We Don’t Do Retail, Neither Should Hillary: or The Problem with Shiksas

            I read an interesting story in the Jew York Times the other day, about how the U.S. is officially recognizing the Libyan rebels and will release to them 30 billion dollars of frozen Libyan assets.  Sounds like an exciting step in the fight for democracy in Libya, yes? Not to MBM, it doesn't.  That sounds about as smart to me as going to Bloomies to buy the very same dress you can get at a fraction of the price down on Orchard St.  Or for those of you who are not New Yorker’s, it means why should you buy retail when you can get it wholesale for a fraction of the price? 

            For good reason we don't do retail.  Even without the help of learned MBA's, Suzie Ormond, and Bottom Line Personal, we understand that if you cut out the middleman you wind up saving a bundle.  And that's exactly how I look at it.  Regime change, (they called it revolution back then) works like this: You want to buy a democracy (or if not a democracy at least a more friendly, i.e. more controllable government).  The old way was to support the dissidents and rebels.  Surreptitiously, of course, though we were fooling no one.  Then you sat back and waited.  Sometimes you waited quite a while.  But regime change, takes a while, and is costly. That's buying retail.

            Buying wholesale, you cut out the middleman.  You cut out the dissidents. They're not important, they're just the middlemen, just a means to the end, the end being regime change.  Better you go directly to the source:  “Yoo hoo, Mr. Regime, how much for the whole shebang?   We want to buy it all, lock stock and barrel. Just name your price.  Pack up, hand us the keys, and zay gezunt.” (Hasta la vista, baby.)  And that's how you buy regime change wholesale.

            And I know all you private school educated honor students are shaking your heads saying, “MBM, you don't understand politics.  Some dictators are power crazy demonic lunatics, who can't simply be bought off so easily.” To which I say, feh!

            Which reminds me of the time Uncle Max, (who lacked charm and manners, but understood something of the ways of the world) once approached a beautiful young lady standing on a street corner and asked her for a “date.”  The young lady looked disdainfully at Uncle Max and told him in no uncertain terms,  “Mister, I'm no whore.”

            “Oh?” said Uncle Max.

            “That's right,” continued the lady. “I wouldn't sleep with you for a million bucks.”

            “Well then,” said Uncle Max with a smile, “I think we've established exactly what you are, and now we're just haggling over the price.”

            See everyone has their price. Even crazy totalitarian dictators.

            In regards to Gaddafi, some sources report he has been sending out feelers looking for an exit strategy. Contacting French officials in search of an asylum.  And while we may believe he belongs in an asylum what he was really looking for was a safe haven.  And while I'm no real estate tycoon, I think 30 billion can buy a pretty safe haven (in a good school district to boot!)

Money can be used as a carrot or a schtick. Look at Iraq. In the fight for freedom we sent billions of dollars (in suitcases!) that mysteriously disappeared. Now that’s funny.  Billions unaccounted. From the hands of jokers into the hands of jokers.  (Who does the Pentagon’s accounting?  Not a yeshiva brucha.  And what about receipts?  “Always get receipts,” said Uncle Samuel. For the coke, the corned beef and the 3 carrot diamond marquise. And what about traveler’s checks? You too important to sign all those checks?)

Wholesale or retail?  I say spend the money where it will give you the biggest bang for the buck. You can hire a lawyer to sue the seamstress who didn’t finish the alterations, or you can give the money directly to the seamstress and have her do it right this time.  Money can cause tsuris (problems, as in a hiring a lawyer, or paying rebels) or it can be a mitzvah (a blessing, like a nice safe cinderblock compound in (French New) Guinea for familia Gaddafi.  Woody Allen said it most famously (though he was certainly not the first): Take the money and run.

 So carrot or schtick?  You want to leave them laughing or you want them to just plain leave?

And Bubeleh, speaking of carrot and leaving, I'm leaving a nice slice of that Ebbinger's Carrot Cake you love so much out on the kitchen table, but I wouldn't want it to get stale so please maybe tonight you'll stop by, yes?

Independence Day

Happy July Fourth.  In today’s world it’s practically de rigueur to post on Independence Day. To not do so would be seen as unpatriotic and un-American.  Almost as bad as un-fed, (but not as bad as un-dead.) <Insert Bar Mitzvah Tip: Always order more Pigs ‘n Blankets than your caterer suggests. Has your caterer met Aunt Esther?>

            So Happy Independence Day.  And let me say this now: Independence Day Shmendependence Day.  First, independence is highly overrated. Sure it sounds attractive at first, coming and going as you please, doing what ever you want, being your own boss.  But let me ask you this, Mister Independence, how does it feel coming home to an empty house? Whose gonna get you your seltzer now, and whose going to listen to you kvetch.   You think your little chippies want to hear about how that goniff Weinstein is trying to take you to court? 

It’s like I tell my son, “Bubeleh, sure you want to be your own boss, but as the Great Rabbi of Litvok said 'A man who is his own boss has a putz for a worker.' To which the Great Rabbi of Peshaw added, 'A man who has to beg himself for a raise has a putz for a boss.'  Which led the equally great Rabbi Yakov of Canarsie to comment, 'Everyone wants a bigger putz, but two, feh.'"

My brother-in-law Artie is a perfect example.  A lost soul, no idea what he wanted, or how to get it.  Then luckily he got married. And suddenly he had direction. A little voice in his ear telling him.  A happier man you never met.

Men, bless their hearts, need a woman to tell them what to do.  And forgive me for saying this, but their mommas aren’t going to live forever. You understand what I’m saying, yes.

            Which brings up the second point about independence. Sure we fought a war, and sent the redcoats running, but independent?  Whose independent?  Now I know many of you are nodding and thinking “Yes, MBM, this is so true. We are more dependent than ever on foreign oil, foreign imports, and foreign labor.” You may be right, I’m not saying you aren’t, but I try to stay away from the politics.  Let the smarties with nothing better to do talk politics. 

(Which reminds me of my father, who one day was playing pinochle with his friends:

After the cards were dealt the first man sighed heavily, “Oy,” he said.

The second man said “Oy vey.”

Then the third said, Oy vey iz mir.”

And my father threw down his cards and said,  “If you guys are going to talk politics, I’m leaving.”)

 So forgive me, I don’t talk politics (if I can help it). It’s the way I was brought up.  But it’s not foreign influence that keeps us dependent, it’s mother influence. Yes, every time I do something, (cook his flanken, iron his shirts,) my husband looks at me and though, bless his heart he no longer says it, (it hurts to get hit with a skillet, yes).  <Insert education Tip: A cast iron skillet can be a very effective teaching aid.>   Well, even though he doesn’t say it, I can see it in his eyes: “That’s not the way my mother does it.”  She hasn’t done it in decades but he still thinks about how his mother does it.  And ladies, we’re no better.  We hear our mothers too. In everything we do, or don’t do, or don’t do as well. (Yes, we get it from both sides.) I know, they’re only trying to help, but if you want to help come over and watch the kids. 

(Many years ago I was sick with the flu, when the phone rang:

“Hello, darling…”

“Hello Mother” I say. 

“What’s the matter?” she asks.

I say, “I’m sick and I have to pick up the kids from school, then go shopping, because there are some clients coming over for dinner tonight…” 

“Darling, don’t worry. I’ll be out there in an hour. I’ll pick up the kids, I’ll do the shopping, I’ll do the cooking.  You know how Barry loves my brisket…”

“Whose Barry?” I ask.

“Barry, your husband…”

“My husband is Mitchell…”

“Is this 686-3075?”

“No, it’s 686-3076.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Does this mean you’re not coming?”

None of us are independent. And maybe that’s not a bad thing.  Maybe as we come to accept that we are dependent­–dependent on every level–things will get better. If you have something I need maybe I’m not so superior to you.  Maybe I felt I was better than you, or stronger than you, but I need what you have all the same.  So maybe I’m not such a big shot.  Maybe I should have a little more humility and treat you a little nicer. Remember the great Rabbi of Litvok who said, “You catch more men with schmaltz herring than you do with a horse tether.”  To which the Great Rabbi of Peshaw said, “A humble herring on a plate is more enticing than a whole haddock in the attic.”  Which led the equally great Rabbi Yakov of Canarsie to comment, “Who wants a man with herring, even schmaltz herring?  A man with money is much better than a man with herring.  And as to haddocks in the attic, something smells fishy.”

Needing is not fishy.  Asking for, is not fishy. But asking for and not giving back, that’s fishy.  Asking for with your fingers crossed behind your back is fishy.  We live in an interdependent world.  Physicists know this, ecologists know this, cooks know this. Add a little too much garlic, or too little salt and it affects the whole stew.  We’re no longer a melting pot, we’re a stew.  We’re all stewing on this planet. Some of us are even angry.  But being angry doesn’t make one more independent, it just makes it harder to go across the street and borrow a cup of sugar.    

Let’s stop being angry. Let’s cross the street, cup in hand.  Someday they’ll need two eggs.  That’s interdependence. And if you think I’m just talking sugar and eggs, take a look at the Brazilian rain forest, the Polar ice cap, Asian Bird Flu, and Japanese radioactive fallout. Not to mention the economic meltdown of Greece, Ireland and the Euro. They all effect us, and not just because we can’t get parts for our Prius. That’s interdependence. So let’s celebrate Independence Day on July 4^th but on the 5^th through the 30^th lets try celebrating interdependence.

And by the way, Mister Independent, the clothes you dropped off are washed and ironed… so maybe Bubeleh, you could call sometime when you don’t need something cleaned. 

SHALOM TIGER MOM

First the fluff… (like a warm up act… or a good appetizer…try the chopped liver…)

I wanted to call this blog Kneidlach Momma, but I didn’t want to get barraged by posts asking (1) What is a kneidlach? (2) Correcting the spelling of kneidlach, and  (3) offering their bubbie’s recipe for kneidlach. So I went with the more clichéd matzo ball.  Sue me. Now on to the good stuff….

Enough with the Tiger Mom.  You think the woman was the first mother ever to value education, hard work and sacrifice? Please. You think the abundance of Jewish doctors is because little boys with skullcaps like to grow up to be big boys with surgical caps? You think Jewish boys have a natural talent for healing, and an affinity for germs and bacteria?  Don’t make me laugh.  And what about the preponderance of Jewish lawyers? You think Jewish kids grow up arguing, and negotiating? (Well maybe we forget lawyers).  My point is Jewish families have always valued education.  They’ve always set their sights high.  But back in the day august institutions like Harvard and Yale were “member only” clubs.  Jewish boys settled for Hunter College, Brooklyn College, and NYU. And they were glad to get degrees. As were their parents.  Education was important, but it was a means to an end.  That end being the medical degree or the Juris Doctorate.  The SP class (“SP” for special, back when special meant special in a good way) was just the start of the long haul to medical school or law school.

Don’t take my word for it.  Look to the culture and the jokes the culture creates for a peak behind the curtain. Q: In Jewish tradition, when is the fetus viable?  A: When it finishes medical school.

We raised our children emphasizing the importance of education and the value of hard work.  Did we write books about parenting?  Do we get offers from Hollywood? No, we get jokes told about us.  That’s okay we can take it.  It’s part of the sacrifice.

And that’s part of what irks me.  We, the parents sacrificed so that our kids could have a better life.  But today it seems we ask our kids to make the sacrifice. So that they will have a better life.  Which begs the question: Is the sacrifice worth it? Do they indeed have a better life. 

Like many a Jew I’m good at asking questions, and to the frustration of all our gentile friends we’re not so good at answering them.  Indeed we answer many a question with another question. (Why do Jews answer a question with a question? Why shouldn’t we?  But I digress). 

Is the sacrifice worth it? Does achievement lead to a better life? Perhaps the answer lies within this (forgive me) question. Is Tiger Woods happy? Once we would have thought the most accomplished golfer in history was truly happy. Why wouldn’t he be happy? What could Tiger want out of life that he doesn’t have. Truly his sacrifice was all worth it.  But now it doesn’t seem so certain. Running around (literally and figuratively) is not the sign of a happy person. Crashing your car and dodging a swinging nine iron are not the actions of a happy person. 

So I imagine the debate will continue.  But whereas the learned Rabbis of yesterday and today can endlessly debate theological issues, the Jewish mothers have to be decisive and act.  Yes, we can debate the attributes of the perfect matzo ball, or the precise technique for the best brisket, but when push comes to shove, the matzo meal has to be measured and the oven temp has to be set. Jewish mothers have to be decisive, there’s no debate, no wishy washy maybe yes maybe no, and there's certainly none of the, yes but on the other hands.  We make decisions and our whole family lives by them. And so here it is sweet and simple:

Success does not equal Happiness.  All your money, all your achievements, all your prestige does not guarantee a happy life. But happy is happy. 

You tiger moms and tiger mom want to be’s truly want to sacrifice? Then give up the dream of excellence. Don’t live vicariously through your children. Give up the fallacy that when you’re the best you’re the happiest. That’s true sacrifice.

(Learn a little from us, please. You think all our sons the doctors are happy? You think maybe if they had a job at a better hospital they would be more happy?  If they had a bigger practice they would have maybe a better more loving wife? Here’s a clue…Who do you think made psychoanalysis a household word…It wasn’t the gentiles.)

Darlings, remember, please:

Success is not happiness. Happiness is Happiness.

(And bubeleh, call me when you read this…I’ll wait up…you don’t want I should worry.)