Brit Tzedek v'Shalom

I love financial solicitations. If it weren't for folks asking me for money I don't have and probably wouldn't send if I did, all I'd get in the mail would be bills. But sometimes I wonder how some of these outfits get my name.

The title of this post, in words I can understand, is "Jewish Alliance for Justice & Peace" and you can click on it to see their website.

Now don't get me wrong. I'm the farthest thing from anti-semitic as you can get. I grew up in a predominately Jewish community. In fact, so Jewish that on their holidays our school held classes in a phone booth. The local chrome plater specialized in menorahs, and I'm not making that up.

I know many things that other goyim don't know about their faith and their culture, even some things they don't want you to know, such as how to put fresh coffee on top of old grounds to make that delicacy, the Hebrew Rebrew. I know that Manischewitz Fudgey Chewy Brownie mix is vegan. A Yarmulke is not an Israeli motorcycle that a yenta or shiksa rides on the back of.

I know about their religious observances, such as Overpass and its accompanying Cedar; the cleansing of Purina; the eight-day Chatahoochee thing that comes around Christmas, and the Yon Kipper deal, although, what religion has to do with herring is beyond my comprehension. I know that it takes ten Jewish Minions to sit shivering for the lately departed.

Culturally, Rhythmn and Jews by The Klezmatics gets my toes a-tappin', and I put maple syrup on my fried matzos. Chicken soup can cure anything, including minor oil leaks. Home-cured brisket is to die for.

I dated Jewish girls, and their parents weren't thrilled about it. Except for the Rabbi whose daughter was a pal, he liked me. Oy! Go figure.

And every time I see a Bris, I'm positively dazzled. I am amazed at how brave and optimistic they must be to cut off part of their kid's schwanz before he even gets to see it or knows how long it's gonna be.

Despite my world-class knowledge of the things of the Hebrew persuasion, I'm at a loss as to how they got my name. I think there must be a bunch of gonifs out there that sell mailing lists of inappropriate contacts, like the ones who sold me to the Republicans some time back. These folks should ask for their money back.

"L'shanah haba-ah birushala-yim". See ya there, bros. Just don't call me a tightwad.

Note: As silly shit kept popping into my head, I edited and added to this post several times. At some point, thunder rolled and lightning flashed and a stentorian voice, entirely unlike the run-of-the-mill "little voices" that I've grown so fond of, boomed in my mind's ear, "So stop already!". You, dear reader, are the beneficiary.