In the year 5782, the fear of Covid again called for Floridians to watch televised Rosh Hashanah services from the comfort of their living rooms.

So my wife, my dog and I watched a Jewish New Year service on YouTube.

The service beamed out of an Aventura Temple for You Tubers to watch throughout the world.

I listened and kinda remembered the prayers.

I watched the rabbi and the canter davening behind protective clear plastic shields.

They stood in front of the ark dressed in their white suits with blue ties and black and gold tallises (fringed shawls).

The Torah had been removed from the ark.

So I stood and then glanced at Daisy, who sat at attention.

She sat on top of the couch intensely staring at the rabbi and the canter.

Yes, her ears perked up as if she understood Hebrew.

Yes, my white West Highland Terrier may be a reincarnated Jew.

Yes, the soul of a deceased orthodox Jew—maybe even a rabbi—rested in her body.

And yes, her eyes reflected the ark, the rabbi and the cantor.

And yes, Daisy studied other dogs on TV but not with this intensity.

I sensed she understood the holy tongue.

I waited to hear if her barks had a Hebraic tone.

But not a sound resonated out of her jowls.

I pictured Daisy’s head covered with a blue yarmulke emblazoned with a yellow Magen David and a short blue and white tallis wrapped around her shoulders.

I thought:

Would this act of dressing up a dog be going too far a field?

Would dressing my reincarnated dog in temple wear be sacrilegious?

What would Hashem think?

Would Hashem care about what religious clothing humans put on to one of his/her creatures?

Would it matter to Hashem if a Yid was reincarnated into this dog?

What does Hashem think about reincarnation anyway?

What does Hashem think about dogs being allowed into heaven?

At this point my brain yelled, “Enough!”

So I decided to leave the service.

I wanted to wait for the shofar to be blown to observe Daisy’s reaction.

But as I reached the door, I took one last glance at Daisy.

And as if she was made out of white porcelain, she sat with her eyes transfixed on the TV screen.

No muscles flexed, no yawns, no scratching.

Daisy was in the zone.

I wondered what Daisy was praying for?

Yup you guessed it.

She’d pray for a sweet year and to be sealed in the book of life.

So on behalf of Daisy and the whole Laitner family, we wish you, “Shanah Tovah“—Have a sweet, good and healthy (Covid free) year.

36. Thumbs up—Indrajeet

As I scrolled through Audible’s list of short story collections, I saw a name I recognized— Michael Oren.

“What did I know about Michael Oren?” I wondered.

I remembered seeing photos of a good looking young guy standing next to Obama in the Oval Office.

Yeah, he was Israel’s ambassador to the United States.

And boy was he photogenic.

I remembered thinking, “It never hurts having a handsome Jew representing the Promised Land.

Picture Paul Newman in ‘Exodus.’”

I hadn’t a clue that Michael was also a combat veteran, a historian, a statesman, a professor, an author and a political commentator.

So I thought, “I love reading and analyzing short stories.”

“I write short stories.”

Therefore, I gotta click the purchase button.

And I gotta watch as “The Night Archer and Other Stories (2020)” by Michael Oren miraculously appeared in my Audible library.

Now that I’ve read his 51 short stories, I’m so glad my finger touched that button.

Why, because Michael has mastered the art of storytelling.

And Michael:

Dished out pearls of wisdom into my cupped hands;

Made me think about and question some of my life choices;

Taught me some valuable life lessons.

So as I sat in my car, listening and admiring his prose, his use of verbs, his wealth of knowledge on so many different subjects and the tightness of his short stories, I tasted perfection.

So if you want to taste the sweetness of short stories that will make you laugh, cry, cringe and think, I highly recommend “The Night Archer and Other Stories” by Michael Oren.

“I never knew the Kennedy curse story. I think that it is a story better left untold! Believe me it will only ignite the anti-Semites.” Maurice read the words off of his iPhone. Then added, “Mort, I  really liked that piece, especially the part about the Kennedy curse. I don’t think it should be left untold or that it will ignite anti-Semitism. I totally disagree with that reader’s comment.

Ya know why, Mort? Because the story smells like a crock of shit.

Yeah, in the 1937, Joseph P. Kennedy was aboard an ocean liner crossing the Atlantic to get back to the States.

Yeah, Joseph P. Kennedy hated Jews and was pro Nazi and pro Hitler.

Yeah, the Kennedy family has suffered more than most.

Yeah, rabbis and yeshiva students were fleeing Germany on ocean liners in 1937.

Maybe the ship carried a Rabbi Israel Jacobson, a poor Lubavitcher, and six of his yeshiva students.

Maybe Kennedy complained to the ship’s captain about the distracting noises coming from the mouths of those Yids.

Maybe Kennedy demanded, ‘Captain, forbid those damn f’ing Jews from making that racket. I don’t care that it’s their high holidays. It’s annoying and  bothering me and my fellow passengers.’

But Rabbi Jacobson never got even with Kennedy.

Why because rabbis don’t put curses on people. It’s not part of their job description nor our religion.

Because if rabbis could successfully put curses on people, they’d be millionaires.

Anyway, Rabbi’s would never curse the innocent children of anti-Semites.

Why because it would be unjust.”

As Maurice paused to catch his breath, I jumped in.

“But based upon my reader’s comments, I decided to do some more research on the Kennedy hex.

From William Buckley and Edward Klein, I learned that there are several versions of this casting a spell story, but the most popular is that Rav Aharon Kotler, who in 1939, during the voyage of the MS St. Louis, asked Joe Kennedy, who had President Roosevelt’s ear, for assistance in obtaining entry certificates for European Jews and to help lobby the president to work on saving them. Kennedy, a rabid anti-Semite, refused, and Rav Aharon cursed him. The curse mandated that Kennedy should never see joy from his descendants. Other versions attribute the curse to Rav Yosef Yitzchak Schneerson, the previous Lubavitcher Rebbe, or to the Ponevezher Rav.”

“That’s a whole bunch of rabbis taking credit for the same curse. That’s pretty suspicious,” Maurice ventured.

“I doubt all those stories,” I added.

“You know what they say about successful curses?”

“No, what do they say.”

“Successful curses have a thousand rabbinical parents—in this case four— but unsuccessful curses are orphans.”

“Funny. That kinda reminds me of a JFK quote.

So Mort, what did your research teach you?”

“That all the Kennedy curse stories are a pile of crap. No eye witnesses, no diary entries, not even second-hand accounts collaborating the stories. Nothing to backup any of these urban myths.”

“Come to think of it, they don’t teach, How to Curse Anti-Semites in rabbinic college,” Maurice interjected.

“But I heard that witchcraft schools are heavy into curses. Witches, warlocks, witch doctors and fortune tellers have figured out how to earn a livelihood on the curse scam. We Jews aren’t into poking voodoo dolls with pins and needles.

Well Mort, I guess your reader doesn’t have to fear this story being left untold because it’s totally fake.”

“Yeah Maury, but those who believe Jews or their rabbis have magical powers will always believe it.”