Fly the Kosher Skies

Long-time Sloppists have noticed that I haven't posted regularly in a long time.  I had considered this a mere personal failing: a source of disappointment in myself, to be sure, but a victimless crime at worst.  Last night, I realized I was wrong.  I came face to face with the face of Solipsist Nation abandoned: a reader--perhaps my ONLY reader--who had come to rely on YNSHC to bring a little joy into his apparently insufficiently joyous life, and whom I had so cavalierly abandoned out of some sense of entitlement--entitlement to rest, to relaxation, to the right to plunge myself into a beer-fueled alcoholic stupor on a regular basis!  Who did I think I was?!?  So, to this Fanatical Follower of Solipsist, I simply say, I shall strive to do better.

Speaking of entitlement, I've spent the last day or so pondering this story in yesterday's paper, about a semi-common occurrence on airplanes.  Apparently, some ultra-Orthodox Jews refuse to sit next to women on airplanes, for fear that they may accidentally come into contact with members of the opposite sex.  Despite the fact that a prominent Orthodox rabbi has given dispensation for whatever incidental contact might occur, a number of Hasidim feel they would rather not chance it.  As you can imagine, though, problems arise when women refuse to relocate to accommodate the--let's face it--medieval strictures of their fellow travelers.

Those of you who follow me on Facebook know that I proposed a simple solution: If the idea of potentially finding himself seated next to a woman so fills a Hasidic gentleman with fear, then all he needs to do to avoid the situation is purchase an extra seat on the plane.  This comment of mine generated a number of comments--tongues more or less planted in cheeks--about the unlikelihood of Jews ponying up the cash for two seats (it should be noted that these comments all came from fellow Jews).  But the point, of course, is social not financial.  If these folks want to avail themselves of the conveniences of modern society (like airplanes), then they are simply going to have to accept the conventions of modern society (like the fundamental equality of the sexes--and let's not get started on THAT; that's a topic for another day).

Ultimately, I don't really have a problem with the Orthodox desire to maintain a separation of the sexes: If that's what they believe, that's what they believe.  The issue I find offensive is that the airlines and/or the other passengers should go out of their way to accommodate them.  I wouldn't have an issue with a Hasidic gentleman going up to another passenger--and for all I know, this happens--and saying politely something to the effect of, "Excuse me, Sir/Madam, I'm seated over in ___, but the seat next to me is occupied by a lady, and my religion prevents me from sitting next to her.  I was wondering if you would be willing to trade seats with me?"

I'm sure he'd find a taker.  Hell, what does the Hasid-proximate lady look like?  Maybe I'll trade seats.  After all, I'm single now.  Think of the possibilities!

"What was that all about?"

"Oh, his religion forbids him from sitting next to beautiful women."

"Really?"

"Well, strictly speaking, his religion prevents him from sitting next to any women.  I threw in the beautiful part."

"Oh, Solipsist!"

Cha-ching!  Mile-high-club!  I love Judaism!

Just Another Day at Solipsist Central (Workplace Edition)

COLLEAGE OF SOLIPSIST: I hate the Elf on the Shelf.

SOLIPSIST: What exactly is the Elf on the Shelf?

COS: Well, he's an Elf. . .  and you put him. . .

SOL: . . .On the shelf. I got that part.  I mean, what's his. .  . purpose?  His mission?  His raison d'Elf?

COS: He just kind of sits on the shelf and keeps an eye on the tree. . . .Makes sure the children aren't being naughty.

SOL: He's a narc.

COS: Basically.

SOL: So this is some Christian thing.

COS: Right.

SOL: Is there a Channukah Elf on the Shelf?

COS: I don't know.

SOL: "The Menorah in the Corna," maybe?

COS: Doesn't really rhyme. . . .Plus, a menorah doesn't narc on anyone.  A menorah just. . . .is.

SOL: Right.  "The Jew in the Loo"?  Too British.  "The Yid in the Frid. . .ge"?

COS: That's awful.

SOL: Yeah. . . . Oh!  "The Maccabee in the Back-Cubby"!

COS: What's a back cubby?

SOL: Like, if you have a couple of cubbies in your house?  And. . . And. . .And one's in the front of the house. . . And. . .uh. . . one's in the, uh. . . the back?

COS: I think you need to keep working on this one.

SOL: I will.

**************************************
UPDATE:

The Best Medicine

So as I was saying, yesterday I went with FOS to see "Old Jews Telling Jokes," currently playing Off-Broadway.  I don't imagine a synopsis is necessary, although I must protest that two of the cast members, Dara Cameron and Chuck Rea, are not what anyone would call "old."  Is a little truth-in-titling too much to ask?  Still, the show was highly entertaining: Ninety minutes of borscht-belt humor delivered with perfect timing.  Anyone--any Jew, anyway--past bar-mitzah age has probably heard some or all of these jokes before, but they still retain their charm.  One of my personal favorites:

Old Man Rabinowitz is getting ready to retire after forty years in the hardware business.  He tells his son, "Yitzhak, I am going to retire.  The business is now yours.  I know you will continue the fine tradition of Rabinowitz hardware."  With that, Old Man Rabinowitz leaves the store for the last time, and within a week he is down in Florida, enjoying his retirement.

A few months go by, and Rabinowitz decides to fly back north to visit his son.  On the way from the airport, he sees a gigantic billboard.  On the billboard is a picture of Jesus Christ on the cross, with the caption, "THEY USED RABINOWITZ NAILS!!!"

Well, you can imagine, Old Man Rabinowitz nearly has a heart attack right there in the cab.  When he gets back to the hardware store, he grabs his son by the shoulders, starts shaking him, and yells at him, "You, Schmuck! Are you crazy with that billboard?!? You can't say 'They used Rabinowitz Nails!' Not only will no one ever shop here again, but the goyim will run us out of town! I can't believe you could be so stupid!  You need to fix this!  I'm going back down to Florida before my head explodes, but I'm going to come back, and you better have made this right!"

Well, a few weeks later, after recuperating in Florida, Rabinowitz returns to see his son again.  He's in the cab from the airport, approaching the billboard.  He can barely stand to look, but as they pass he sees the new sign.  Now, the billboard shows a limp and lifeless body crumpled at the foot of a cross.  The caption: "THEY DIDN'T USE RABINOWITZ NAILS!!!"

Nu?  Anyway, if you like that kind of thing, there's a lot to enjoy in the show.

Insofar as "Old Jews" has a deeper meaning or a "message," it's that there is no such thing as an inappropriate time to tell jokes.  Maybe it's a "Jewish thing," but I think they're right.  Many is the time that a gentile friend or acquaintance has said something to the effect of, "How can you make a joke at a time like this?"  Even WOS has, on occasion, reprimanded me for "misplaced" levity.  But to the question, "How can you joke about [insert serious or somber topic]?" the best answer I can give is, "How can you not?" 

Sure, some topics are "not funny."  Child molestation is not funny.  The Holocaust and 9/11 are not funny.  Then again, just because something is not funny does not mean one cannot joke about it.  The Battle of Agincourt is not funny, but only the French refrain from joking about it--and they refrain from joking about everything.  Olives are not funny.  Indeed, most things in the world are not inherently funny, including--perhaps, especially--the things about which we most commonly joke: Just think about how many jokes begin, "A guy walks into a doctor's office. . . "  Life often presents us with a stark choice: Laugh or cry.  A good cry can be refreshing, but for the most part laughter is better.

They Also Had to Tell Him His Puppy Was Adopted

Just got back from a lovely dinner at FOS's house, cooked by WOFOS.  The food was delicious, a mixture of traditional Jewish and Danish delicacies that I have decided to call the Resistance Special.  (Trademark!)  I now feel no need to eat for the next couple of days.  Alas, the night was not without drama. 

Like your good friend the Solipsist, FOS is Jewish.  While not Orthodox, he is relatively observant--call him Conservative-Plus (I, in contrast, am Atheo-Semitic, at best).  After their marriage, WOFOS converted to Judaism, and she has taken her commitments to the faith seriously: Witness, for example, the homemade matzo ball soup at tonight's dinner.  She did not, however, convert right away--not out of any particular reluctance, but merely due to the fact that, you know, life was happening, and she didn't have as much time as she would need to meet all the requirements.  For in case you didn't know, we Jews are selective: We don't just accept any Tom, Dick, or Brittney.  There are classes to be attended, tests to be taken.  Unlike Jews such as Yours Truly--"Legacies," if you will, born into the faith, who can slide by with mediocre grades ("Mensch's C's."?)--dedicated would-be converts have to work it!  And work it WOFOS did, completing her conversion some six years ago.

Here's the thing, though, her son (OK, SOFOS) didn't know this: He knew his Mom was a convert, but he had assumed that she had completed the process before he was born.  It was only tonight, during dinner, that he discovered the awful truth: He was six years old before his mother was Jewish.

Now, if you know anything about Judaic law, you know that Judaism is a matrilineal faith: If your mother is Jewish, so are you; if your mother is not Jewish, well, then, you're just one of the Goys.  SOFOS was highly disturbed to discover that he had "not been" Jewish until he was six years old.  FOS immediately assured his son that he was, in fact, Jewish, as he (FOS) had taken the newborn SOFOS to the mikvah (a sort of ritual Jewish bath) shortly after his birth and had him officially converted (newborns don't need to take all the tests).  SOFOS seemed somewhat skeptical, but after much reassurance--and a promise to take him to the mikvah again if he insisted--the matter was, at last, put to rest.

I would just like to say to SOFOS: Young man, any woman who prepares matzo ball soup, brisket, and chicken pot pies for a Shabbos dinner is as Jewish as you'll ever need anyone to be.