Not Chosen, Just Posin'

I just got a job with a Jewish magazine. I'm not Jewish. They think I am.


Friday, December 22, 2006

Compliments of the Goldstein twins...


When I initially started this job and blog, my friend Aaron of the go-to group told me that, "Jews love to talk about mohels; anything about circumcisions--ha, ha--that makes us laugh."

Well, if this self-approved stereotype is true, you're in for a treat. Last night I flew in to see my parents. My dad picked me from the airport up and, for some reason, decided it was time to let me in on a little family secret.

"You can't say anything, but your grandfather wasn't circumcised until two years ago. The doctor told him it was healthier. He called me after it was done and told me he hadn't looked yet but was excited to see his new self."

Dumbfounded, my only question was, "Wow, did that hurt?" Obviously.

Then dad breaks into a mohel joke (honestly, he must have sensed my newfound identity because we've never discussed circumcisions or any related fodder. Spiritual osmosis? Hmmm...):

"Have you heard about the mohel who saves the foreskins and turns them into wallets? He says they're very versatile. Rub on 'em and they turn into briefcases." Har, har.

But dad's not done, "Did you hear about the mohel who works for tips?" Another knee-slapper.

From here we talk about the Hasidic practice where the mohel, well, you know... I just learned about it last week. My dad, two months ago. If only I had known just half of this before I shared my disgust of brisses in front of my colleagues (I'm not linking to this post on purpose). My father is evidently a whole lot more avante-garde than myself.

Anyway, grandpa was 79 when he had his.

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