Passover Means Remembering I’m a Jew

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Aside from when they snipped off the end of my penis on my 8th day of life (something I still won’t forgive them for), my 6-month intense study for my “instant Bar Mitzvah”, and the tattooed long number on my Uncle Fishle’s right arm, I forget I’m Jewish. 

I even resent it sometimes, particularly when I hear nasty and untrue gossip that “The Jews” control Hollywood. If that were true, by the way, where’s my series?

Being Jewish Can Simply Mean Being Born Jewish

That’s the weird thing about my religion.  If you ask someone if they are Christian or Muslim or Buddhist, they usually have to stop and think how they’re gonna answer.  They ruminate whether or not they’ve practiced or know enough about their own religion. But, with us Jews, once born a Jew, always a Jew.  I can almost see how Hitler thought of us as a completely different race.  A race, by the way, he lost.

Then What Does Being a Jew Actually Mean?

Last night I went to “Pessach”, Passover, at a friend’s house. Passover celebrates the time when the Pharaoh sent out soldiers to hunt down and kill all Jews, but instead, God gave his chosen people a decorative directive.  Smear lamb’s blood on the outside of the doors to your domain and the evil death plague will passover your home and instead kill all the bad guys, allowing you to make your exodus from Egypt.  (And why Jews choose to settle in deserts like Palm Springs still to this day, I’ll never know.)  You see, evil doesn’t like  lamb.  A little mint, some roasted potatoes?  Yum!  Lovely people, great food and just enough comedy to balance out the didactic ritual.   And, their 3 little dogs enjoyed snips of Matsoh under the table.

One of the Jewish religion’s most sacred and widely observed holidays, Passover (Hebrew: Pesach) commemorates the story of the Israelites’ departure from ancient Egypt, which appears in the Hebrew Bible’s books of Exodus, Numbers and Deuteronomy, among other texts. – Wikipedia

I also attended a Shabbot dinner.  Friday night ritual dinner at an orthodox rabbi’s house last week.  I sat between two very hair men, both rabbi’s and the host, upon first meeting me, complemented me on my raving beard.  Three bearded men.  A comedian bookended by two rabbis.  And both dinners were fun and educational.  What did I observe, so to speak?  I observed family.  I experienced love.  I ate cool stuff.

Welcome to the Academy Awards, or as we call ‘em in my house, Passover.” – Bob Hope

I am proud to be a Jew.  And, as the rabbi told me at Shabbot dinner the other night, when I asked him how could I pretend to be a Jew this late in the game?  His answer?

You never left.

For the Chollywood Dog, this is Steven Alan Green 4/11/17

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