Are You Kosher? (27 page)

I left the five of them behind and made my way to the kitchen. The doorbell rang once again, and from the sound of the voices I heard, Jerry and Shlomo had obviously arrived. Now it was a party. I needed to hurry back before they noticed Dwayne.

“Why did you hit me?” I heard Shlomo yell at Dwayne.

“It’s called a fist pump,” my mother answered for him. “That’s how he shakes hands.”

I rushed back into the living room to see Shlomo grasping his hand with a shocked look on his face. Shlomo turned to me and said, “Hey, Izzy, this crazy shvartze just hit me!”

“He didn’t hit you, you fucking shmendrik!” my mother shrieked.

“Itsa!” Bubbe yelled, “I don’t like that talk in my house! What is everyone cursing now?”

“You said he was shaking hands,” Shlomo added. “I like to shake hands. If he wants to shake hands, why doesn’t he just shake hands?”

“Shlomo, calm down.” I tried to diffuse the situation.

“I don’t see why I am the one who is wrong here! I come over for a nice dinner and now I have an assault and battery case on my hands.”

“He has a good lawyer,” Jerry chimed in.

“Thank you, Jerry!” I yelled at him.

“What did I say?” Jerry asked innocently.

“You know that they have a reputation for being violent people,” Frank said to Lizzy.

“Shut up and eat your chopped liver. You’re always talking,” Lizzy responded, disgusted.

“I’m making conversation!” Frank yelled.

“You’re talking out of your tuchas!” Lizzy replied.

“Let’s try this again, Kunta,” Shlomo continued, extending his hand to Dwayne. “This is called a hand shake. Do you understand hand shake?” he asked smiling.

“Oh man, you be clowning,” Dwayne answered.

“Clown?” Jerry jumped to Shlomo’s defense. “Is that a yarmulke remark?”

Oy vey,
I thought, this was getting worse by the minute. You can’t make any of this up, but this is usually what happens when Bubbe has a dinner party. “Clowning is slang for joking around.” I said to Jerry.

Jerry turned to me and said, “Well look at Sammy Davis Jr. over here. You should get a job translating at the UN.”

“Why is the shvartze dressed like a pack of skittles?” Lizzy asked Frank.

“Who cares how he’s dressed?” Frank yelled. “He’s obviously violent. Quick, give me your purse.”

“Enough!” Mount Zena finally blew its top. I was afraid of this. This could get very ugly, very soon, but it didn’t. Instead, Bubbe went eerily calm and said, “Dinner is ready. I want all of you to knock off the mishegas and have a seat, and let’s try to act like civilized people for a change.”

“Tell that to George Foreman over here,” Shlomo said under his breath. Bubbe spun around and shot him that look that every person in the room has seen at least once in their life. Shlomo looked away quickly and said quietly, “Sorry, Mrs. Glassman.”

Everyone took their seats and hunkered down for what was undoubtedly going to be a fantastic meal. The tension level was higher than it had been in years at Bubbe’s table. Not since the time that Moses came over for dinner and she asked him why he never went for shock therapy to fix that stutter of his has the level of discord been so high.

As for the meal, Bubbe outdid herself. Everything was perfect. I love it when she cooks angry. Brisket, stuffed cabbage, potato kugel, noodle kugel, carrot tzimmes, cucumber salad, and latkes. Everything looked and smelled phenomenal. And then the door bell rang again.

“Izzy, get the door,” Bubbe said, irritated.

I went to the door and saw through the window a stretch limo parked out front. Oy vey, don’t tell me she actually showed up! I opened the door and in front of me was Goldie Hawn dressed in a leather miniskirt and halter top. She looked like an aging showgirl.

“Hi,” she said in a loud, obnoxious voice. She reeked of booze.

“Goldie, how …” I was interrupted by her kissing me full on the mouth. I think that she even grabbed my crotch, but it is possible that it moved on its own.

“Where ith thena?” she slurred.

“Is that my little Goldie?” Bubbe asked as she entered the room. Goldie stumbled past me and hugged Bubbe. “How long has it been?” Bubbe asked.

Goldie muttered something utterly incoherent, and Bubbe added, “Look at you, you’re so thin. Come, sit, eat,” as she grabbed her by the arm. “Izzy, close the door. You’re letting the bugs in.”

Dinner proceeded, albeit a little more interesting now that we had what Lizzy referred to as “a real-life celebrity.” Frank nervously brushed at his comb-over; he was not too accomplished at the art of changing his appearance. Jerry and Shlomo exchanged adolescent nods at one another while taking turns refilling her glass with wine, and Dwayne began to tear into his brisket with his fingers.

For the most part, the setting was quiet, so obviously Frank had to shatter the peaceful tranquility of the moment. “So, Dwayne, do you like kosher food?” he asked.

Dwayne shrugged and said, “I dig on the circle U.”

“Is that one of those sports cable programs?” Lizzy asked innocently.

“Hi!” Goldie shouted.

“No, Lizzy,” Mom added, “He said that he loves kosher food. Don’t you, my Dwaynellah?” she asked as she rubbed his cleanly shaved head.

“Sho’ nuff, my anti-shiksa,” he replied.

Bubbe glared at the two of them disapprovingly.

“Hi!” Goldie shouted again; she was really wasted.

“Yes, Goldie. Hi, sweetheart,” Bubbe said. “So, Dwayne, would you like some more?” She was really going out of her way to be nice.

“I’ll take a slap of the shredded on the clean side,” Dwayne responded. The table went silent. Everyone looked at each other, confused.

“He said that he would like another slice of potato kugel,” Mom said.

“So, Goldie,” Jerry said, “why haven’t you done any good nude scenes in any of your films?”

“I don’t like that kind of talk at my table,” Bubbe admonished.

“Why does he talk like that?” Frank asked to nobody in particular.

“Who, Jerry or the shvartze?” Lizzy asked.

“Both of you be quiet,” Bubbe said to them. “He is a guest in my home, for better or worse.”

“Well I think for the better,” my mother said under her breath.

“And just what does that mean?” Bubbe asked.

“Well, Mom, we have an announcement to make.” The entire room went still as if time itself had stopped. What kind of announcement? The only sound to be heard was that of the grandfather clock in the next room. Even Goldie seemed to briefly sober up. “Dwayne has just been accepted into rabbinical school,” my mother added.

“How is he going to get through his haftorah?” Jerry asked.

“Shut up, Jerry,” Bubbe snapped.

“Mazel tov?” Lizzy added, more of a question than a statement.

“We are also getting married,” my mother added. It was like the silence that occurs just before the mushroom cloud arises from the surface of the earth toward the heavens.

“Oy gevalt!” Jerry shouted. “It’s a good thing you are infertile, or your kids could come out looking like egg-creams.”

“You know, they used to actually put eggs in egg-creams.” Frank jumped back into the conversation.

“I thaw an egg on my breakfath,” Goldie slurred.

“Yes Goldie, that’s wonderful,” my mother shot back. “Drink another keg.” She looked around the table at the stunned faces and added the next bombshell. “Also, I have just converted him to Vampirism.”

The dining room exploded into total chaos. Lizzy appeared to go lightheaded, Shlomo started laughing, and Bubbe just sat back in her chair, stonefaced. This was a major no-no. You had to get permission to do something like this from the elder statesperson of the community before any conversions, and in this case, that person was Bubbe.

“Mrs. Glassman, great party,” Jerry said.

Dwayne was obviously oblivious to the entire situation and asked Frank, “Can you slide some of the beef over, my nigga?” Frank’s face went blank.

“Why the hell did he just call me a nigger?” he asked.

“He said nigga, not nigger,” my mother interjected.

“What’s the difference?” Frank shouted.

“Are we all shvartze now?” Goldie asked.

I wished at that moment that I could fit under my bed and hide with Yankel. Lizzy was fading fast and said, “Frank, he wants to turn you into a shvartze! He’s like a voodoo man or something.”

Dwayne looked confused and added, “The skull caps be shutting off the membranes for change.”

Frank threw his napkin on the table and screamed, “I can’t take this anymore!” He walked around the table and began to feast on Dwayne.

“Frank! What the hell are you doing?” Bubbe shrieked.

He looked at her innocently and said, “What? He’s a vampire now and he’s Jewish. At least now I’ll be able to understand what he’s saying.”

“Frank, not so much. We have to drive home and I don’t want you to be racially profiled,” Lizzy cried.

“Not for nothing, but the alter kocker has a point,” Shlomo added. He got up and began to feast on Dwayne. Before I knew what was happening, the entire table, including Bubbe and Goldie, were feasting on Dwayne. It was quite a sight to behold. Six Jews were feasting on the blood of our new family member. The only ones who were not participating were my mother and myself.

The tenor of the conversation changed almost immediately at the dinner table. Everyone was laughing. I was the only one who didn’t get any of the jokes. Dwayne became the life of the party. It was as if we’d gone from an Ebonics seminar to a reading of classic English literature read by Dickens himself. This was too much for me to handle. My head was spinning and I did not feel comfortable with the idea of feasting on my future stepfather. I quietly excused myself and returned to my room with a small slice of noodle kugel for Yankel.

Downstairs, I could hear the hooting and hollering of some joke that one of them made. I have no fucking idea, because I have no idea what the hell any of them were saying. I told you that Bubbe’s parties are always interesting. I’m just glad that I am almost finished with the memoirs. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt … wait a minute.
What the hell is this? I was not up to this page
.

Give me a minute …

Oy gevalt! Holy shit! Fuck me! And any other curse word that you can think of!

She knows!

Bubbe knows!

That crazy alter kocker must have made a copy of my bedroom key and came in when I was out! She actually wrote me a letter in my memoirs!

Did you know about this? Do you know what this means? Do you see how this explains her foul mood all day? She knows!

We’re dead! Every single one of us is dead! You, too. Do you think that you are blameless in all of this? Remember what I said about guilt by association? She is not going to care about whether you are Jewish or not, the only thing that is going to matter to her is that every one of you played a part in this deception. You read something that was written on the Sabbath; you are all just as guilty. You’re dead too!

Poor Yankel is hiding under the bed, no wonder. He knows that he might be the most guilty of anyone; he didn’t tell her. I know that he is just a cat, but we are not dealing with a sane woman here. He’s a dead man as well!

How much money do I have? Maybe I can sneak out and make a run for it. I can go to some Arab country and change my name to Taboule or something. No, that won’t work. I made fun of the Arabs and she would publish the book to get even with me.

Oh shit, I wrote about eating pork and feasting on non-Jewish girls.

“Hey, Izzy my nigga!” Frank just barged into my room. “I think that I got a shot at shtuping Goldie tonight. Don’t tell Lizzy; keep it on the down-low, homey.”

This is a disaster. Maybe I can convince her that I wrote this on a different night. Shit! I wrote about her! I gave away secrets!

Okay, Izzy, calm down. Maybe feasting on Dwayne will confuse her enough so that I can pass this off as some kind of early April Fool’s joke. Act like nothing happened. That’s the ticket; we will all play dumb. After all, she is about to gain a son-in-law who is going to become a rabbi; that has to count for something. What does it matter if he’s a shvartze? It will give her some street cred.

The most important thing is that we all remember that we are in this together, my friends. One for all, and all for one. Where are you going? Don’t run away, you cowards! Running will only make it worse. If we stand together, we have a chance. She can’t kill all of us, can she? Yes, she can. You’re all dead, you’ve already damned yourselves. You read a book that was written on the Sabbath. You may as well have penned it yourself as far as she is concerned.

Yankel just ran out of the room, probably looking for a safer place on higher ground, like Everest. Cats have always been smarter than we are.

I want all of you to listen to me very carefully, because these may be the last moments that we have to spend together.

I want to thank each and every one of you for being so patient and for listening to my endless kvetching. I knew that it was all going to end someday, but I never imagined that it would happen like this.