Are You Kosher? (24 page)

“Bitch,” Jason said under his breath.

“I love a hairy man,” one of the queens added.

The rabbi smiled and said, “I told the two of you that this was going to be an interesting time of getting to know one another better. Did I not?”

“Yes, Rabbi, you did,” Bryan said.

“That’s why I like to tell people that he has the brains in the family,” Jason added.

“It’s why my mother spelled my name with a “y,” so people would not confuse it with brain.” They both started laughing again, as did their gay guests. I just kept thinking to myself that there was no risk whatsoever of anyone confusing this faygelah with a “Brain.”

“I need to say something,” Bubbe chimed in. I had almost forgotten that she was even there. “What the hell is going on around here?” she asked.

“Other than the chopped liver being delicious, nothing, Mrs. Glassman,” said Jason.

“Are you both faygelahs?” she asked.

“Well I guess it’s true that the mind fades with age,” one of the queens said.

“That is an unfortunate way to talk about anyone,” the rabbi said.

“I’ll talk to you in a minute!” Bubbe pointed at her. Mom was back at the bar.

“Mrs. Glassman, this is the best gefilte fish that I have ever tasted,” one of the queens said.

“Coming from a person who puts other men’s shmekels in his mouth, I can’t take that as a compliment.” Now it was a party. The jaws of every faygelah and the rabbi dropped. I guess that it was not an uncomfortable position to physically be in, but I was glad that I was on her side. Bubbe positioned herself in a posture of defiance and made it quite clear in her own subtle way that she was not pleased with the events that had unfolded on this particular evening.

“I am shocked,” she said, almost looking as though she had been physically wounded. “I am appalled and horrified to know that the two nice boys that I thought had moved in next door were nothing more than a couple of shmekel-kissing faygelahs.” She called them “shmekel-kissing faygelahs,” this was awesome! “I’ll tell you something else,” she continued, “if you are going to live next door to me, you better respect the neighborhood. No faygelah happy-to-see-you parades, or dancing around in women’s underwear. I already yelled at Izzy about that.”

“Thank you, Bubbe!” I yelled—one time when I was drunk and she has never let me forget it.

“You little faygelahs better respect this neighborhood or else. My wooden spoon does not discriminate.” She turned and started to head out of the house, grabbing me by the arm. “Come, Izzy, before you catch gay.” As we left, she turned once more to inform our new neighbors that they could keep the dishes that she’d brought the food on. “I’ll never get faygelah germs off of them anyway,” she said. “Those are even worse than Nazarite germs.”

I will say this for Bryan and Jason, they keep to themselves for the most part, but it is obvious that they are trying to get under Bubbe’s skin. Maybe they lost a little bit of intelligence when they converted to faygelahism. Is that not politically correct? What the fuck do I care? We’ll just add the fags as another group that want to see me dead. I only wish that if they insist on playing music during the Sabbath, they could at least play something other than the greatest hits of Gloria Gaynor.

Chapter 42

Coming to Terms

By now I think that you can all understand why I have spent so much time and effort going through various types of therapy over the years. I have issues, most of which are the direct result of my own actions, but the fact of the matter is, I need help. After almost six thousand years of living among all of you, I have grown quite cynical about the path that the human race is following. How can I not? Imagine if you were me. How do you think you would feel if you were forced to watch the constant debacle of the human condition? I bet that you would be writing a book as well.

As I look out of my window, I can see that the sun is setting and the Sabbath is coming to an end. This is just one of the many things that I have to come to terms with. Here we are on the Sabbath, a very holy day for Jews around the world, and I am busy writing my memoirs. I could have very easily waited until a later date, but this just seems to follow the theme of my life. Paradoxes and contradictions. I can see my guilty, albeit sexy, face in the reflection in my window and I know that perhaps the whole reason behind writing this book was to help me more than it was to make fun of all of you. Poking fun at all of the various religions, nationalities, races, and politicians is fun to do, but ultimately, I am coming to terms with the fact that I did this to help me explain myself.

I can make many excuses for why I am who I am, but when all is said and done, the simple truth of the matter is that perhaps I am just tired. Tired of all of the façades and charades that mortals like to play with each other, not being true to who they are. Walking on eggshells is one thing; try doing it over six millennia. It’s exhausting. The entire world has been caught in the grips of this political correctness for far too long, and for someone like myself, it is unbearable to watch. You all love to generalize yourselves into classes and groups, such as religion, ethnicity, nationality, and race. Yet you get offended when someone does what you have already done to yourselves. Generalize and classify. What you cannot appreciate is that, for every single one of you, life truly is too short and there are far more important things to worry about other than if you are a Jew living next door to a Muslim, or if you are an Italian who just had a black family move into the neighborhood. Mind your own business and go on living your life. That’s how you can come to terms.

Self-awareness is a powerful thing and I have come to realize that the one great thing about taking the time to write my thoughts down is that it has shown me the kind of person I really am. I have come to terms with the fact that I am an extremely opinionated person who feels no shame about expressing himself. I have learned that the vast majority of my quirks are self-inflicted, and I know that many of you will not agree with what I have said. This chapter is not about you, though; it is about my coming to terms and examining myself under a microscope.

For starters, as I already stated, here I am writing on the Sabbath. That’s just wrong and all of you know it, even the goyem among you. With the exception of the last thirty years or so, I was living the life of a kosher Jew, yet I routinely feast on the blood of mortals. Not only does that violate Jewish law, but it is also not exactly something you can bring up in therapy. I tried with Dr. Freud; he didn’t believe me. I have to deal with the fact that this is who I am. I am not trying to say that I hate my own existence, because I don’t, but you have to admit that it is a pretty twisted way to get by in the world.

That is another thing that I have to come to terms with. I have poured out my heart and revealed secrets that were never meant to be repeated to any mortal. I have put a lot of faith in all of you. I’ve shared my real name, where I live, and the fact that I am a vampire. Almost six thousand years of secrecy have been shattered in one evening. I can only hope that those who are closest to me can find it in themselves to forgive me and not be too upset at what I have done. I am hoping that by seeing what I have done, they, too, will be able to come to terms with themselves. This is an interesting life that we live. It is not for everyone and it is definitely not for just anyone.

I have read back what I have written and have to come to terms with the fact that many of the less enlightened readers will label me as some kind of racist or bigot, perhaps even a hate-monger. I can quite comfortably tell all of you that I am none of these very ugly things. I am simply writing what is on my mind. This is in no way to be misconstrued as an apology; I do not apologize for having an opinion, and when many of you, the more enlightened ones, take the time to realize that I am just voicing what many of you already think, you will appreciate that I am voicing my distaste for the follies of human existence. I am sure that I am going to receive death threats, name calling, and all other forms of ignorant banter. My only request is that you send these to my agent, because I don’t do e-mails.

Maybe I could have been more sympathetic to those around me, a little gentler in my verse, but that is not who I am. I have to come to terms with the fact that I have a very blunt personality. I could be a bit more tolerant of the shvartzes, Catholics, Jews, Muslims, and anyone else that I have offended, but I am too old to worry about the delicate sensitivities of those around me. I am not a hateful man. I actually love people; I just get very aggravated at humanity. You would, too, if you could watch it from the view up here. Please keep your hippie, tree-hugging, liberal opinions to yourself, or write your own book.

That brings me to another thing that I have to come to terms with, my love for the Republican Party. Not exactly a popular choice in this day and age. Let me make one thing absolutely clear, I do not believe that any politician can be trusted as far as I can throw him or her, but the Republicans are at least too senile to do any real harm. I like to think of Democrats as terrorists. There is nothing more dangerous than a lunatic with a cause, and even though I would not go so far as to refer to Democrats as lunatics, they are without a doubt not paddling with both oars in the water. Do you know who I like? That Tea Party. Or should I say, their leader, the former governor of Alaska. I could do some serious feasting on that. What can I say? I have always had a thing for the rugged, outdoor type, and she fits the mold. I have come to terms with the knowledge that I sometimes don’t even know what I want when it comes to my elected officials. That’s why I don’t vote; I reserve the right to kvetch.

Coming to terms with your own self-worth and understanding who you are is perhaps the most important thing that one can do. Look at some of my friends and acquaintances that I have written about. Jerry and Shlomo both know that they are shmendriks, but they are happy in their ignorance. Noah knew that he was a belligerent drunk and an abusive man, but he was comfortable in his own skin and his place in the world. That little faygelah Nostradamus had to have known that he was completely and unapologetically full of shit, but he was happy. Did you ever see him when he was not smiling? I mean other than the evening that he became intimate with the business end of Bubbe’s wooden spoon.

And while we are on the topic of Bubbe, let me address her situation. It may be very easy for almost every one of you who are reading this to think that she is some horrible golem of a woman who takes no greater satisfaction in her life than tormenting those around her. You would be wrong. Zena Glassman is actually one of the kindest, most caring, nurturing, and loving women that I have ever been fortunate enough to know. I am confident in the knowledge that there is nothing that she would not do for me. She can be a bit abrasive at times, but you have to appreciate that she has been living among you mortals for longer than I have. I’m amazed that she has not written a book yet. That would be a long one. She would probably have to devote at least eight chapters just to my exploits. She has come to terms with the nature of who she is. She makes no excuses and does not seek anyone’s approval; she is who she is. If you do not like it, fuck off. She may not use that particular language, so I will take poetic license and speak on her behalf. We can all learn a lot from her. The world would probably be a much better place if everyone could be as honest as she is. Am I right? I don’t know, but it sounds good.

I think that the whole process of writing these memoirs has brought me to a new level of understanding who I am and maybe even coming to appreciate the fact that I can talk myself blue in the face and none of you are going to change. Maybe it is ultimately about me. I would like it if you took something away from this, but I doubt that any of you will take the underlying theme to heart. You all need to stop taking yourselves so seriously. Stop worrying so much about offending someone. If they are going to let words hurt them, then the problem lies with the offended.

My life has taken me on some pretty interesting journeys and I like to think that I have learned something from every experience. I don’t get offended; I mock it and learn to appreciate the source. The only things that I do not abide is when someone goes after my family or close friends. I am coming to terms with the fact that I cannot change the world. I didn’t create the damn planet after all, that’s G-d’s headache.

There is much for me to feel guilty about, but when I sit back and look over what I have written this evening, I am fine with who I am. I think I am. No, I am sure of it, I am. I’m still winging it as I go and I have been around for almost six thousand years. I guess I should lighten up on all of you just a bit. It doesn’t matter to anyone except you on what course your life has taken you. If you have chosen the life of a faygelah, be the best one that you can be. When you see that big, bulging shmekel staring you in the face, bear down, grab hold of that sloppy meat whistle, and let it know who’s the boss.

If the events of your life have led you to become some insane Jihadist, don’t aim for the bus stop; drive that van into a shopping mall. That’s who you are; come to terms with it, my towel-wearing friends.

For all of you Ebonics-speaking shvartzes out there, keep doing what you are doing. Continue to speak in unintelligible phrases, continue to name your children made up names that have no cultural or racial significance. It drives the white folks crazy. Remember that if whitey can’t understand what you are saying, he can’t convict.

And for all of you touchy-feely priests, relax and don’t get your skirts in a knot. With every batch of former victims of your perverse sexual exploits who cry foul, there is a new batch of unwitting children just waiting to have some creepy old man play with his new boy-toy in the rectory. Come to terms with the fact that this is who you are.

As for me, I think that I am actually coming to terms with the notion that we are all hypocrites in one form or another. Maybe not hypocrites, that is a pretty strong word. I prefer paradox. I am a paradox. My life has been one ever since my conversion at the age of eighteen. I am thinking about what I have done and what I have said, and I believe that I might get a good night’s sleep tonight.

I feel that I am basically a good man who can sometimes speak in terms that are a bit off-putting to many, but I can at least be confident in the fact that they are honest opinions. I have been nothing but honest with my views of my beliefs, convictions, and opinions on everything that there is to have opinions on, including my claims of having a libido to rival that of the best-paid porn stars. If I was just a bit longer, I would be famous and not have to write a book.

I really feel good about all of this. I think that I am coming to terms with the fact that maybe I am not the one who is screwed up; it’s all of you. You are the ones that have made me neurotic, it’s all your fault. You’ll be hearing from my attorney. You all walk around like zombies, without a voice or personal opinion out of fear that you are going to offend someone. Well, the normal people of the world have to pick up your slack. Do me a favor, stop apologizing for things that don’t require one. Grow up and come to terms with the fact that you are all inherently fucked up. I just did and I feel much better for it.

By the time you realize that life is too short to worry about every little piece of mishegas, it is going to be too late. Take a deep breath and learn to laugh not only at yourselves, but at everyone around you. Please come to terms with your own existence and be thankful for every moment that you have to screw up. There are starving people in China that don’t have that privilege. You didn’t think that I was going to go the entire book without making fun of the Chinese, did you? I’ll finish up with them in the sequel. Right now, I don’t have the strength.

I am at peace right now. I am happy with what I have said. I know that many of you will think that I am some terrible person, but do you want to know something?

Gay coccum offum yom
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Look it up. I feel much better.