“My Daily Dose” by Mort Laitner
I sip my daily dose of warm sweet coffee.
The aroma bouquet fills my nostrils.
It’s 6:30 in the morning and darkness rests on my windows.
I hear a creaking on my roof—probably a raccoon or a raven.
I stare at my iPhone.
“Do I want my daily dose of internet, my fix, so early in the morning?”
I press the white on-button.
Icons appear—JPOST, the New York Times’ fancy cap “T” in Engravers Old English font, Debka’s feathered Indian pulling his bow and aiming his arrow and Facebook’s white “F” in a sea of blue.
Before I touch FB’s icon, I pause to think,
“Am I going to get “F”ed today?”
Am I asking for my daily dose of anti-Semitism?
After Pittsburgh, at least one Jew-hatred story finds its way onto the Net on any given day.
I scroll down and recognize a photograph.
It’s the wedding-party scene from “Fiddler on the Roof.”
Great memories!
Dad, Mom, my sister, and I see Mostel play Tevye on Broadway in ’64.
It’s my favorite Broadway musical—written by one of my favorite authors—Sholem Aleichem.
“Fiddler” was based on his story, “Tevye the Dairyman.”
You may ask, “How many times have you seen “Fiddler” performed?
“I don’t know.”
But I have seen it performed by professional, semi-professional and high school casts—not to mention seeing the movie five times.
A film in which Topol nailed the role of Tevye.
In the photograph, the groom, the tailor Motel Kamzoil, (I sing the words) rests on his knees, holding his crouching bride. (Tzeitel—Tevya’s oldest daughter)
His hands hold Tzeitel’s waist, Her hands cradle Motel’s bearded face.
The bride wears a white wedding gown. The groom is covered in black—a black Hasidic beaver bent up hat, black leather boots and a black suit.
The Jewish men of Anatevka raise their joyous hands towards the heavens.
The masthead reads, “The New York Times.”
The headline reads, “Baltimore ‘Fiddler’ Disrupted by ‘Heil Hitler, Heil Trump’
Is nothing sacred in America?
Was this a scene from a Mel Brooks’ movie “The Producers?”
Would this Baltimore disrupter follow his “Heils” by singing “Springtime for Hitler in Germany?”
He didn’t.
But he raised his hand straight up in a Nazi salute.
Some theater-goers ran straight for the exits fearing a hale of bullets would follow the Heils and the salutes.
I wonder, “What would I do?”
Ushers escort the disrupter out of the theater. (He won’t be allowed back.)
The Baltimore police didn’t arrest the nut job. They said,”He’s protected by the First Amendment. You can find it in our Constitution. He yelled the words during intermission and he was drunk.”
Hadn’t these cops heard about the exceptions to the free speech rule? You can’t yell, “Fire” or “Heil Hitler” in a crowded theater playing Fiddler.
I expected the cops to give out prophetic advice: Alcohol has a way of freeing the tongue.
But they didn’t.
I think about the Tevye’s travails, This poor Jewish milkman, living in the Pale of Settlement, facing Czarist pogroms, trying to maintain the traditions of his people as outside disrupters encroach on his life.
I ponder the milkman’s words:
“A fiddler on the roof. Sounds crazy, no? But here, in our little village of Anatevka, you might say every one of us is a fiddler on the roof trying to scratch out a pleasant, simple tune without breaking his neck. It isn’t easy. You may ask ‘Why do we stay up there if it’s so dangerous?’ Well, we stay because Anatevka is our home. And how do we keep our balance? That I can tell you in one word: tradition!”
I consider how Tevye’s traditions went up in smoke.
How he lost his balance, his fiddle and the roof over his head due to a dose of anti-Semitism.
Facebook and The New York Times inject me with my daily dose of anti-Semitism.
My head spins and my roof shakes.
I picture myself precariously balancing on my steep roof.
My black leather boots trying to gain traction on the tear-soaked shingles of my home.
As sunlight cuts through the blinds, I pick up my mug and sip cold bitter coffee.
Mort Laitner, who resides in Cooper City, is the son of Holocaust survivors. He is a writer, producer, lawyer and a public speaker.
