple Sons of Bitches in Great Neck, New York.

(c)2023 TotalTheater. All rights reserved.

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NON-FICTION – ESSAY – HUMOROUS: Rabbi Sol Solomon’s Rabbinical Reflection #171 (9/14/2021): HOW TO FAST ON YOM KIPPUR

RABBI SOL SOLOMON’S RABBINICAL REFLECTION #171 (9/14/2021): How to Fast on Yom Kippur

(Rabbi Sol Solomon’s Rabbinical Reflections air on the long-running podcast Dave’s Gone By. youtube: https://youtu.be/ZGFcUunDz38)

Shalom, Dammit! This is Rabbi Sol Solomon with a Rabbinical Reflection for Yom Kippur, 2021. 

Even non-observant Jews, who wouldn’t know a Torah from a tuba, remember that they’re Jewish on Yom Kippur. It’s the one holiday on the Hebrew calendar where everyone agrees to be depressed. We think about our sins, we promise to do better, and we hope God doesn’t hold us to that promise because, let’s face it, we’re human.

So people ask me, “Rabbi, how do I get through the day? How do I observe the Yom Kippur fast?” 

Okay, so on Erev Yom Kippur, you have dinner in the evening. And when the sun goes down, you stop eating. Then, an hour later, keep not eating. 

By nine, ten o’clock, when you usually have a snack. Don’t.

Sixty to 120 more minutes will pass. During those minutes, do not eat. 

Then, time to go to sleep. Unless you’re narcoleptic elephant, you don’t eat when you sleep, so you’re fine. If you get up in the middle of the night to pee, don’t pee-eat. Save that for Shavuis. Go back to sleep.

Wake up in the morning. Pee again. Brush your teeth. This is great because if you’re thirsty, you get a little water, a minty bissel flavor — but it doesn’t count as food because it’s a health thing. You can even gargle, but no fair gargling with a Starbucks latte. 

Now, the fun thing about Yom Kippur is you can’t work. So lie on the couch, read a book, make up a song. And continue not eating.

Eventually, noon will roll around, and you’ll think it’s time to eat. Guess what? It’s not. Keep reading and singing. 

Now it’s early afternoon and you’re getting hungry. Too bad. Don’t eat.

By three o’clock you should have a minor but persistent headache. This is all a natural part of Jewish suffering. However, it’s also a fantastic opportunity because you can take a Tylenol — and have more water. That’s two food-groups with one ailment.

Now it’s 3:30 and you’re exhausted. Go back to sleep. Try not to dream about food. Or naked women. Or anything else you’d want to eat. 

After your nap, dusk should be approaching — homestretch! Just another hour, and you can stuff your face. But not yet; a little more torture never hurt anyone.

I will say, the most messed-up thing about Yom Kippur in America is that it doesn’t go 24 hours; it goes 25! The chassids invented this custom to make up for the inexactitude of when the sun officially rises and sets. They add an extra hour to be safe.

Good for them. The rest of us can look at a Timex. When you hit 24 hours and one second, the bagel can go here (points to his mouth). 

Please note that if you are pregnant, or sick, or sick of being pregnant — do not fast. That’s just common sense — which you don’t find often in religion. But Rabbis agree: if you’re feeling crummy, don’t be a dummy: feed your tummy! 

However, if you’re okay, you’re in the mood to detoxify, and you want to jump on the scale and see how much weight you lost just before you gain it all back, this is your chance.

It is recommended that you break the fast gently. Don’t be eating a chopped liver with sour pickles and a corned-beef chaser. Have a little soup, juice, vegetables, noodle pudding, clams casino – just kidding. Pace yourself; portion control. After a fast, your eyes are bigger than your stomach. Which will scare the hell out of your optometrist. 

To sum up, if you’re fasting on Yom Kippur, the important thing is: don’t eat. You might want to write that down if starvation makes you forgetful.

Otherwise, have a meaningful Yom Kippur and a fast fast.

This has been a Rabbinical Reflection from Rabbi Sol Solomon, Temple Sons of Bitches in Great Neck, New York, giving you plenty of food . . . for thought. 

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NON-FICTION – ESSAY – HUMOROUS: Rabbi Sol Solomon’s Rabbinical Reflection #169 (4/30/2021): MERON

NON-FICTION – ESSAY – HUMOROUS: Rabbi Sol Solomon’s Rabbinical Reflection #169 – MERON

(watch on youtube: https://youtu.be/JANamY6kZZs)

RABBINICAL REFLECTION #169 – Meron

Shalom Dammit! This is Rabbi Sol Solomon with a Rabbinical Reflection for April 30, 2021. 

Happy Lag B’Omer everybody! And if you’ve ever had your Omer logged, you know just how delightful that can be. 

Lag B’Omer is a relatively minor holiday on the Jewish calendar, but our people appreciate it because it is a happy one. Well, not completely happy. God won’t let a Jewish holiday be completely happy. And this festival, in particular, is about putting a bookend on a time of gloom.

Some say Lag B’Omer is celebrated because that day marked the end of a terrible plague in the Jewish community. No, not bad drivers. Rabbi Akiva, who was a great sage — and a mediocre parsley — had a lot of disciples who started dropping dead between Passover and Shavuoth. Somehow, on this date, they stopped dying. Maybe it was Pfizer, maybe Moderna — whatever. Suddenly it was time to rejoice. 

Now, a completely different explanation for Lag B’Omer involves one of Ravi Akiva’s disciples, Shimon bar Yochai. Lag B’Omer is the day he kicked the b’ucket. So who celebrates a death? Well, this Yochai guy was something of a mystic. By writing the Zohar, he started the Kabbalah ball rolling. He told his followers, now that I’m leaving my body, all my teachings and good deeds belong to the universe. So don’t mourn; go have a wedding, do a dance, get a fun haircut, light a bonfire because of all the light I’ve brought into the world. And marshmallows.

So that’s what Jews have been doing — taking a break during a somber time on the calendar, when everyone’s worried about the harvest, and having a party. And if you happen to be in Israel, you can go visit the tomb of Shimon bar Yochai, which happens to be in a town called Meron. I think you know where I’m going with this. 

Year after year, hundreds of thousands of Orthodox Jews make a pilgrimage to Meron for feasting and fun. It’s like Woodstock — only Jews don’t take acid; we get acid reflux. The Yidlach gather for this festival — sometimes 400,000 people show up for this Lag B’orgy.

April 2021, because of COVID, only 100,000 came. Easy-peasy, right? Except, a few people slipped, folks behind them couldn’t go backwards — voila! Stampede. 45 people crushed to death like grapes in a Manischewitz pulper. 150 more wounded. It’s the worst peacetime disaster in the history of Eretz Yisroel. I know you’re waiting for a joke but no…that’s the emmes. 

Who’s to blame? Everybody, of course. First of all, you have the insular Orthodox, who don’t think the greater community’s rules apply to them. We saw this with the Haredis in Brooklyn, who were holding massive, unmasked weddings and funerals when the governor was begging everyone: don’t even hold small unmasked weddings and funerals. Were Cuomo’s restrictions draconian? Did the Orthodox exacerbate a health crisis? Or vice versa: by disregarding protocols, did they prove that, at least for people under 60, we’ve all been going overboard with a punishment that’s worse than the disease?

Even if that were true, and Governor Cuomo was erring on the side of caution — well, not with his schmeckel but with everything else — what the Haredi were doing was unbelievably selfish and thoughtless. “We follow American laws to the letter…up until the moment we don’t happen to agree with them. Who needs police? We police ourselves.” So elected officials who crave the Orthodox vote look the other way when rules are bent. 

Sometimes that’s fine — sometimes it enables catastrophe. Wifebeaters and child molesters keep on beating wifes and molesting childs while the Rabbis try to fix things behind the scenes. Ask the Catholic church how well that works. And it’s this entitled arrogance of the Haredi attitude that tells Bibi Netanyahu, “We’re gonna put a hundred thousand people on a road meant for 30,000. HaShem will be our crowd control.” But they forget: God likes crushing things. Look what He did to Samson.

Jews have good reason for being wary of outsiders. From Roman soldiers to Spanish inquisitors to Cossacks — if a goy was on your doorstep, he wasn’t holding a check from Publishers Clearing House. However, when it comes to legitimate concerns about public safety — whether you’re spitting corona droplets on your cousin or getting pushed so close to a stranger your quarter shoes land on his forehead — it would be nice if my brethren would show a little consideration for the bigger picture.

Besides, what’s so wrong with a few more weeks of distancing? We’re Jewish. We shouldn’t be going to mass.

This has been a Rabbinical Reflection from Rabbi Sol Solomon, Temple Sons of Bitches.

Meron, April 29, 2021. Photo by David Cohen/Flash90

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NON-FICTION – ESSAY – HUMOROUS: Rabbi Sol Solomon’s Rabbinical Reflection #138 (4/24/16): Shmura Matzohs

RABBI SOL SOLOMON’S RABBINICAL REFLECTION #138 (4/24/16): Shmura Matzohs

aired April 23, 2016 on Dave’s Gone By. Youtube clip: https://youtu.be/9e-dOyy_cQA. http://davesgoneby.net/?p=26505

Shalom Dammit! This is Rabbi Sol Solomon with a Rabbinical Reflection for the week of April 24, 2016.

Among the great inventions of mankind are the wheel, the lever, the polio vaccine, and the computer microchip. But let’s not leave out one of my favorite all-time creations. Something so simple yet so perfectly imperfect. Something both great and crummy — pun intended.

You take flour and water, mix them together, roll it flat flat flat—flatter than a ten-year-old’s training bra—poke the dough with tiny holes, and push it into a super-hot, dry oven. After a couple of agonizing minutes, shazam! Matzoh! Somehow, this flour-and-water combo doesn’t turn into pita bread, it doesn’t become olive loaf, it doesn’t blossom into a Pepperidge Farm cookie. It just stays matzoh, and that’s good enough for me. Almost.

See, you can get Streit’s or Horowitz-Margareten or Manischewitz and other commercial brands of matzoh, and they’ll get you through the Passover holiday just fine. You make matzoh brei, where you dip it in egg; you can crumble it and make matzoh-meal pancakes, which iHop would not be remiss in adding to their international breakfasts. Dear God, they make chocolate-covered matzoh, which sounds gross, but hey, if they can do it with crickets and bumble bees, why not the bread of affliction? (Chocolate-covered matzoh is not to be confused, by the way, with chocolate matzoh, which is just a giant chocolate bar made into the shape of a matzoh. In other words, a thousand times better. Chocolate-covered matzoh is to chocolate matzoh as a gold-plated watch is to a Rolex. If you promise your grandchildren chocolate matzoh, but you give them the chocolate covered, don’t expect them to visit you in the nursing home years later.)

But I digress. Matzoh is a tasty, non-nutritional but sustaining food meant to remind us of the bread our ancestors ate when they high-tailed it out of Egypt. `Cuz when you’re leavin’ hasty, you ain’t got time for pastry.

However, my reflection today is not just about matzoh; it’s about a special version of matzoh. The platinum standard, if you will. And I will. When I’m conducting a seder, or kicking back watchin’ baseball during chol hamoed, I want me some shmura matzoh! That’s the stuff! That’s the bread of affection! It’s the same flour and water, the same procedures. But with shmura matzoh, the harvested grain is guarded from the very first second it’s plucked to the moment the Rabbi slides it and its compadres out of the oven.

Shmura matzoh is the ultimate homemade bread. No machines, no slicer cutting the edges into right angles. No opening a box where every piece looks like a ceiling tile in a suburban office. Shmuras are individually mixed, rolled, and baked. And they don’t look beautiful or symmetrical. They’re lumpy, they’re brittle, often overcooked, and the burnt parts are all over the place. In fact, shmura matzohs are so ugly, they could replace Harriet Tubman on the $20 bill.

But oy my God, are they delicious! There’s something so real and so pure about them. Everything else you get in the store is machine-pressed, dye-cut, flushed with preservatives, and so far away from actual food, you’re not even sure what the hell you’re eating. With shmura matzoh you taste three things: flour, water, and Rabbi sweat.

Now there’s all sorts of hoo-ha/doo-dah rules about using shmura matzohs. You’re supposed to eat them only at the seder and no other time — not even the rest of the holiday. I’m sorry, but at $17 a box with six pieces of bread in it, I’ll eat it on Christmas if I want to. Also, since the matzoh is utilized during the seder ceremony — including breaking it for the afikomen, the bread has to be complete, unbroken. You think it was tough for the Jews to cross the Nile out of Egypt? Try getting a one-millimeter cracker from a Brooklyn factory to a Staten Island dinner table without having a few oopsies.

Still, it’s worth it because shmura matzohs are the bomb. Yes, they’re impossible to butter, and they don’t actually break in half; they splinter — leaving shards of crumbs everywhere you look. But I don’t care; their deliciousness trumps all. I mean, on Passover, we have to eat raw horseradish, and then we have to take yummy charoset and ruin it by mixing it with horseradish, and then for eight days: no pizza, no pretzels, no ravioli, no danish, no muffins, no waffles, no wafers, no hoagies, no heroes, no oatmeal, no beer. So if I want a piece of homecooked unleavened bread that looks like a manhole cover but tastes like Judaism, I will seek no further than shmura matzohs. Mmm mmm flavorless — and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

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

(c) 2016 TotalTheater. All rights reserved.

NON-FICTION – ESSAY – HUMOROUS: Rabbi Sol Solomon’s Rabbinical Reflection #138 (4/24/16): Shmura Matzohs

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

Rabbinical Reflection #132: Hanukkah Haiku

aired Dec. 12, 2015 on Dave’s Gone By. Youtube clip: https://youtu.be/6AxN-ZfHRak. http://davesgoneby.net/?p=26206. http://davesgoneby.net/?p=26479

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!

I spin the dreidel.
Yet again, it comes up shin.
They’ll break my kneecaps.

Dreidels made of clay.
When they’re dry, it’s time to play.
Women? The reverse.

Just one drop of oil
Can burn for eight days and nights
Not in a Chrysler

Jingle Bells don’t rock
When they’re played ten times a day
In the fucking mall.

Christmas will always
Be cooler than Chanukah
I miss my foreskin.

My next-door neighbor
Got an X-Box for Christmas.
Me? Chocolate money.

Last one:

Yuletide it ain’t, but
Chanukah makes the winter
Suck a little less.

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.

(c) 2015 TotalTheater. All rights reserved.

https://davelefkowitzwriting.wordpress.com/2015/12/12/non-fiction-essay-humorous-rabbi-sol-solomons-rabbinical-reflection-132-12-12-2015-hanukkah-haiku/

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NON-FICTION – ESSAY – HUMOROUS: Rabbi Sol Solomon’s Rabbinical Reflection #121 (4/5/2015) – PASSOVER (lefkowitz)

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.

(c)2015 David Lefkowitz

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NON-FICTION – ESSAY – HUMOROUS: Rabbi Sol Solomon’s Rabbinical Reflection #110 (11/16/2014): CHRISTMAS IN NOVEMBER

RABBI SOL SOLOMON’S RABBINICAL REFLECTION #110 (11/16/2014): Christmas in November

aired Nov. 15, 2014 on Dave’s Gone By. Youtube clip: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ugLGtx38doQ

Shalom Dammit! This is Rabbi Sol Solomon with a Rabbinical Reflection for the week of November 17, 2014.

Merry Christmas, non-Jewish listeners! A very merry Christmas and Yuletide to all the goyim within the sound of my strident voice! Jingle bells, glad tidings, joyeux Noel – whatever the hell that means — Merry Chris — wait, what? You mean it’s not Christmas? You mean it’s not even Thanksgiving yet, and Christmas is a month and a half away?

Well, you wouldn’t know it. Not from the TV commercials. Not from the music they play in the department stores. Not from the displays in Walgreens and Walmart and K-Mart and K.Y. and why is it Christmas already when it isn’t December 25th for another 35 days?

We all know why, of course. It’s because America needs to sell you crap as much and as often as possible. The home shopping networks and the mall shopping outlets want to get you in the money-spending spirit as soon as they can. If they could start next year’s holiday sales on December 26th at midnight, they would. In fact, they already almost do. In the middle of July, QVC and HLN and the CIA are doing infomercials for ornaments. “Make sure you order them now, people, so they arrive by August — just in time for Christmas.”

As a Jew, but not just as a Jew, but mainly as a Jew, I object to all this haranguing, day after day after day over a holiday I do not believe in and couldn’t care less about. You wanna put up some lights on the weekend before Christmas, and maybe start the Ruh-puh-pum-pum on your drum a week or two before the holiday? Be my guest, and buy me something nice. But stop with the Yuletide cheer when I haven’t even gotten all the matzoh out of my colon from Passover yet!

I have spoken before and elsewhere about the pressure Jews feel to morph Chanukah into a Yuletide-like holiday…Chrismakkah…a concept which fills me with enough loathing to stuff a Santa suit. They are not similar holidays; they are not equivalent holidays. And yet, because they fall at the same time of year, Yiddlach feel compelled to match their neighbors gift for gift, light for light, stupid singalong for stupid singalong. The only thing that keeps me from jamming hot knitting needles through my eardrums this time of year is Adam Sandler, and even that song wears out its welcome by its third spin. Try playing “Here Comes Chanukah” as often as Rite Aid plays “The Christmas Song,” and you’ll want to open every bottle in the pharmacy and swallow till the pain stops.

Holiday overkill is bad enough two or three weeks out of the year, but a whole month? You got radio stations that play only Christmas music. Some stores block off entire sections for stocking stuffers the day after Labor Day. Just stop it! Stop it! Nobody’s roasting chestnuts on an open anything. If grandma’s getting run over, it’s by grandpa’s Rascal, not a reindeer.

And I know Christmas is an excuse for people to do nice things and feel good about themselves. Soldiers stuck in a sandpit in Trashcanistan have a chance to come home and see their families because it’s Christmas. Why the army can’t do that on Groundhog Day just the same is beyond me, but okay. It’s like supermarkets that give the destitute free turkey on Thanksgiving. Fantastic — homeless people have a dozen meal options on Thanksgiving Day. The day after Thanksgiving? Pfftth. Back to 99-cent pizza and Spaghettios.

Still, if we use the holiday as an impetus to be better humans and do more good, even the cranky, miserable misanthrope in me cannot object to that. But the time leading up to the holiday is about nothing more than marketing and selling and forced, fake, phony good cheer. It’s all too much, too soon, and if I sound like the Grinch, so be it. Especially since I’m not trying to steal Christmas. I just want to hide it for awhile, like the Afikomen, so that, as an accountant would say, the interest appreciates.

No Marine comes home on special leave November 8th. Nobody’s donating cans to the food bank on December 12th. We’re subjected to the hype but not the help. I say, if big business must turn Christmas into a season-long capitalist orgy, at least give out condoms of compassion to go with it.

This has been a Rabbinical Reflection from Rabbi Sol Solomon, Temple Sons of Bitches in Great Neck, New York. Ooh, only 288 shopping days until Simchas Torah!

(c) 2014 TotalTheater. All rights reserved.

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NON-FICTION – ESSAY – HUMOROUS: Rabbi Sol Solomon’s Rabbinical Reflection #83 (12/1/2013): THANKSGIVING MEETS CHANUKAH

RABBI SOL SOLOMON’S RABBINICAL REFLECTION #83 (12/1/2013): Thanksgiving Meets Chanukah

aired Nov. 30, 2013 on Dave’s Gone By. Youtube clip: http://youtu.be/0tnyNRjxP5M. https://davesgoneby.net/?p=27954

Shalom Dammit! This is Rabbi Sol Solomon with a Rabbinical Reflection for the week of December 1st, 2013.

When the moon is in the seventh house, and Jupiter aligns with Mars – who gives a shit? I don’t follow astrology. But when two happy holidays intersect, that can be a time of much joy and reflection.

Now, all too often, Christmas and Chanukah fall around the same time. This has been hell on Jews, because the media conflates the two festivals into one big secular holiday, which it is not. There’s no such thing as Chrismukkah. Judah Maccabee did not find the baby Jesus in the Syrian temple, and Christ was not crucified on the shamash of a giant wooden menorah.

And yet, the proximity of Yuletide and Chanukah made for an uneasy coexistence. Jewish children would see their goyishe friends on Christmas Day riding new bicycles, playing X-box, unwrapping a new drum set. Then the Yiddishe children would come home, light a candle, sing a song, and then hold out their hands for a big present. Wow! Two ounces of chocolate money. A day-glo dreidel. Next door, the blonde kid gets a Vespa; in the Jewish house, “happy Chanukah, here’s a dollar. Give half to charity.” Is it any wonder the yidlach would look longingly at outside culture and say, “I want to go to there!”?

So Jewish families started playing catch-up. It wasn’t enough to put a menorah in the window. Now we have to decorate, just like the goyim. And the first night of Chanukah is meant to approximate Christmas Eve, so the kid gets a half decent gift. That way, the Jewish child can go next door and say, “Ha ha! Sure, you got all that stuff from Santa. But at 12:01am on Christmas Day, you’re done. No more presents. I got an iPad tonight, and there are seven more days of presents to come. Good stuff like chocolate or money, or chocolate that looks like money. Have fun cleaning up pine needles for a month, you foreskin-totin’ suckaah!”

Even so, the drawbacks of an omnipresent Christian holiday overshadowing a
Jewish one can be oppressive. It’s like people who have their birthday on Christmas. You get screwed, because not everyone double-gifts. You receive a single present, and it’s marginally better than the two items you would have scored had your parents shtupped in February instead of April.

But sometimes, holiday alignment isn’t a bad thing. This year has a rare occurrence of Chanukah falling at the same time as Thanksgiving. Wednesday night we light the first candle, and Thursday is turkey day, with Chanukah continuing all through Thanksgiving weekend.

We can draw parallels between the two festivals. First of all, they both call for gratitude. On Thanksgiving, Americans are grateful that the Indians were trusting and outmatched in warfare, so the Pilgrims could take advantage of them, give them smallpox and take their land. Thanks Pocahontas, pass the giblets. In the Chanukah story, Jews had to fight against Hellenism. I don’t know what they had against girls named Helen, but there you go.

After decades of treating the Jews fairly, the Syrians changed their tune to a song of anti-Semitism. They killed and pillaged, they made Judaism illegal, and they defiled the Hebrew temple in Jerusalem. This caused a number of Jewish families to revolt – and God knows, I’ve met some revolting Jewish families. But you had Mattathias and his son, Judah Maccabee, who fought the Syrians of the Greek empire and drove them out of Judea. They Hebrews and re-dedicated the temple, so we’re grateful to them and to HaShem for saving the Jewish people from conversion, death and unidentifiable gyro meat.

Chanukah and Thanksgiving have other things in common, as well. They’re both
pretty secular. Chanukah is post-bible; it’s a cultural tradition rather than a top-down mandate. And Thanksgiving is for anyone happy to be living in the good ol’ USA. Both holidays also share special foods associated with each. Chanukah, you have potato latkes and jelly donuts. Thanksgiving, you have turkey and Dunkin’ donuts. Sports are also a part of both holidays. Thanksgiving, you sit in your armchair and you watch people who aren’t fat and lazy play football. Chanukah, children sit on the floor with a dreidel and learn the basics of gambling. You start with a pot of money, and then try to take money from everyone else. Is it any wonder Jewish children grow up to be bankers?

Chanukah is the festival of lights; Thanksgiving is a feast of lite beer. Both holidays also incorporate fire. Thanksgiving, we recall the way our ancestors burned down Indian teepees and villages. Chanukah, we stand at a menorah holding a colored candle while molten wax runs down our hands. You’d think after 5,000 years they could invent a candle that doesn’t make you look like the accident guy on “Dancing with the Stars.”

Most of all, both holidays are about spending time with family and friends. They’re about women arguing in the kitchen, men falling asleep during halftime, children getting loaded up on snacks and then being forced to eat cranberry sauce – does anybody enjoy eating cranberry sauce? Chanukah and Thanksgiving are about expressing our appreciation to HaShem for keeping us alive, either by letting us defeat empires or giving us delicious crops to harvest. Either way, it’s something worth singing about:

“Over the river and through the woods to Bubbie’s apartment we shlep;

It takes quite a while, and she’s kind of senile
And the baby comes home with strep.

Out of the tunnel, across the bridge and through the old neighborhood
The latkes were yucky, the presents were sucky
And yet, and yet, life’s good.”

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

(c) 2013 TotalTheater. All rights reserved.

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NON-FICTION – Dunham, Ryan, Schwimmer to Read for Veteran’s Day

DUNHAM, RYAN, SCHWIMMER TO READ FOR VETERAN’S DAY

((c)2013 David Lefkowitz. This article was first published in Stagebuddy.com, Oct. 29, 2013: https://stagebuddy.com/theater/theater-feature/dunham-ryan-schwimmer-to-read-for-veterans-day-1111)

 Veterans and servicemen need theater too. That’s why, for the fifth consecutive year, husband-and-wife actors Adam Driver and Joanne Tucker are producing a special performance on Veteran’s Day (this year it’s Monday, Nov. 11) devoted to members of the military.

Driver, last on Broadway in 2011’s Frank Langella starrer, Man and Boy, and best known for playing the boyfriend on HBO’s “Girls,” joined the Marines shortly after 9/11. As such, each year Arts in the Armed Forces (AITAF) creates an evening of monologues, scenes and music that is free for current servicemen, veterans and their families. Civilians may also attend the performance, which takes place at Broadway’s American Airlines Theater, for a $25 donation.

Taking part in the show will be Driver and Tucker, “Girls” creator Lena Dunham, veteran actress Marylouise Burke, “Friends” alum David Schwimmer, “Office” alum Amy Ryan (who played Stella in the 2005 Broadway Streetcar revival), Michael Shannon, Tracie Thoms, and Jesse J. Perez.

Those wishing to donate a bit more ($500, that is) can join a post-show cocktail reception at the American Airlines Theater’s penthouse. Not only can you mingle with the cast, but you can record “digital video greetings” that will be shown to wounded soldiers who aren’t well enough to be furloughed home for the holidays. More info: aitaf.org

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NON-FICTION – ESSAY – HUMOROUS: Rabbi Sol Solomon’s Rabbinical Reflection #56 (2/10/2013): VALENTINE’S DAY

RABBI SOL SOLOMON’S RABBINICAL REFLECTION #56 (2/10/2013): Valentine’s Day

aired February 9th, 2013 on Dave’s Gone By. Youtube clip: http://youtu.be/yK-2Mmg9-yk

Shalom Dammit! This is Rabbi Sol Solomon with a Rabbinical Reflection for the week of February 10th, 2013.

Would you be my Valentine? Actually, you’re wise if you wouldn’t. St. Valentine, upon whom the Valentine’s Day holiday is kind of, sort of, not exactly really based, was a possibly apocryphal figure – well, all the saints were apocryphal to Yids like me. But if you’re a goy, and you believe in such stories, St. Valentine was one of two things: He was either a composite of a couple of different saints because he was so undistinguished as a saint himself. Or he was a good guy, a hard-working believer – who was clubbed to death and martyred on February 14th. Either way, who the hell wants to be him?

As for Valentine’s Day itself, very likely it was the Catholic Church’s response to a pagan celebration – the feast of Lupercal. Personally, I think Sustacal and Metrecal are more slimming. But the point is, the church couldn’t have some idolatrous holiday interfering with their practice, so like Halloween and Christmas, they morphed the comical into something canonical.

How did hearts and cupids and $180 Zales receipts creep into it? I have no idea, but I’m glad they did, because it makes Valentine’s Day a holiday everyone can celebrate. That human beings need an excuse to express affection is a sad thing. But if one day of the year, you can turn to your partner or spouse or well-paid escort and say, “I love you. Thank you for all you bring to my life. Please pick up some rye bread on the way home.” That’s a beautiful thing.

I realize that for those who are alone and lonely, Valentine’s can be a hollow holiday indeed. Seeing all those Hallmark cards in the Rite Aid, watching couples on the street holding hands, watching couples in porn holding glands, and finding 2-for-1 restaurant coupons in the Sunday paper, then wondering if it’s worth the embarrassment to go solo and put the second entrée in a doggie bag.

My single friends, I feel your pain. It’s just below the ribcage and spasms uncontrollably, but it’s okay, I’m on medication. The solution for everyone is to not look at Valentine’s Day as just for romantic couples. It’s for everyone who has loved you or you have loved in the course of your travels: family, neighbors, pets, inflatable dolls with lifelike genitalia. As Stephen Stills once put it, “Love the one you’re with.” Just make sure you have warm towels and a disinfectant.

And let us not forget that Valentine’s Day now has a whole other context thanks to The Vagina Monologues. Eve Ensler’s play about women and their nether parts became a global phenomenon. And now, February 14th is a day to protest violence and abuse against women, for women themselves to take pride in their achievements, and, of course, for us all to pay tribute to those hairy little pusseles.

So let this and every Valentine’s Day be not just about $70 restaurants and 7-11 roses, but mutual appreciation. A day of smiles, and hugs, and thank yous and vaginas. If you’re lucky, not necessarily in that order.

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

(c) 2013 TotalTheater. All rights reserved.

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