I just flew east (and by “east” I mean SOUTHeast) to Flordia to celebrate my grandfather’s 80th birthday. It was a joyful weekend of family time, tennis and reading. The big event — his birthday party — was at Matteo’s in Boca Raton. Walking to Matteo’s back room, I was reminded of one of our world’s not hidden (but sometimes forgotten) treasures: the women of Boca Raton, Florida. Here’s a look:

Their skin: too tanned and way too stretched.
 
Their makeup: shades of blue. (Think: Kim Kardashian dressed up on Halloween as a drag queen.)
 
Their hair: blond and big.
 
Their shirt: a blouse.
 
That blouse: silk.
 
That silk: patterned.
 
That pattern: animal.
 
Their pants: black and high.
 
Their number one accessory: an old husband who looks older than his overused wallet.
 
Their number two accessory: a Lexus, white in color, thank you very much.
 
Their number three accessory: a diamond ring the same size as Benny’s fist when he was a baby.
 
That ring: upgraded in 1994 when Murry sold the business.
 
Their abode: luxury condo in a gated community, surrounding a golf course with a club house.
 
The food at the club house: shitty (other than the choose your own chopped salad).
 
Their grandchildren: spoiled Cornell grads (the males with too much body hair, the females with too much boobs).
 
Their game: gossip disguised as mahjong.
 
Their sister: worthless, but “I’m simply not up for getting into it now, thank you.”

Guilt, ah what a beast she be. Merriam-Webster dictionary defiines her as follows:

1 : the fact of having committed a breach of conduct especially violating law and involving a penalty; broadly : guilty conduct
2 a : the state of one who has committed an offense especially consciously b : feelings of culpability especially for imagined offenses or from a sense of inadequacy :self-reproach
3 : a feeling of culpability for offense

I prefer the following definition. Also known as a conversation between my mother and me today.

me: So, I don’t think I’m coming home for Thanksgiving…

mom: I didn’t think you were.

me: You sure you don’t care?

mom: We’re coming out there a month later!

me: Cause I feel bad…

mom: (O.S) What?

BEAT

mom: You thought she might come home?

me: What?

mom: Nothing, dad thought you might come home.

me: I think I have to work

mom: You do what ever you want to do! Whatever, we wont mind either way…

AND SCENE.

Guilt is something that I believe gets overlooked when it comes to Jews.  Catholics have been trying to lay claim, but I’d like to argue that the guilt that Jews experience is actually worse.  The guilt we encounter is almost always intertwined with a “Whatever you want is best” or a “I trust you will make the right decision” or “Don’t worry about, me I’m fine.”  In other words, the guilter is allowing the guiltee to make his or her own decision!  SO much worse.  It’s one thing if the guilter were simply explaining how sad they were that you were not doing whatever they were requesting, but then to leave it up to you!  I’m in pain just thinking about it.

This double whammy of sorts comes about because Jews always do want what’s best for you, it’s just that we already know what’s best for you and we trust that you will most certainly come to the same conclusion once you see the obvious light. But do whatever you want, really.

Ask any Jewish kid (or any gentile child (un)fortunate enough to have gone to temple), and he will tell you that temple sucks. ”It’s booooooring.” And to some degree, little Ari Helfman is right. PARTS of temple are boring — major parts. But, there are some parts that are awesome!

TEMPLE IS MAGIC! Did you know that?  It is. The best part about turning 13 certainly wasn’t the braces, big hair or cracking voice. No, it was donning a tallis…finally! There is a way to tie a knot in such a way that when you pull on the string the knot disappears, and tada! MAGIC! A kid can pass hours and hours tying the knot, tapping his sister’s arm so that she can watch, performing the amazing feat, and starting over, all while the Rabbi is droning on and on about tzedakah in some foreign language that sounds like he is clearing a chunk of horseradish from his throat. (And, by the way, even if the Rabbi was talking in English, it still sounds foreign because WHO CARES?!?!)

TEMPLE IS LOVE (or some reasonable facsimile thereof)! Survey a handful of Jews about their first kiss, and at least a bunch of them will tell you it was at Temple (and if it wasn’t at temple, it was at summer camp, which surely will be discussed in a future posting). Mine was with a then pre-pubescent girl (who is now married with twins) behind Temple Emanual in Woodcliff Lake, NJ next to a bench that was donated by some prominent local Jewish family most likely to remember a departed loved one. Sorry adonai, I didn’t mean any disrespect, and if you took offense, blame my buddy Mike who pressured me into it.

TEMPLE IS A”MAZE”ING! I can’t really speak to this one, because I was a tame and well behaved kid. But, a ton of my contemporaries seemed to enjoy taking off their shoes, untucking their shirts and racing around the labyrinth of temple hallways. It looked like fun from the vantage point of behind the table where good boys stood straightening out the maroon stacks of the Gates of Repentance on the high holidays.

TEMPLE IS SONG! (Note: I include this part really only for my brother’s or sister’s benefit should either of them happen to stumble upon this entry.) May we be blessed as we go on our way.  May we be guided in peace. May we be blessed with health and joy. May this be our blessing. Amen. Amen. Amen. May this be our blessing. Amen. May we be sheltered by the wings of peace. May we be kept in safety and in love. May grace and compassion find their way to every soul. May this be our blessing. Amen. Amen. Amen. May this be our blessing. Amen. (Also, Karen, Heenay-mah-tov-ooh-mah-nayeem!) (And, Mark, Sim-sim-shalom!)

TEMPLE IS “DRUNK” FUN! Shots of manny all around! (See http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Manishevitz).

Do you believe me now? You should. Even little Ari Helfman would agree (and he didn’t end up going to a very good college…but it’s fine because academics really weren’t his thing)! And on that note, Happy New Year!

Fall is my favorite season. The smell of foliage (or the wish of it in LA), new pencils, books, sweaters, shiny new shoes and the promise of new beginnings.  That probably sounds familiar to many, but if you’re Jewish the fall also includes SAT Prep, Mrs. Macy, the math tutor, dance, tennis and piano lessons and, of course, Hebrew School.  And even after all of that, I still love this season.

Education is probably the most important thing in a Jewish household.  No summers were spent just palling around at the local park.  Summer programs and camps with SAT prep is where we were.  And between all of the extracurriculars and tutors during the school season, you hardly have a second to decompress as a young adult. (Forget adult, the wait-list to get into my niece’s Jewish preschool puts Harvard to shame.)  Mrs. Macy was out our house so much that my brother, David, and I had a ritual when she was tutoring.  Whoever was being tutored was victim to the silent laugh and point behind her back which resulted in the other ritual.  You know the good ol’ clenching of the jaw please-don’t-start-laughing during the algorithm lesson.  And yes that was Mrs. Macy you saw at the raw bar at David’s college graduation party.

See Jews are no fools.  We knew that we weren’t going to be able to muscle our way to the top, unless of course, you consider the brain a muscle.  Our people have been the constant in heads of state (the Jewish one), CEO’s, COOs, lawyers, doctors, and of course heads of the most important Entertainment industry.  It’s not as if people of other descents could not also hold these positions, but we’ve just got a head start.

In fact, on my recent trip to Israel I was a part of  a conversation who’s topic was “the Jews have invested so much in education since the Holocaust and we are now really seeing/reaping the benefits.”  Say what you will, but it is my humble opinion that even before the Holocaust (By the way, see INGLORIOUS BASTARDS immediately) Jews have made education a huge priority.

The pressure to get into a good college in my house was compounded by the fact that my parents met and fell in love in college.  It was a given that my siblings and I would have a magical university experience and nothing less would be tolerated.  Pressure*, much?   I consider myself lucky to come from a people who impressed that nothing could be accomplished, including finding a mate, without study.  (Incidentally, my two siblings and I all went, but none of us married as a result.)  This comedian, yeah I’m talking about me, studied international politics at a really good college.  Have I ever, professionally, done anything with that degree?   Well no, but I can speak a language or two, kinda know what’s going on in the world and still have my pencils on the ready.

So the Fall and all of her glory has always been my favorite time of year, if nothing more than for the possibilities that she presents.  And I personally love that the Jewish New Year is in the Autumn, it always seemed to make much more sense to me than in the miserable dead of winter when, frankly, nothing seems possible.  So on this erev Rosh Hashanah I wish you a happy, healthy!   I have to go to Target now to check out the new notebooks,  just for fun!

*Please note-  my good education is waving red flags screaming not to use the word “pressure” twice in an essay, but I just didn’t feel that thesaurus.com gave me a better option.

We Jews love killing multiple birds with but a single stone. With that in mind, check out www.funnyordie.com/allenhere/blog for five posts I wrote/will write as the Funny or Die featured blogger of the week for this week (i.e. the week of August 31).