The Revolution of the Species

We are a minority if there ever was one. Think about it: What is the percentage of Jews in the world population? Frum Jews? Ex-frum? Chasidim? A real minority, An Am Segula – a chosen nation. A nation of the very few.

And I am the lucky one. I’m going to Heaven because Abraham isn’t going to let me get into Hell. And if Abraham doesn’t like my privates I can always rely on my children’s Kaddish powers. I am part of the most sarcastic and naïve society on earth. Yup, cynical and gullible at once. It makes for the best cholent company. Speaking of which, it is the cholent that makes us irresistible. What do these goyim know anyway? My shikse friend loves kishke so much, she eats it cold with her morning coffee. Nu, why the hell would I want to be a goy? Or have little goyim kids who would eat the kishke in the morning. Cold. And with coffee.

I adore my status quo, the Chasidic part of me, the one I’m revolting against. Yup, it is fun to revolt against it too. Especially when the truth and the fun is on your side. How much fun is it? Listen to this recent conversation I had:

Y: You also believe in the Revolution?

Me (eyebrows raised, not sure that I understood Yoily correctly): In the what?

Y: In the Revolution. Nu? The one where the Goyim believe that all people were created by the monkeys.

Me (he is not that stupid, or is he?): Created?

Y: Neh, you know what I mean: The we’re-all-descended-from-monkeys mishigas.

Who else can appreciate this conversation? And if you think it goes only one way, think again. The other day a goyte was contemplating the heimishe bus service.

W: Where do these buses go?

Me: Huh?

W: Those buses where whole families go up with a lot of suitcases and come back a few minutes later with the same suitcases?

Me: What?

W: Come on, the one that parks on Lee Ave.

Me: Okay.

W: So where do these buses take you? Someone told me it’s an internal bus service.

Me: (shrugging shoulder, scratching hair, shaking head, making faces) Which one?

W: Those old buses with the name on the side.

It took me a while to figure out that she is referring to the Monroe Bus, or the Boro Park one, or perhaps the Monsey one. The buses, its people, and the luggage looked the same to her.

But why would someone want to leave? All the chesed – the good deeds the community does for each other, right? But why stay? He’s right Yoily; it is revolutionary. And I’m glad to be part of it. And best of all, one could still gain the community’s favors just by speaking the language. What, you think Hatzoloh wouldn’t rescue me without a beard? Can I not enjoy a package from bikur cholim אהן פיאות?

The other day my two friends, S. and M. (yes, I can never shake that image when I see them together – sorry buddies) were overheard making dinner plans.

S (eying the fast food venue down the block): Where are we going?

M (Shrugs his shoulder in typical fashion.): Donno.

S: Aren’t you hungry?

M: I am. (Shrugs his shoulder again.)

S: We should go to Masbia.

M (Chuckles.): I guess. (Another shrug.)

Masbia, a kosher soup kitchen is open even to the unpious who are no longer visibly Orthodox but the Yiddish language gives them access to free food!

Being here and there is the answer. Having it both ways. It works.

So far.