I always used to wonder what it would be like to put on robes and fly to a far away country and tell scantily clad indigenous folk about god and salvation and hell and all those other things that make for great bedtime stories. Now I kinda know.
An epic feel-gooder in three acts:
The smell of baking challa wafts through the District as Moishe prepares for Shabbat dinner.
Moishe: Welcome!
Neophyte: What's Jewish mean?
Moishe (thumbing Solomon-like beard): Hmmmmmmm.
Three months later. Neophyte brims with curiosity. Again Shabbat. Neophyte lights candles proudly.
Neophyte: ...l'hadlik ner shel shabbat.
Moishe: What's ner?
Neophyte (playing with braids): Idiot.
Neophyte no longer neophyte. Now full-fledged Jewess, overbearing motherly eye and all. Spends the holidays in Israel. Runs back to Moishe to share.
Moishe: How was Israel?
Jewess: An ablution in the mellifluous tributaries of my soul, the carpet on which I might abscond the gaucherie of the everyday.
Moishe: What's carpet?
Jewess: Huh? (awkward beat) I feel Jewish now, is pretty much the point of this whole thing, and it feels good, and you helped me--and continue to help me--to feel that way. So thank you.
Moishe: You wanna dance?
Moishe and Jewess twirl to Dixie jazz. Curtain.
Adam in DC
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