Nope. I still don’t see it.
I’m looking for my Jewish nose. I know I have it, for sure. In a world full of diversity people can single me out in a snap. And Yoelish, he’s got it too. You can just imagine how our children look.
When I go to a place that’s not dominated by Jews, I feel like I’m walking with a gallon lump in the middle of my face. I'm accutely aware of my nasal entirety. Like a family of us cartoon creatures. In shopping malls, amusement parks, hotels and especially the theater. I get stares.
Sometimes I get more than that. Like the talkative cab driver that quotes the New Testament in eight places, showing off his religious knowledge. Then there’s the conservative 50 year old woman with the china doll hair that pats me on the back, counts my children three times and starts talking about the war in Iraq as if I can fix it, due to my great connection with God.
There are those from out of town that sigh loudly, and wonder when orange/maroon hair stopped being cool enough. They look at the action on my head, then the line running along my stockings, over to my boy's dangling facial thingies. Then they assume my tongue is pierced .
Some people walk quickly, so to prevent being involved in my suicide explosion. They grab what they can and get out of my way. They keep looking back with menacing glances and then quickly put in a phone call to the FBI.
I like the fellow Jews that don’t wear their bris on their face. They sound like your average goy (bald in front, pony in back) and suddenly come up to you with a perish on the parsha. What do you want of me? Did they just announce that I’m a Rabbi, available and looking?
It’s not good to compare me to the Amish. I suffer from a little envy. We got the beard AND the side-curls (and then some more) but we don’t get a chocolate factory to go with our little town. I betchya the Hershey's meant us. Just look at the name. And imagine all the tourism we could have! I'd be a sensation just by 'riding my buggy' to the 'market' wearing my 'bonnet'.
One particular instance ticked me off. It was a long time ago, when my husband and I stayed at some all-inclusive hotel in the Sunshine State. We were lounging around at the bar nightime when a man came up to me and informed me that there will be an adult performance.
“Okay” I said and sought out another non-broken pretzel from my Schwartz bag. C-u-runch.
The guy just stood there, hovering.
I love those tall chairs next to the counter and silly football games. Yoelish and I mock these players as if we’re wiser than the world. I was watching the HomeDepot commercial for the eighth time by running after the words on the screen with my mouth. That freckled guy started clearing his throat.
“Ahem. Ahem. Ma’am. I said there will be a show for, for, for adults. It’ll be like, a little offensive.”
“Good, okay.” I repeated absentmindedly.
“Ma’am. I’m not sure if you understand. They make fun of ---“ his hands tuned in a washmachine cycle “sexnstuff”.
I smiled up to that fidgety thin fella. “I can handle it Sir.”
“Are you sure, are you sure?”
The vein on my forehead popped out.
“I’ll get a nose job, okay! Just leave me alone!”