I'm Not Cardinal Cushing

by Madwoman in the Attic

The Rabbi needed to repay the clever guys who had come to Florida from New York to set up the computer-generated diorama of Moses stretching out his articulated arms to receive the Torah on Sinai, Pharaoh's daughter jerkily plucking the pitch-covered basket out of the river, and Samson, blind but quivering mightily, pulling down every pillar in sight. They wanted a barbecue and he would give them a barbecue, but first he had to find a big enough grill, and having bought it, he had to fulfill the law by immersing it in a moving stream. He was sweating under his black hat when suddenly he recalled a boat ramp he had seen that went down into the tidal Intercoastal. Hashem will help me with this, he thought, and straightaway drove to the ramp, unhooked the rear door of his enormous van (after all, he had five children under the age of seven), and started to struggle to get the thing into the water. Just as he succeeded in pushing it to the edge, a boat headed for the ramp and nearly rammed him and his treasure. “Hey Rabbi,” called a woman on board, “I’m Jewish and this is our new boat; if we don't report you for trashing that barbecue grill, will you bless her?”


Madwoman in the Attic is an elderly person who doesn't complain much.