The Wring of the Lord
Leon Trotsky and Meyer Lansky evidently were unavailable, so I was the synagogue’s third choice to conduct this Friday’s Sabbath service. But am I ready to be the Jewish Elmer Gantry? My first attempt at faith healing proved rather tactless. I thought the lady was paralyzed and I laid hands on her botox. My thumbprints literally left the impression that she had been lobotomized. The synagogue’s malpractice insurance is dealing with it.
As part of the Sabbath service, I will be discussing this week’s Torah portion. Here is a summary of it: the Israelites moved to Kibrothhataavah after we were caught stealing the towels at Ramada, then on to the more pronounceable Hazeroth, then Rithmath because the schools were better, then Rithmonperez for the lower property taxes, and forty-seven campsites later Aaron died. He may have been 125 years old; he certainly felt it.
I have to believe that every word of this story is true because it is soooo boring. “And they set out from Terah and encamped at Mithkah.” Any fabrication would have enlivened it. “The dragons of Mount Shepur attacked our encampment–eating Aaron alive and carrying off Zipporah to breed a race of fire-breathing flying accountants.”
Hey, this is a Reform Temple. I can get away with it.