Dear Stella is an advice column written by Stella Goldberg – mother, wife, and all around dispenser of wisdom. You may send your questions to her at 1445 Jupiter Street, Queens, NY 10045.
Dear Stella,
I’m trying to be healthier, but my office is filled with junk food! I’m finding it hard to resist the temptations at every turn. What do you suggest?
Trying to Slim Down
Dear TTSD,
I have been having this exact problem myself. You see, last week, I put down I don’t know how many calories in anger eating. You know what I’m talking about – when you’re angry or hurt or sad and you find that cherry cheese blintzes are just about the only remedy? Well, I did my share of that, let me tell you. But no more! I’m back on the healthy food bandwagon. After all, I’ve got to fit into my mother of the bride dress!
“What?!?!” you say? Well, gentle readers, let me catch you up. Ok, maybe not catch you up on the whole story – let’s just stick to the one important fact – my daughter, Frannie, who is a good sweet girl, has decided to marry a nice boy named Sol. They’re very much in love and will be married very soon. Why wait when you’re in love? That’s what I always say. So sometime in the next 2 to 3 months, they’ll be marching down that aisle. So much to do in such a short amount of time! I can’t believe it! My little girl all grown up and getting married under her own volition because she loves the man she’s going to marry and wants to spend the rest of her life with him – no other reason than that.
First things first, we had to secure things with the temple. We explained to them that this was something of a rush job – Rabbi Zedek understood and said he’d take care of everything. Second – a dress! We’re going with a nice ivory color – it looks much better against Frannie’s skin than white. Probably with a pretty empire waist. She has such a nice bust, you’d want to draw the eye up, and not toward any problem areas that might exist down below. Tuxes, caterers, a cake, and all the champagne people can want – though none for Frannie – she wants to keep a level head so she can enjoy her big day.
So that leaves me dieting! Oh, boy! Here we go again. I’ve decided to do Atkins. I hear it’s a good way lose weight fast, and since the day fast approaches, that’s what I’m looking for! Frannie isn’t really thrilled. She says every time I cook up bacon, she ends up puking for an hour. Let me assure you that is just from the nerves of marrying a good Jewish lawyer. Oh, Sol! I can’t wait until you’re my son in law! Maybe someday in the future you and Frannie can start thinking about making little grandbabies for me and Morty to gush over. I can’t wait!
Monday, March 30, 2009
From the desk of Stella Goldberg
Dear Stella is an advice column written by Stella Goldberg – mother, wife, and all around dispenser of wisdom. You may send your questions to her at 1445 Jupiter Street, Queens, NY 10045.
Dear Stella,
Friday is my last day at my current job. I’m somewhat conflicted. On one hand, I’m glad to be leaving a job that was no longer a good fit for me. On the other hand, I’m scared and anxious about being unemployed in today’s economy. I’m having a hard time reconciling these feelings and getting through my last week. How should I deal?
Happy and Sad in Austin
Dear HASIA,
Maybe you should take a few minutes and think about the CONSEQUENCES of your ACTIONS. You know, it’s not just you that you need to be thinking about. That’s your problem. It’s all YOU YOU YOU. Well, other people are involved now. How about your MOTHER?!? How do you think she feels? HMMM?!?! Bet you didn’t think about that, did you? Well, let me tell you how she feels. She’s MAD. She’s ANGRY. She’s HURT. And she’s scandalized that she thought she’d raised a GOOD GIRL who just turned out to be a WHORE. THAT’S HOW YOUR MOTHER FEELS. WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT THAT?!?! PROBABLY NOTHING, YOU UNGRATEFUL LITTLE TRAMP!! And now you’re sitting there, knocked up, unmarried, and just being STUPID. WHY CAN’T YOU BE MORE LIKE YOUR BROTHER, JARED, WHO IS A DOCTOR?!?!
Dear Stella,
Friday is my last day at my current job. I’m somewhat conflicted. On one hand, I’m glad to be leaving a job that was no longer a good fit for me. On the other hand, I’m scared and anxious about being unemployed in today’s economy. I’m having a hard time reconciling these feelings and getting through my last week. How should I deal?
Happy and Sad in Austin
Dear HASIA,
Maybe you should take a few minutes and think about the CONSEQUENCES of your ACTIONS. You know, it’s not just you that you need to be thinking about. That’s your problem. It’s all YOU YOU YOU. Well, other people are involved now. How about your MOTHER?!? How do you think she feels? HMMM?!?! Bet you didn’t think about that, did you? Well, let me tell you how she feels. She’s MAD. She’s ANGRY. She’s HURT. And she’s scandalized that she thought she’d raised a GOOD GIRL who just turned out to be a WHORE. THAT’S HOW YOUR MOTHER FEELS. WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT THAT?!?! PROBABLY NOTHING, YOU UNGRATEFUL LITTLE TRAMP!! And now you’re sitting there, knocked up, unmarried, and just being STUPID. WHY CAN’T YOU BE MORE LIKE YOUR BROTHER, JARED, WHO IS A DOCTOR?!?!
From the desk of Stella Goldberg
Dear Stella is an advice column written by Stella Goldberg – mother, wife, and all around dispenser of wisdom. You may send your questions to her at 1445 Jupiter Street, Queens, NY 10045.
Dear Stella,
My husband is lazy. He won’t do anything! He won’t load the dishwasher, he won’t walk the dogs, he just sits around and plays Call of Duty. Sometimes I want to spend special, alone time with him and he’s too busy playing his video games to even do that! What should I do?
UGH! MEN!
Dear Ugh,
After as many years of marriage as Morty and I have had, I know how that goes. I tell him to do things, he ignores me. Meh. What can you do? If he tried to do it, he’d just mess it up anyway. I just do it myself – that way it’s done right the first time. One woman who will never know that pain, though is my daughter Frannie. She’s going to marry this fancy lawyer named Sol. Oh, and the woman who marries my son, Jared. She’ll be the wife of a doctor. He’ll be too busy saving lives to worry about doing the dishes, but that’s the price you pay when you marry a doctor like my son, Jared.
Anyway, about Frannie. Some diligent readers might have noticed that I briefly mentioned that I was having a little St. Patty’s day get together with Sol, his family, and Frannie. I don’t normally talk about myself in these columns, so I’m sure this one break in professionalism was noticed by many. Well, I’m sure you’re wondering how that all turned out. Let me tell you. So Sylvia came over with her husband and Sol. Frannie greeted them at the door with kind hellos, because I raised her right. Then she turned to Sol – her future fiancé, and said “I’m sorry!” “I’m sorry!” I says. “Frannie, why are you apologizing for this lovely get together?!!? We’re going to have a great time. A great little nosh, some of my famous cherry cheese blintzes, and we’ll all talk about your future together.” “Muth-ther!” she says. You know how the kids say it with an eye roll. Seriously – she’s how old and she still rolls her eyes like a teenager. “WHAAAT?” I says. “Come on, Sol, I’ll show you those drawings I was talking about.” Frannie is quite an artist, you know. She has made quite a career for herself doing anatomical drawings for medical text books. Not enough to get her moved out of my house, I’m just sayin’. “Leave the door open!” I shouted up the stairs as they trotted up.
So I turned to Sylvia. “What did you bring?” I asked. Wouldn’t you know if she didn’t look me dead in the eye and say “Oh, I made some of my delicious cherry cheese blintzes.” I’d like to have blintzed her at that moment. But I just smiled and said “Oh, then we’ll have extra because I made my famous cherry cheese blintzes, too.” “Sure, we can eat those if we run out of mine, they probably didn’t dry out like yours tend to” she said. “They’re going to be family…they’re going to be family…” I just kept repeating that in my head. I can’t hold anything against this woman. So I painted a smile on my face, served up her runny, tasteless “blintzes” and said “So, Frannie and Sol have been seeing a lot of each other lately…do you think that’s going to go anywhere? I’d love to see Frannie end up with a nice boy like Sol.”
Sylvia painted the same smile on her face and said “I’m sure you would. He’s a good boy. He’s a lawyer, you know.” “I know, my son Jared is a doctor. I know what it is to have a smart, successful son.” “Well,” Sylvia responded, “then you know how important it is that he be paired up with someone worthy of his talents.” “Are you implying that my Frannie is not good enough for your Sol??!!” “No,” bitch said, “I’m saying it flat out. Frannie is not good enough for him. She’s got a liberal arts degree! She sits at home watching Judge Hatchett with you and Morty every night. She wouldn’t be a good mother, she wouldn’t raise my godson in the temple, she wouldn’t want him to be a doctor. She’d probably let him go around uncircumcised to comic book conventions or something. I will not have my grandson raised by that daughter of yours.”
I slammed down my plate of bland chemotherapy food. “You have no right to say those things about my daughter! Frannie is a good girl who would make a good wife to your Sol. And she most certainly would not let my grandson go without a proper bris!”
At that moment, I heard a noise behind me. I turned to find Frannie and Sol standing there with shocked looks on their faces.
“Mom!” they both yelled in unison. Frannie was crying, I could tell. “Mom,” she said. “What are you guys doing? Why are you doing this to us?”
“You too, Mom!” said Sol in a less than congenial tone.
“Well, it doesn’t much matter, anyway,” said Sylvia. “It’s not like you’re going to be getting married or anything. And you certainly won’t be having my grandson.”
“Well, Mom. That’s where you’re wrong,” said Sol. I grabbed the back of my chair in anticipation. Were they engaged? Oh, my God! Was I finally going to get her out of my house?!?! And married to a real lawyer – a real, Jewish lawyer?!?! It was a mother’s dream. I held my breath and waited. Sol took a deep breath. “I’m pregnant” Frannie shouted just as Sol opened his mouth.
“HOW!?” I screamed. “YOU’RE NOT MARRIED!!! HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN!?!” That’s the last thing I remember. That and the sound of glass breaking as I took out the table as I fainted. But, dear reader, wouldn’t you know that when I came to, Morty had done the dishes and cleaned up the whole kitchen himself. So if you want your husband to take care of a little light housework, there are ways to make him!
Dear Stella,
My husband is lazy. He won’t do anything! He won’t load the dishwasher, he won’t walk the dogs, he just sits around and plays Call of Duty. Sometimes I want to spend special, alone time with him and he’s too busy playing his video games to even do that! What should I do?
UGH! MEN!
Dear Ugh,
After as many years of marriage as Morty and I have had, I know how that goes. I tell him to do things, he ignores me. Meh. What can you do? If he tried to do it, he’d just mess it up anyway. I just do it myself – that way it’s done right the first time. One woman who will never know that pain, though is my daughter Frannie. She’s going to marry this fancy lawyer named Sol. Oh, and the woman who marries my son, Jared. She’ll be the wife of a doctor. He’ll be too busy saving lives to worry about doing the dishes, but that’s the price you pay when you marry a doctor like my son, Jared.
Anyway, about Frannie. Some diligent readers might have noticed that I briefly mentioned that I was having a little St. Patty’s day get together with Sol, his family, and Frannie. I don’t normally talk about myself in these columns, so I’m sure this one break in professionalism was noticed by many. Well, I’m sure you’re wondering how that all turned out. Let me tell you. So Sylvia came over with her husband and Sol. Frannie greeted them at the door with kind hellos, because I raised her right. Then she turned to Sol – her future fiancé, and said “I’m sorry!” “I’m sorry!” I says. “Frannie, why are you apologizing for this lovely get together?!!? We’re going to have a great time. A great little nosh, some of my famous cherry cheese blintzes, and we’ll all talk about your future together.” “Muth-ther!” she says. You know how the kids say it with an eye roll. Seriously – she’s how old and she still rolls her eyes like a teenager. “WHAAAT?” I says. “Come on, Sol, I’ll show you those drawings I was talking about.” Frannie is quite an artist, you know. She has made quite a career for herself doing anatomical drawings for medical text books. Not enough to get her moved out of my house, I’m just sayin’. “Leave the door open!” I shouted up the stairs as they trotted up.
So I turned to Sylvia. “What did you bring?” I asked. Wouldn’t you know if she didn’t look me dead in the eye and say “Oh, I made some of my delicious cherry cheese blintzes.” I’d like to have blintzed her at that moment. But I just smiled and said “Oh, then we’ll have extra because I made my famous cherry cheese blintzes, too.” “Sure, we can eat those if we run out of mine, they probably didn’t dry out like yours tend to” she said. “They’re going to be family…they’re going to be family…” I just kept repeating that in my head. I can’t hold anything against this woman. So I painted a smile on my face, served up her runny, tasteless “blintzes” and said “So, Frannie and Sol have been seeing a lot of each other lately…do you think that’s going to go anywhere? I’d love to see Frannie end up with a nice boy like Sol.”
Sylvia painted the same smile on her face and said “I’m sure you would. He’s a good boy. He’s a lawyer, you know.” “I know, my son Jared is a doctor. I know what it is to have a smart, successful son.” “Well,” Sylvia responded, “then you know how important it is that he be paired up with someone worthy of his talents.” “Are you implying that my Frannie is not good enough for your Sol??!!” “No,” bitch said, “I’m saying it flat out. Frannie is not good enough for him. She’s got a liberal arts degree! She sits at home watching Judge Hatchett with you and Morty every night. She wouldn’t be a good mother, she wouldn’t raise my godson in the temple, she wouldn’t want him to be a doctor. She’d probably let him go around uncircumcised to comic book conventions or something. I will not have my grandson raised by that daughter of yours.”
I slammed down my plate of bland chemotherapy food. “You have no right to say those things about my daughter! Frannie is a good girl who would make a good wife to your Sol. And she most certainly would not let my grandson go without a proper bris!”
At that moment, I heard a noise behind me. I turned to find Frannie and Sol standing there with shocked looks on their faces.
“Mom!” they both yelled in unison. Frannie was crying, I could tell. “Mom,” she said. “What are you guys doing? Why are you doing this to us?”
“You too, Mom!” said Sol in a less than congenial tone.
“Well, it doesn’t much matter, anyway,” said Sylvia. “It’s not like you’re going to be getting married or anything. And you certainly won’t be having my grandson.”
“Well, Mom. That’s where you’re wrong,” said Sol. I grabbed the back of my chair in anticipation. Were they engaged? Oh, my God! Was I finally going to get her out of my house?!?! And married to a real lawyer – a real, Jewish lawyer?!?! It was a mother’s dream. I held my breath and waited. Sol took a deep breath. “I’m pregnant” Frannie shouted just as Sol opened his mouth.
“HOW!?” I screamed. “YOU’RE NOT MARRIED!!! HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN!?!” That’s the last thing I remember. That and the sound of glass breaking as I took out the table as I fainted. But, dear reader, wouldn’t you know that when I came to, Morty had done the dishes and cleaned up the whole kitchen himself. So if you want your husband to take care of a little light housework, there are ways to make him!
Monday, March 16, 2009
From the desk of Stella Goldberg
Dear Stella is an advice column written by Stella Goldberg – mother, wife, and all around dispenser of wisdom. You may send your questions to her at 1445 Jupiter Street, Queens, NY 10045.
Dear Stella,
What is the proper way to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day? I know they say everybody’s a little bit Irish that day, but I’m Chinese. My husband is Thai. I just don’t feel the love of the Emerald Isle rising up within me. What should it do?
Erin Go Bragh?
Dear Erin,
I certainly know the feeling of trying to find the luck of the Irish within you. My Bubie was straight out of Russia and Morty’s family was chased out of one of those countries that doesn’t exist anymore. I don’t think there’s much Irish to be found running through these veins. But you know how I compensate? I make a reason to celebrate the date that has nothing to do with leprechauns or clovers. I find an excuse to celebrate. It’s fantastic! This year I have the perfect reason, too. My daughter Frannie is seeing the most wonderful boy. His name is Sol. He’s a lawyer. They’ve been dating for a few months now but she STILL refuses to bring him over to the house. “Frannie!” I says. “Frannie! Why won’t you bring Sol over to the house for dinner? I’ll make brisket and some of my famous cherry cheese blintzes!” “MA!” she says. “MA! This relationship has potential! I’m not bringing him over so you can show him pictures of me naked trying to take a bath in the toilet when I was 2!” Oh, dear readers. Do you know how my heart leapt when I heard her say that the relationship had POTENTIAL!! I just knew she’d settle down one day with a good boy. Someone like my son Jared. He’s a doctor, you know.
So I figured if she’s not willing to bring him to the house to spend some quality time with his future mother-in-law, then I would go over his head. To his own mother. Now dedicated readers may remember that his mother, Sylvia, and I haven’t always gotten along in the past. But we’re family now. We’ve got to let bygones be bygones. So I called her up. “Sylvia,” I says. “Sylvia now that your Sol and my Frannie are dating and eventually will be married, maybe we should get the families together. Maybe have a little St. Patrick’s Day party. We could get some clovers for the wall and those cookies with the icing from the grocery. I’ll make my famous cherry cheese blintzes and you could bring something as well. We’ll have a nice nosh. We’ll get to chat with the kids, it’ll be fun.” I swear I heard Sylvia mutter something about Frannie trying to get her claws into my lawyer son, but when I asked her what she said, she told me she was just telling her husband to turn down the tv. Likely story. “Listen,” I said, “I’ll set everything up. All you guys have to do is come over on St. Patty’s Day, bring something yummy – all your food is always so delish! – and that will be that.” See, it’s all about being proactive. Tomorrow is the big day, readers, so I’ll have to keep you updated on how we all get along. Maybe Sol will propose at the party – you know, do it in front of the entire family. Really get everybody involved. That would just be fabulous!
So, Erin, be proactive. Set up a party or something. If the Irish isn’t going to come to you, then you have to take yourself to it. Besides, who is going to turn down an excuse for a nosh!?!?
Friday, October 31, 2008
From the desk fo Liesl St. James
Next we dive into the book of Esther.
The book opens in the court of Ahasuerus, the king of Shushan (say Shushan three times fast…I dare ya’). Ahasuerus decides to have a feast. And the entertainment for this feast will be him showing off his wife, Vashti. So everybody’s sitting around eating and he calls his wife. “Vashti! Git yo ass in here and show everybody how hot you are!” Then he turns to the guys around him and says “y’all won’t believe the ass on this woman. Three kids and still built like a brick house!” Vashti had been studying the latest in feminist literature and wasn’t down with being just a piece of ass. “Hell to the no!” she responded. All the guys at the feast look around at each other uncomfortably. Then one guy says “You know, if my wife hears about this, she’s going to think she has a brain in her head, too. I really don’t want her realizing that she does.”
The king says “good point” and has Vashti killed. As you do when your wife backtalks. But then he’s left in a conundrum. He has no wife. “Hmmm…I need one of those…” he contemplates to himself. So he has all the women in his kingdom paraded in front of him in the ultimate speed dating session. He finds a girl named Esther. He decides she’ll do. What Esther doesn’t tell him is that she’s Jewish and being raised by her cousin, Mordechai (Morty). The king marries her. Then not long after, Morty discovers a plot to kill the king. He reveals it and the plotters are executed and Morty’s service to the king is recorded in the big books where things like that are recorded.
Morty appoints himself to sit at the palace gates for some reason. The Wal-Mart greeter of Shushan, I guess. Haman, the new prime minister, doesn’t like Morty because Morty won’t bow to him when he comes in. Somehow, Haman founds out that Morty is Jewish. He decides since Morty won’t bow to him, he’ll do the only logical thing. He’ll kill every single Jewish person in the entire kingdom, Morty included. Sounds logical. He goes to the king and asks “Are you cool with me killing all the Jews?” The king responds “sure, they weren’t doing much anyway. When do you want to do it?” They throw a dart at the calendar and decide to do it on the 13th of Adar (a Jewy month – the Roman’s hadn’t made up their own months yet).
Morty finds out that all the Jews are to be killed. He responds the only way anybody would – by ordering fasting and prayer. Not running and screaming like the wussies now would do. No. Fasting and prayer. Esther finds out about the plans and asks all the Jews to join her in three days of prayer. On the third day, she asks the king to have a feast with her and Haman. During that feast they make plans to have another feast the next day. Why they couldn’t get everything out in the open at the first feast is beyond me. In the mean time, Haman builds the gallows for Morty.
That night. The king can’t sleep. He does what anybody would do when they couldn’t sleep – he asks that his people read him boring government documents to put him out. Like reading tax code or something. Reeeeeeaaaaallllllyyyyyyyyyy boring. It just so happens that his people decide to read him the book where it was recorded that Morty foiled the plot against him. The king realizes he owes Morty his life! And he asked not to be recognized for it because it’s all in a day’s work for a responsible citizen.
Just then, Haman walks in. The king asks him what he should do to honor a great man. Haman believes the king is asking what Haman himself wants. So he says “well…if it were ME you were honoring and it was ME that would get this, I would want to be dressed up in your royal robes and paraded around on that badassed horse you’ve got.” The king responds “Good. Then dress Morty up in my robes and parade him around on my horse. He’s a good guy and should be honored.”
Later that evening, the king, Esther and Haman had the second banquet. Esther revealed to everybody that she was a Jew. The king left the room in a rage – as you do when you find out your wife is secretly Jewish and slated for extermination the next day. After all the trouble he went to in picking her out…now he’ll have to have all the women paraded again…it’s exhausting. Haman, realizing things don’t look good for him, begs Esther for his life. The king walks back in and catches the scene at all the wrong angle. To him, it looks like his (newly Jewish) wife is being raped by Haman. He gets even madder and orders Haman to be hanged in the gallows Haman himself had built for Morty.
Now the problem is, because they’d already chosen the date to kill all the Jews, the king couldn’t go back on his word. He’d throw a dart at a calendar! What was there to do? So he decreed that the Jews were allowed to fight back, rather than just passively be slaughtered. As a result, on the 13th of Adar, 500 attackers who were out for a good ethnic cleansing were killed, including Haman’s ten sons. 75,000 other attackers are killed outside the city. And another 300 people are killed the following day.
Morty becomes prominent in the king’s court and institutes an annual celebration of the delivery of the Jews from annihilation (this time) called purim.
The book opens in the court of Ahasuerus, the king of Shushan (say Shushan three times fast…I dare ya’). Ahasuerus decides to have a feast. And the entertainment for this feast will be him showing off his wife, Vashti. So everybody’s sitting around eating and he calls his wife. “Vashti! Git yo ass in here and show everybody how hot you are!” Then he turns to the guys around him and says “y’all won’t believe the ass on this woman. Three kids and still built like a brick house!” Vashti had been studying the latest in feminist literature and wasn’t down with being just a piece of ass. “Hell to the no!” she responded. All the guys at the feast look around at each other uncomfortably. Then one guy says “You know, if my wife hears about this, she’s going to think she has a brain in her head, too. I really don’t want her realizing that she does.”
The king says “good point” and has Vashti killed. As you do when your wife backtalks. But then he’s left in a conundrum. He has no wife. “Hmmm…I need one of those…” he contemplates to himself. So he has all the women in his kingdom paraded in front of him in the ultimate speed dating session. He finds a girl named Esther. He decides she’ll do. What Esther doesn’t tell him is that she’s Jewish and being raised by her cousin, Mordechai (Morty). The king marries her. Then not long after, Morty discovers a plot to kill the king. He reveals it and the plotters are executed and Morty’s service to the king is recorded in the big books where things like that are recorded.
Morty appoints himself to sit at the palace gates for some reason. The Wal-Mart greeter of Shushan, I guess. Haman, the new prime minister, doesn’t like Morty because Morty won’t bow to him when he comes in. Somehow, Haman founds out that Morty is Jewish. He decides since Morty won’t bow to him, he’ll do the only logical thing. He’ll kill every single Jewish person in the entire kingdom, Morty included. Sounds logical. He goes to the king and asks “Are you cool with me killing all the Jews?” The king responds “sure, they weren’t doing much anyway. When do you want to do it?” They throw a dart at the calendar and decide to do it on the 13th of Adar (a Jewy month – the Roman’s hadn’t made up their own months yet).
Morty finds out that all the Jews are to be killed. He responds the only way anybody would – by ordering fasting and prayer. Not running and screaming like the wussies now would do. No. Fasting and prayer. Esther finds out about the plans and asks all the Jews to join her in three days of prayer. On the third day, she asks the king to have a feast with her and Haman. During that feast they make plans to have another feast the next day. Why they couldn’t get everything out in the open at the first feast is beyond me. In the mean time, Haman builds the gallows for Morty.
That night. The king can’t sleep. He does what anybody would do when they couldn’t sleep – he asks that his people read him boring government documents to put him out. Like reading tax code or something. Reeeeeeaaaaallllllyyyyyyyyyy boring. It just so happens that his people decide to read him the book where it was recorded that Morty foiled the plot against him. The king realizes he owes Morty his life! And he asked not to be recognized for it because it’s all in a day’s work for a responsible citizen.
Just then, Haman walks in. The king asks him what he should do to honor a great man. Haman believes the king is asking what Haman himself wants. So he says “well…if it were ME you were honoring and it was ME that would get this, I would want to be dressed up in your royal robes and paraded around on that badassed horse you’ve got.” The king responds “Good. Then dress Morty up in my robes and parade him around on my horse. He’s a good guy and should be honored.”
Later that evening, the king, Esther and Haman had the second banquet. Esther revealed to everybody that she was a Jew. The king left the room in a rage – as you do when you find out your wife is secretly Jewish and slated for extermination the next day. After all the trouble he went to in picking her out…now he’ll have to have all the women paraded again…it’s exhausting. Haman, realizing things don’t look good for him, begs Esther for his life. The king walks back in and catches the scene at all the wrong angle. To him, it looks like his (newly Jewish) wife is being raped by Haman. He gets even madder and orders Haman to be hanged in the gallows Haman himself had built for Morty.
Now the problem is, because they’d already chosen the date to kill all the Jews, the king couldn’t go back on his word. He’d throw a dart at a calendar! What was there to do? So he decreed that the Jews were allowed to fight back, rather than just passively be slaughtered. As a result, on the 13th of Adar, 500 attackers who were out for a good ethnic cleansing were killed, including Haman’s ten sons. 75,000 other attackers are killed outside the city. And another 300 people are killed the following day.
Morty becomes prominent in the king’s court and institutes an annual celebration of the delivery of the Jews from annihilation (this time) called purim.
From the desk of Liesl St. James
Dearest readers,
I am most apologetic for not returning to our biblical adventures sooner. I had to take a lengthy vacay! I went on a tour of creationist museums and biblical theme parks, largely in the southern part of the US. But now that I’ve returned, I hope you will enjoy our next biblical adventure. We had left off at the beginning of the book of Chronicles. We’re going to skip Chronicles because it just rehashes the previous couple books in a more positive light.
Our next book is the book of Ezra. Ezra is a small book that is easily summarized.
Cyrus, feeling all the warm and fuzzies of God in his heart, decides to let the Israelites rebuild the Temple of Jerusalem which was destroyed back in Joshua when he yelled really loud. So they set to work doing just that. And he gives them back some golden urns or something like that which had been previously stolen. Some captives that were in Babylon are returned to Palestine – total number? 42,360 plus 7,337 servants and a 200 person choir. Because you’ve got to have some singing whilst you work. You’ll note that today…about two thousand years later, this temple in Jerusalem is STILL under debate and contention. You want to start a fight in a bar in Israel? Turn to the guy on the next stool and say “So…about that temple…” and you’ll get punched.
Anyway, the book of Ezra chronicles the building of the temple. First the alter is built, then the foundation for the temple is laid and there is great rejoicing. Then there is a contract dispute and some really big guy in flannel named Bo says that he’ll be done in a week or two and 3 months later, you still can’t use your oven. You know how construction projects go. Only instead of Bo it was the Samaritans and instead of 3 months it was more like 3 years.
It’s a pretty boring and worthless book. Oh, they find out that all the forty thousand people who came back weren’t really married to their wives so those guys had to make offerings to make all their married sinfulness ok with God.
While we’re here, we’ll quickly cover the next book – Nehemiah. The walls of Jerusalem are rebuilt because they fell down previously when some guy yelled at them. And then they list off the census of the adult males (chicks don’t count). There, that covers Nehemiah, too.
Next book is Esther. It involves a beauty pageant and beheadings. So I PROMISE things are going to get more interesting.
I am most apologetic for not returning to our biblical adventures sooner. I had to take a lengthy vacay! I went on a tour of creationist museums and biblical theme parks, largely in the southern part of the US. But now that I’ve returned, I hope you will enjoy our next biblical adventure. We had left off at the beginning of the book of Chronicles. We’re going to skip Chronicles because it just rehashes the previous couple books in a more positive light.
Our next book is the book of Ezra. Ezra is a small book that is easily summarized.
Cyrus, feeling all the warm and fuzzies of God in his heart, decides to let the Israelites rebuild the Temple of Jerusalem which was destroyed back in Joshua when he yelled really loud. So they set to work doing just that. And he gives them back some golden urns or something like that which had been previously stolen. Some captives that were in Babylon are returned to Palestine – total number? 42,360 plus 7,337 servants and a 200 person choir. Because you’ve got to have some singing whilst you work. You’ll note that today…about two thousand years later, this temple in Jerusalem is STILL under debate and contention. You want to start a fight in a bar in Israel? Turn to the guy on the next stool and say “So…about that temple…” and you’ll get punched.
Anyway, the book of Ezra chronicles the building of the temple. First the alter is built, then the foundation for the temple is laid and there is great rejoicing. Then there is a contract dispute and some really big guy in flannel named Bo says that he’ll be done in a week or two and 3 months later, you still can’t use your oven. You know how construction projects go. Only instead of Bo it was the Samaritans and instead of 3 months it was more like 3 years.
It’s a pretty boring and worthless book. Oh, they find out that all the forty thousand people who came back weren’t really married to their wives so those guys had to make offerings to make all their married sinfulness ok with God.
While we’re here, we’ll quickly cover the next book – Nehemiah. The walls of Jerusalem are rebuilt because they fell down previously when some guy yelled at them. And then they list off the census of the adult males (chicks don’t count). There, that covers Nehemiah, too.
Next book is Esther. It involves a beauty pageant and beheadings. So I PROMISE things are going to get more interesting.
From the desk of Stella Goldberg
Dear Stella is an advice column written by Stella Goldberg – mother, wife, and all around dispenser of wisdom. You may send your questions to her at 1445 Jupiter Street, Queens, NY 10045.
Dear Stella,
In the past two weeks, both of my parents have been diagnosed with a terminal illness – Mom with cancer that has spread to her lungs and brain, Dad with kidney failure. Neither of them are expected to live longer than 6 months. I have a younger sister who is mentally challenged – my parents have taken care of her for her entire life. After their passing, I’m expected to take care of her. However my husband is abusive and I’m currently pregnant with conjoined twins that will require years of surgery. We both recently lost our jobs. I just don’t know how to deal with these trying times. Any advice?
Crashing Down Around Me
Dear Crashing,
Oh, my God. Oh. God. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod. Reader – I’m sure your problem is very important to me but today, I’m too distracted to give out advice. My suggestion – put some ointment on it or something. I can’t go into more detail than that – I’m too happily distracted. Readers, you know I don’t normally like to bring my personal life into my columns. But today I can’t resist. My daughter, Frannie, is going on a second date with Sol Gruierstein. You might remember him – he’s Sylvia’s son – the divorce attorney who handles all the nasty splits from those uppity Manhattan types. Well, I put them together on Sylvia’s loveseat during the break the fast party. They hit it off like nobody’s business. That was Thursday. Well, wouldn’t you know when our doorbell rang on Friday night, it was him. I answered it, expecting to find one of Frannie’s other boy things. You know – some sort of biker or tattoo artist or Methodist. Something that just makes a mother’s heart weep. Anyway, I open the door and who is there? Sol! I was thinking “did I leave my casserole dish over at Sylvia’s? Probably not – she’d just keep it, the thieving witch.” Then he asked for Frannie. Wouldn’t you know that I nearly fell through the floor. I turn around to yell up the stairs for her and she’s already coming down. In a dress. And some cute little heels. And a little sweater top. I swear if I didn’t know better, I’d think she was heading to a bar mitzvah. Before I could say anything, she plowed right past me and out the door. And they didn’t come home until 12:57 that night. Not that I was upset. I know Sol is a good boy who wouldn’t do anything inappropriate with my Frannie. Not that I was waiting on them, but I watched from the upstairs window in the closet when he actually walked her up to the porch. Such a gentleman. Sylvia may not be able to bake bagels to save her life, but she clearly raised a good boy! Unfortunately, they disappeared under the awning of the porch, so I couldn’t see if he gave her a good night kiss or anything. But they stayed under there for 24 seconds. You don’t just say “this was fun, I’ll call you” in 24 seconds.
So fast forward to tonight. I see Frannie this afternoon looking…different. Turns out she went to that salon up on 42nd and got an adorable haircut and some color. She looks like a young Barbara Streisand, if I do say so. I asked her “Frannie! Who do you think you’re getting all dolled up for?” She rolled her eyes at me, like she always does. “Ma!” she said. “Ma! I have a date. It’s not your concern!” I won’t lie. My heart skipped a beat or two at that little revelation. “A date? With who?” I asked. “Not that it’s any of your business, but with Sol.” Well, it was all I could do not to grab her by the cheeks and kiss her. Sol! My new son in law, Sol! I don’t remember much after that – she got all testy with me just because I was trying to be helpful and point out that men don’t marry women who put out on the second date – they marry LADIES and it wouldn’t hurt her to act a little ladylike. She yelled something about how they were going to bond over their traumatic childhoods being raised by overbearing Jewish mothers. Really, I don’t care about any of this. All I care about is that my Frannie has finally found a man worthy of her. I should call up Sylvia. Maybe her bagels would be better with a little schmear and a little lox…after all, we’ll be related soon. You’ve got to get along with family!
Dear Stella,
In the past two weeks, both of my parents have been diagnosed with a terminal illness – Mom with cancer that has spread to her lungs and brain, Dad with kidney failure. Neither of them are expected to live longer than 6 months. I have a younger sister who is mentally challenged – my parents have taken care of her for her entire life. After their passing, I’m expected to take care of her. However my husband is abusive and I’m currently pregnant with conjoined twins that will require years of surgery. We both recently lost our jobs. I just don’t know how to deal with these trying times. Any advice?
Crashing Down Around Me
Dear Crashing,
Oh, my God. Oh. God. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod. Reader – I’m sure your problem is very important to me but today, I’m too distracted to give out advice. My suggestion – put some ointment on it or something. I can’t go into more detail than that – I’m too happily distracted. Readers, you know I don’t normally like to bring my personal life into my columns. But today I can’t resist. My daughter, Frannie, is going on a second date with Sol Gruierstein. You might remember him – he’s Sylvia’s son – the divorce attorney who handles all the nasty splits from those uppity Manhattan types. Well, I put them together on Sylvia’s loveseat during the break the fast party. They hit it off like nobody’s business. That was Thursday. Well, wouldn’t you know when our doorbell rang on Friday night, it was him. I answered it, expecting to find one of Frannie’s other boy things. You know – some sort of biker or tattoo artist or Methodist. Something that just makes a mother’s heart weep. Anyway, I open the door and who is there? Sol! I was thinking “did I leave my casserole dish over at Sylvia’s? Probably not – she’d just keep it, the thieving witch.” Then he asked for Frannie. Wouldn’t you know that I nearly fell through the floor. I turn around to yell up the stairs for her and she’s already coming down. In a dress. And some cute little heels. And a little sweater top. I swear if I didn’t know better, I’d think she was heading to a bar mitzvah. Before I could say anything, she plowed right past me and out the door. And they didn’t come home until 12:57 that night. Not that I was upset. I know Sol is a good boy who wouldn’t do anything inappropriate with my Frannie. Not that I was waiting on them, but I watched from the upstairs window in the closet when he actually walked her up to the porch. Such a gentleman. Sylvia may not be able to bake bagels to save her life, but she clearly raised a good boy! Unfortunately, they disappeared under the awning of the porch, so I couldn’t see if he gave her a good night kiss or anything. But they stayed under there for 24 seconds. You don’t just say “this was fun, I’ll call you” in 24 seconds.
So fast forward to tonight. I see Frannie this afternoon looking…different. Turns out she went to that salon up on 42nd and got an adorable haircut and some color. She looks like a young Barbara Streisand, if I do say so. I asked her “Frannie! Who do you think you’re getting all dolled up for?” She rolled her eyes at me, like she always does. “Ma!” she said. “Ma! I have a date. It’s not your concern!” I won’t lie. My heart skipped a beat or two at that little revelation. “A date? With who?” I asked. “Not that it’s any of your business, but with Sol.” Well, it was all I could do not to grab her by the cheeks and kiss her. Sol! My new son in law, Sol! I don’t remember much after that – she got all testy with me just because I was trying to be helpful and point out that men don’t marry women who put out on the second date – they marry LADIES and it wouldn’t hurt her to act a little ladylike. She yelled something about how they were going to bond over their traumatic childhoods being raised by overbearing Jewish mothers. Really, I don’t care about any of this. All I care about is that my Frannie has finally found a man worthy of her. I should call up Sylvia. Maybe her bagels would be better with a little schmear and a little lox…after all, we’ll be related soon. You’ve got to get along with family!
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