Rush A Homa

The Jewish faith has many holidays. More than Catholics. Certainly more than for atheists like myself. According to the all-knowing AI there are no universally prescribed "atheist holidays," as atheism is the lack of belief in gods, not a religion with its own dogma or culture. However, atheists may celebrate holidays for secular reasons, such as Newtonmas on December 25 to honor scientist Isaac Newton, the secular aspects of Christmas, or the Winter Solstice.

This week those of the Jewish faith celebrated Rosh Hashanah, a two-day observance marking the of the lunar year and also Yashim's creation of Adam and Eve, although that day in front of the 169 bar on East Broadway I argued with Nathan, a religious tribesman, that it was impossible that Adam and Eve were given breath of life on the same day.

"Adam came first, thus proving that the chicken came before the egg. Plus this also explains why pig is forbidden by the Torah." Genesis 2:4-3:24 in the Old Testament.

"How so?"

"Eve was created by Yahweh from Adam's rib. Yahweh performed the same surfical extraction for Adam, except the rib came crom a pig, since they are very close to humans, as evinced by recent attempts to tranpant pig organs into humans."

"That proves nothing."

"It's just a thoeery like Einstein's Relativity."

"You are obviously a thinking man."

"Just the musings of a shabath goy."

"A heretic too."

Hapikoyres. The word came from the greek philosopher Epicurus, an ancient rationalist known for disputing Yahweh's or any Gods' influence on the cosmos, thus suggesting that Man and not animals, plants, planets, or the stars possessed free will. I have followed his teaching of a simple life, but understand that free will only occurs when someone wanders off the path of their life. I had been a drinker for over sixty years. Nothing simple about that I'm sober these years and I asked, "Have you ever blown the shofur." The ram's horn announcing the new year?

"Two years ago."

"Mazel tof."

As with many conversation with Jews these years we spoke about Gaza. I proposed the only answer is peace and justice.

"One deay the Jews will have to atone for stealing the land as they had in Canaan in the Old Testament."

I left Nathan with that sentence.

Next week is Yom Kippur. The time of atonement. Why not this year. Free Palestine.

50 States of Hell

Hawaii is the happiest state in America. New York ranks as the unhappiest. It is my state and I wish that I could be with my children in Thailand. Holding my son and daughter is paradise for me. Maybe I might fly to Asia in two weeks.

One good sale would pay for the R/T ticket and I had two new good customers.

Several years ago I was speaking with an older woman in the diamond exchange. Everyone else had early closed for the Rosh Hashana. The nickname for the high holiday of repentance was 'rush-a-home-a' and people get very religious when it comes to getting out of work early.

Only our store and Marsha's were open.

My boss, Manny, was busying with paperwork. His son, Richie Boy, had left at 4 with his Brazilian wife and older brother. They were dining with Manny's ex-wife. Hilda had invited both of us to her table. Manny said the same thing as me.

"Thanks, but not thanks."

Neither of us wanted to schlep back and forth to the island.

Across the aisle Marsha was also in no hurry. She was meeting her good friend for dinner. Marsha had millions. Much more than Manny. Her wealth came from the hard work of her husband and herself. Marsha's wrist was marked by a tattoo. The work of the Nazis. Her late husband was a friend. We shared the same taste for good things. He could afford them. Not anymore.Paul passed away the previous year, leaving Marsha everything.

Marsha's children had begged for her to come to dinner. She wasn't going to the suburbs. She liked sleeping in her own bed.

Me too.

"Tomorrow I'll go to Long Island," Marsha spoke the two words as if the suburbs was purgatory. She had been brought up in Berlin. Her family had lived on Behrenstrasse. The good life. Even three years in a concentration camp had not destroyed her love for Europe. She knew my history of living in Paris and said, "It's not Ile St. Louis."

"Nothing in New York is Ile St. Louis." I had lived on Rue des Deux Ponts with a Vogue model during the 80s. She slept with many men. Never me. It was better that way. "I loved waking in the morning and walking to the cafe opposite Notre-Dame."

A cafe, croissant, and Calvados.

"This city is for animals. I'm sorry, but no one here has any class." Marsha adhered to the old ways and was appalled by the lack of dignity in America. "The people are good, but they are slaves to TV. No one reads anything. They speak about trash and the way they eat, feh."

Her tongue clucked with a disdainful hiss.

The city's restaurants were crowded with wealthy hedge fund bankers. They were the only ones with money.

"The reason that I don't get a laser operation is to avoid seeing the ugliness of this city." A 100 mph storm had devastated my neighborhood the previous evening. "After the tornado I looked at the sky. The end of the storm was beautiful. We have to enjoy these small moments. They make the ugliness forgettable."

Marsha shrugged with surrender.

"Three weeks ago I was in Switzerland. The mountains were everywhere." Her voice softened with the memory. She had been a widow for years and I had offered to marry her on more than one occasion. Her laughter each time made us both happy.

Almost happy as Hawaii.

And that was a good state of mind.

Especially after Manny said that it was time to go home before 5.

It was most certainly 'Rush-a-home-a."

Tannah Shova.

CRAZY MUSLIMS

Five years ago I called my 'niece' Andy in New York to wish her Jewish Happy New Year or Shanah Tova. She had already left the diamond exchange for the day and explained that she was having a post-work drink at the Plaza Hotel bar. "I'm meeting my sister and her wife for Rosh Hashanah."

"Nice, I'm in Brooklyn, otherwise I'd come and meet you." The beautiful brunette and I were ex-workmates from the 90s. We once made out in my old apartment. Andy and I couldn't do anything more than smooch and I became her 'uncle'.

"Uncle Pete, maybe you can tell me, what's with all these bomb attacks? Are these Muslims all crazy?" I could hear other people in the background. None of them were in a panic. New York was safe from any threats at least for today.

"Andy, the bombs are attacks against America were in revenge of our bombings in the Middle East. That attack on the embassy in Benghazi was, because that film about Mohammad really pissed them off." I had seen the fourteen minute trailer. THE INNOCENCE OF MUSLIMS was clearly aimed at setting off Muslims.

"I hear jokes about Jews all the time and I don't go around wanting to burn down anything. My grandfather said that the best thing we could do would be to drop a hundred atomic bombs in the Middle East and get rid of the cockroaches."

"That's how the Nazis spoke about the Jews. It's stupid hate monger. Sorry, but I believed in the one land / many people / one state solution and everyone living as one. It might be an impossibility, but while I'm an atheist, I do believe in miracles."

"But why are they so crazy about an insult? I was watching on CNN_____"

"Andy, you can't believe what you see on TV, especially the news. CNN, NBC, CBS. Fox News. None of them have reporters on the scene and good news takes time to report. Their producers look at the images and then decide what opinion people want to hear." I imagined Andy holding an elegant glass of wine in her delicate hand with men at other tables admiring her eternal beauty.

"You mean CNN doesn't tell the truth?" Andy sounded like I had stolen Santa Claus from Hannukah.

"Not in the least, but the reason for the outrage is that for most of the last century these people had been repressed by dictators. Anyone who attempted to speak out was killed or imprisoned. Any protestors were tortured. Everything was stolen from the people. Everything, but their religion, and this they will not let Islam be defiled, because it is the last of their freedom." It was a simplistic rationale for the murderous attack on the Libyan embassy, but my feeling was a hunch. "What we have to ask is who made this film and what did they have to gain by showing it on 9/11?"

"Who did it?" She really wanted to know.

"Not anyone they said did it." The name Sam Basile had been mentioned in every first report from the CIA. There was no Sam Basile and Osama Bin Ladin hadn’t been involved in 9/11, but I keep that to myself, since everyone had bought the lie. “I think the person with the most to gain____"

"I got to run. Here comes my sister." Now it was Andy's turn to cut me off.

"You have a good New Year."

"I will." She airsmacked a kiss to the mouthpiece and I ended the call. Nobody had invited me to blow the shofur or the lamb's horn, so I was head down to Frank's Lounge on Fulton Street for a beer. Maybe more with Homer and Larry. It was my home away from home and everyone there was family.

Same as was Andy.

It's a small world after all. But big enough for us all in peace__

KOSHER PIG - BET ON CRAZY - 2013

In 2013 business in the Diamond District was spotty during the high holidays of Rosh Shananah and Yom Kippur. The Hassidim disappeared to the various shetls scattered around New York and tourists entered our diamond exchange to gawk at the diamonds and jewelry. At least twice a day out-of-towners asked in complete seriousness, "Are they real?"

"Everything is real," I answered the visitors before launching into a short spiel about the value of diamonds and gold. "Years ago we told the customers that diamonds were a good investment. It was sort of true then, but now diamonds appreciate in value better than houses plus they're easier to convert into cash at times of need."

The tourists nodded with understanding. Their homes had lost value three years in a row. My boss Richie Boy doesn't have the patience for these rubes. Only occasionally they were buyers.

Later that day I sold an Italian diamond bracelet to a Vermont couple celebrating their 60th anniversary. They lived a short distance from Richie Boy's ski shack and he warmed up to them. Selling turned him on like a drag racer on nitro and the Thursday after Yom Kippur he delivered a 31-inch diamond necklace set with GIA-certified .40 ct. diamonds to a hedge fund investor.

The piece was a magnificent blaze of reflected light set in platinum. His customer coined millions every day. He could have shopped at Harry Winston, but Richie Boy and he went back to the 80s. Discos. Both were loyal to each other. Richie Boy returned to the store after closing and said, "That's it. I’ve had enough of Rushahoma. I'm headed out to my surf shack."

“What about tomorrow?” his father asked from his desk. Manny would have remained open 24/7, if the exchange didn’t close at 6.

“Fridays are dead and nothing is deader than a Jewish holiday Friday.” Richie Boy needed his rest. He had rescued the firm through a series of near-miraculous sales. I had helped with a few deals out of the blue and neither of us were broke.

“What about trying to run this store like a business?” Manny was frustrated by his son’s laissez-faire attitude.

“There’s more to life than work.”

“Like what?” Manny lived for his work. His father, Jake, had been the same. Somehow that relentless devotion to the grindstone had skipped a generation with Richie Boy.

“Surfing.” Richie Boy had a place on the beach out in Montauk. Ditch Plains was a five-minute wak from his front door.

"What are you doing this weekend?" asked Marvin, the newly-married diamond dealer across the aisle.

"I'm having a kosher pig BBQ."

"How can pig be kosher?" The balding fifty year-old didn't follow the dictates of glatt kosher, but Marvin wasn't a bacon Jew.

“How?”

“Yes, how?” Marvin was a shrewd diamond buyer. He figured everything for a third of its value. He had been the president of the glee club of a summer camp in the Jewish Alps and was as gullible as a cheerleader on quaaludes.

Richie Boy wickedly went for the complete wind-up.

"A special rabbi consecrates the pig before killing it according to an ancient Hebrew tradition. It predates the Torah." Richie Boy is a great salesman and Marvin admired his chutzpah as well as his ability to thrive amongst the goyim.

"Really?" Marvin was swallowing the possibility of kosher bacon with a kvelling smile.

"100%. Come out to my BBQ and I'll introduce to the delight of kosher pork."

Marvin promised to show up at the beach BBQ. We laughed at his schmielism and Richie Boy prepared for his early departure from New York. His father continued to kvetch like an old yenta. At 83 the only choice were work or death. Manny and I fought every day. Our arguments flushed the blood through his body. I hoped that he lived to 103.

At 59 I had more in common with him than most of the people on the planet.

"You know the reason why pork is tref?"

"It caused people to have worms in the old days." Richie Boy checked the exchange. The religious don’t have a funny bone over pig’s feet. "And don't tell me that it's because Yahweh ordered the Jews give up pork as the ultimate sacrifice."

"Little tastes better than bacon." Richie Boy and I knew each other over 30 years. We had heard enough of our stories enough to give them numbers. I was still capable of catching him off-guard. "Pork is tref no matter what. Leviticus condemned pig for its cloven food, but there is such a thing as kosher pork chops. Not for the Hassidim, but it's cooked with pickle juice and kosher salt."

"Sounds as dry as an old shoe." Richie Boy possessed a better than average epicurean palate.

"Not something I'd eat, but maybe scientists can genetically modify a pig to have feet instead of hooves." I had eaten pigs' foot in Berlin. Schweinefüße was considered the city's signature dish. "Pigs with little toes."

"Stop. That's sacrilege." Manny hadn’t been to the temple in years, but once a Jew always a Jew.

"Sacrilege and heresy are my specialties." I set the alarm and wished Richie Boy a good weekend.

"You can come out on Saturday."

"Thanks, but I got to get ready for my trip." I was heading out to Thailand for a month. It would be the longest that I had spend with since 2008. "If there really was kosher pig I might change my mind."

"You never know."

"I know." Richie Boy and I had spent too much time together over the past years. It was time for a break.

Kosher pig or not.

Stealing the Shofar

Joseph, a deeply religious man, went to his temple for Rosh Hashanah and forgot his prayer shawl [Tallit], so he borrowed one from "the rack" by the door.

At the end of the service, he realised that he really liked this Tallit so much so that he actually decided to stuff it down the front of his trousers and take it home.

After the service when he was walking through the reception line, the Rabbi Lionel stopped him and whispered, 'Joseph, I am sorry, but I saw you stuff a tallit down your pants. Why would you do this?'

Joseph, totally embarrassed and ashamed, explained the situation, whereupon Rabbi Lionel suggested he remove it from his trousers and give it back. By now, the Tallit had managed to slide half-way down his leg. While Joseph was bent over pulling the it out of his pant leg, he accidentally let out a loud fart.

Rabbi Lionel, exasperated, said, 'Joseph ... you took the Shofar, too?'

I Blew The Shofar 2012

Several years ago I was out in Montauk with Richie Boy. The summer rental of his shack had finished the previous Sunday and his beach house was his again. We worked around his cottage in the morning and played with his twins, then hit Ditch Plains at noon. The waves were ankle-high, but the surfers in the water discussed the upcoming swell on Wednesday.

"There's a hurricane out there." Richie eyed the ocean.

"Potentially the biggest waves of the season." Another surfer said sitting on his board.

"I'm taking off the week for Rosh Hashanah."

Nobody argued with Richie's choice. He was almost a local. We spent another hour at the Ditch Plains break, then returned to his shack for a BBQ.

Later I caught the last train to New York and slept in my own bed.

This morning I woke up thinking that today was the High Holy Day of Awe and said as much to AP, my landlord, "Shana Tova.".

"No, it's next Wednesday," AP told me.

"I blew it."

"Better than blowing the chauffeur."

I made a mistake, but what can you expect from a goy?

ps the ocean was flat the next weekend, but lovely all the same.

ROSH A HOMA - bet on crazy by Peter Nolan Smith

Ten years ago I sat in Frank's Lounge with Vince. The owner's nephew and I were discussing a teaching position as a creative writer. The offer sounded good and the Fort Greene native said, "Hell, I have a four day weekend thanks to Rush a homa."

"You mean Rosh Hashanah?" My boss from the Diamond District also called the Jewish holiday 'rush a homa'.

"Yeah, and I bet no one in this bar know what the holiday is? It's not like I have an extra holiday for Martin Luther King Day." The school administrator was right. Frank's Lounge was a black bar. I was the only token white boy in the place. It was a quiet night for a Friday.

"It's the Jewish Day of Awe, celebrating y'shim creation of Adam and Eve." I knew the High Holy Days from working twenty-odd years on 47th Street. "It's also the Day of Judgment and Jews have ten days until Yom Kippur to repent for their sins. Of course I don't believe in that shit, because I'm an atheist."

"Atheist?" Vince rocked on his stool with laughter. "I'm always amused by you atheists. None of you believe in God until you need him."

"Not true." I stopped praying to God years ago.

"You ever hear about this atheist rowing at the lake, when suddenly the Loch Ness monster attacked and grabbed him from his boat. He panicked and shouted "God help me!", and suddenly, the monster and everything around him just stopped.

A voice from the heavens boomed "You say you don't believe in me, but now you are asking for my help?"

The atheist looked up and said, "Well, ten seconds ago I didn't believe in the Loch Ness Monster either!"

Several of the nearest drinkers chortled at this joke.

"This isn't about atheists. This is about Rosh Hashanah and the sins of the world."

"Well, here's to Rosh Hashanah. I got two days off with pay and my next beer is to Yom Kippur. I love a holiday to fish." Vince ordered me a beer too. I was glad for his hospitality. My money was down to $10. I may have sins, but too many to count on a Sunday night.

Shana Tova everyone.