Sunday Non-Sermon

I finally found out what the deal is with this.
And here I thought the Jews were too cheap to buy a vowel. You know those Jews. So cheap. Yeah, that’s where the charming phrase “Jew him down” comes from. A real knee-slapper, that.
Gotta love a stereotype.
So, anyway, I’m not a religious Jew by any stretch of the imagination. I don’t do the synagogue thing. I don’t celebrate any of the holidays, High or otherwise. I know very little about any of them. “Is this the one where we eat or we don’t eat?” I wonder. “Is this the one with the hamentaschen?” In fact, for some reason, on Yom Kippur, I invariably seem to start eating earlier than I would any other day of the year. And on Passover, before you can snap your fingers and say “shalom”, I’m eating a pretzel or something else that is decidedly leavened.
Still, I dig “Jew food” (hello, macaroons and matzoh!) and Jewish music (the more melancholy, the better). I adore the Yiddish language. I love a Jackie Mason sort of inflection (I’d attach a little file of myself doing it, but I can’t do it without falling all over myself laughing like a drunk hyena).
Even though I’m not a “Jewy Jew”, I still identify myself as A Jew. I used to get a strange lump in my throat (perhaps I hadn’t thoroughly chewed my knish?) when I’d thumb through my grandfather’s Hebrew texts. I marvelled at the thick black characters and the way he could actually read and pronounce the words that I couldn’t even distinguish. I was amazed when my brother, at his Bar Mitzvah, did the same. (“What the hell is he saying?” 11-year-old me wondered. “And what’s up with the song thing? It doesn’t have a real melody!”) I don’t know. It’s something that’s just baked into my soul or my heart or my liver (with onions) or wherever that sort of thing is branded or coded.
I figured there must be a reason why, on Saturdays, I like nothing more than to stick around the house and do nothing more than read and hang out on the computer and not drive a car. Now, I know that technically I’m probably not supposed to do anything involving electricity on Shabbat (see, I don’t even really know the rules!), but still. I’m doing it my way, in my very little way, and it means something to me.
So I give you permission (my, uh, blessing) to not go to church today, my non-Jew friends and readers. Do your stuff at home. Or not. Whatever. Who am I to say what’s what and what’s not.
Thus concludes my non-sermon.
Enjoy your Sunday. I’m going shopping.