A TASK APPROACHED WITH TREPIDATION

This post will not make any sense to readers who have little familiarity with Judaic matters. For those who do, even then it may not make sense.

Please read it by a leave of thy senses.


OYF ANFANG 在開始

Over a week ago I responded to a reader whose comment history here is a flag of many colours, currently flying luxtaciously under the nomine-bellator of "Thirty Day Beer". In which one presumes 'beer' to be the surname. And one must remember that for many native-born San Franciscans, the words 'beer' and 'bear' have the same pronunciation. Which is irrelevant, though it does make one wonder what one will find in the woods.

No, don't rush off on a voyage of happy discovery - you will get lost.
At best you will find a pope there doing diddly-squats.
Beer is an overrated drink.


I am seldom around beer (once a week at most, one pint), as I consider it a beverage fit for Europeans, but most unfit for everyone else.
Except if made with San Francisco tap-water.

As is says in the Subsequentia, "swot no longer water, but use small beer for thy stomach's sake and thine often infirmities."

[Sefer Timotheos, psook 5:23.]


STILL WATERS - MAYIM SHKETIM

Yesterday evening I was at a place where beer IS sold as well as other beverages and cigars, but many customers will instead have whisky with their tobacco. In my immediate umgebung, at least five big-ass Padron Anniversarios (maduro) were enjoyed, while a superior rum made an appearance, and a mamesh twenty-five year-old single malt, grada.
Being a pipe smoker, I satisfied myself with a little cheap Scotch.
By the 4th pipe of the day, my mouth has had a work-out.
Pipes are much like shabbes havdala.
Question of minhag.

There is no point in drinking good plonk in the evening, if you are a pipe smoker, as all you can taste at that point is either Latakia or Perique. Many pipe smokers will sample single malt ere they even have breakfast, when their taste-buds are yet fresh. There's something magical about Lagavulin in the quiet before dawn, as well as after dusk on Saturday.

I was indulging in a few bowls of Greg Pease's Sixpence, which has a most unusual share of strength, in case you really want to know.
Highly recommended.

Now, referring back to the teshuva of Rabbi Timothy referenced above, a shwerre problem is that pri hagafen is not suitable for whiskey, which takes shehakol, except during eight days in the latter part of the month of Nissan, when she asani goy is customary.

This is especially important during the reading of the haftorah, when the members of the exalted kiddush club take a break for socializing and lashon hara, a riezige mitzva.

[Note: the heter shikrus is of post-Talmudic origin. During a shmita year a heter meah rabbanim is required. Shmita prohibitions do not impact the consumption of rum or other seafoods, lechatchila. For rum, the brocha is yargh-maties, fyi. ]


A QUESTION ARISES

All of this is preambular to the sheile of reb Thirty Day Beer, who said:

"With this new understanding, we have another question that emerged in our trekken in Eastern Asia, specifically in the Gansoo-Saansee border, where we found populations of Christians and Musulmaners feuding, throwing to and fro a certain phrase of ambiguous yet clearly Biblical origin.

It is in our awareness that they adore separate books, titled the 圣经 and 古兰经, but we don't know which corresponds to the correct group.

Thus, we implore you to undertake a search in your vast repository of Scriptural knowledege, which you have demonstrated in your commentaries. Pray tell, which sfar does this psook come from?

"Some have labelled me a 'Gay Icon'. Well, no shit, Sherlock!
--Liza Minnelli". "
[End cite.]

[Under this post: still waters ]


Gevalt.

Christians and Musulmaners: consider that whatever they drink is stam yainom bediavad, or even yayin nesech, and consequently you cannot and should not socialize with them after kabbalos shabbos in the border, because they are outside of the rechus ha rabim (me reshus l'reshus), al pi Shammai, unless the drinking happens beshoggeg. But Hillel holds farkert, shperring that it is an issur she hazman gramma, so as regards getting shikker with their women, it is permitted.

The Mechaber hott geschribben that NOT doing so is nisht a kiddush, an unneccesary maake, but the Rama zogt az es iz a gonz gevaldikke hiddur mitzvoh, go ahead, it is your own affair, who is to stop you?
Does your mother know?

The Ramgat (aka 'Rabbeinu mi Gatkes', a famous Chassidic teacher from Hungary) advises that if her dadayik resemble ripe mangoes, it is advisable, but if they resemble esrogim in any way, it is nezifuth.
[Commentary on ShirHaShirim; psook 7:7.]

The Gansoo Saansee border is in any case a karmelis, emmes shricklich.
Why are you there? Voss machstu dort?

Bogs you like?


Musulmaners: The inhabitants of Rotterdam, Utrecht, and Antwerp.
After their favourite food, which is served with fries.


Gansoo, Sansee: These are culinary terms, Gansu (乾酥 'gon sou') and Sansi (三絲 'saam si'), referring to flaky biscuits, and three shredded vegetables (carrot, lobak, and wood ear) stir-fried with a main ingredient.

When talking about sharkfin soup, the three shreds will often be soaked sea-cucumber, winter bamboo shoot, and barbecued duck.
This is a famous dish in Shantung Cuisine (山東美食 'saan tung mei sik').

In the beloved northern-style appetizer 涼拌三絲 ('leung pun saam si'; "cold mixed three shreds"), sea slug, tofu skin, and rice vermicelli are first soaked or pre-cooked, then slivered as appropriate, dressed with oil, vinegar, sugar, salt, garlic, and sesame butter.

Note that the biscuits in question are also known as 乾酥餅 ('gon sou beng'; "dry flaky cakes"). One can often find them in Chinatown.
Sometimes they resemble snickerdoodles.
They are NOT matzoh.


聖經 and 古蘭經: The Book of San Jose (聖荷西 'saan ho sei'; "sagely lotus west" ) and The Ancient Orchid Classic (古蘭經 'gu laan king'), being respectively a vademecum of a large city where a lot of Orientals live and a gardening manual compended by a scholar during the Tang Dynasty (唐朝 'tong chiu'; 618–907 CE), collecting the sayings of his teacher on that and similar subjects. This latter tome was like the Analects of its day, but has since then fallen into disrepute.

The fondness of many East Asians for gardens is well known; if you ever visit Soochow, you will be amazed. Kyoto also has many great sights.
I have heard that there is a shul in Kyoto (Beit Shalom), but that kosher food is hard to find. Look for salmon in the wet markets there, as the appearance of the flesh of that bird is a siman le kashrus.
Perhaps you should go to Brighton instead?
No gardens, but a great restaurant.
You'll be happier.


Sherlock: a mantra, 福爾摩斯 ('fu yi mo si'; "happiness that scours thus") of possibly Sanskrit or Prakrit origin. In such cases, the original words are transcribed phonetically, and it is pointless to seek any deeper meaning. This is complete idolatrous gibberish in yedem gefal.
See Maseches Avoidah Zara for more.
Both in-depth, and how-to.

Liza Minelli: a rabbi that we have no knowledge of. Perhaps a name for Yushke, as he seems to have been worshipped by Gentiles.

Either that, or an avatar of Diana of the Ephesians.

Gefal: think of Bofton Baked Beans.


Salmon: 三文魚 ('saam man yü'; "three literature fish"), whose father was Boaz (波阿斯 'po aa si'; "waves ah thus").

Kosher: 潔食 ('git sik'; "pure eats"), which may be explained as 符合猶太教教規的食物 ('fu hap yau taai gaau gaau kwai dik sik mat'), meaning 'according with Judaic religious regulation comestibles'.
猶太潔食 ('yau taai git sik') for short.
Yau Taai: Jew, Jewish.
Just. Great.

Vegetarian: 素食 'sou sik'; "plain eats"), or 齋 ('jai'; "abstainment") in an idolatrous context.


I hope this helps.


Zai gazunt.









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IN WHICH MANY MATTERS ARE MADE CLEAR

You may have seen a previous expression of wonder at the missives readers leave underneath my humble postings of late. Sometimes the missive is longer and more confusing than the essay which inspired it.

A recent epistolic screed underneath a blogpost gives evidence of both alcoholic haze and a profound familiarity with my past literary efforts.

There are at least TWO possible candidates who may have written it, but unfortunately neither one of them is a short Chinese American female college graduate with a passionate interest in badgers, mediaeval Dutch literature, pipe tobacco, fruit bats of Australia and the South Pacific, or Marguerite Yourcenar.

Whether it was a short Chinese American female college graduate who wishes to share a bowl of preserved egg and lean pork congee (with an oil stick!) is also highly doubtful.
Many, if not most (meaning: the overwhelming majority) of my friends and readers are not short Chinese American female college graduates.

Actually, I know of only one, that being my ex girlfriend, with whom despite her complete and utter disinterest in badgers, mediaeval Dutch literature, pipe tobacco, fruit bats of Australia and the South Pacific, plus Marguerite Yourcenar, I am still on excellent terms.
We have shared cookies.

She's probably had preserved egg and lean pork congee with an oil stick, but we've never shared that.

And by short is meant five foot four inches. Not really short, all things considered, but let fine bone structure stand in for minor stature.
I'm only five foot eight and half, so I rather like short.
Being remarkably fond of foreheads.
A question of daled amos.


I am still looking.


Anyhow, here is the missive recently left (in large italics), with clarifying commentary interspliced in square brackets, smaller font - this in lieu of Rashi, with less lomdus, more free-association.

I have given it too much thought.


Dear Esteemed Expert,

Salutes and Greets, meneer, for we have returned from our voyage in old Hon-sing of Kou-lei. While there, we sampled the local six-hundred fourscore and nine varieties of tealeaf. Actually, "abominable interpretations" would be a more apropos term than would befit "varieties", as we found them to be nothing but insipid imitations of the Canton-Chewchow-Fukien Triumvirate of Tea Ritual. But no matter, as the streets were smattered with quite literally thirty shrines on every block to the melange called "keo-pee", which we have been informed is a corruption of the Arabic "al-qahwatu". Upon patronizing one of these (quite literal) qahwaterias, we decided that this was one foreign import that the Chō-sen People have done correctly, perhaps a better improvement than its progenitors in the Harrar Highlands.

[Kou-lei: Reference is made to Korea, which, given modern international relations, means the south. And it is known that the Seoul is passed down through the mother, unlike Koheinus, which is patrilineal. Note that all of the Chō-sen share descent from four matriarchs, one of whom, Ruth, was from Moab, and altogether of outside lineage. From her loinage King David descended, who slaughtered countless thousands in rigorous pursuit of truth, justice, and the American way; he and his successors are a model up to the present. Tea can be taken to mean bsomim, the heavenly fragrance of which recalls both the sabbath, as well as reminder-offerings of the countless dead. Tea Ritual: The tea is sometimes served in small glasses called 'istakhan', but more often in tiny handleless porcelain or pottery cups (piala). An hour or so later, one gets up from one's tushak and goes out back, for what is known as "answering to the tea" (ghare ke piche pishab-karna).  Qahwateria: Sturbacks. A chaikhana favoured by heathens, hence the idolatrous signage. About which we know nothing!
The Harrar Highlands are hot, that being the meaning in the local tongue of Harrararrar. Harribly hot.]

The Falash-Mura must be liberated, speedily and in our days.

[The Falash-Mura are among the inhabitants of Yerushalayim, the offspring of Bint Al Jebus three thousand years ago. Bimheira, bimheira; bimheira ve yameinu. Mura means bitter, as in the psuk: 'amar min al handal'. Sukar ziyada is not mura. Always ask for sukar ziyada. 
Their greatest hero is Falash Gordun.]

But of no importance. We have received terrible tidings of our friend in the Middle Kingdom. You might so recall him having been a liaison of the Binleung Israelites with our group. [Through a relay of no less than twenty individuals (call it information-laundering), it has been informed to us that he was detentioned for "unspeakable crimes" (the officiall name of his charge). We have also heard that his punichmentes ranged from "having his stones pulled" and "filling his mouth with cement", but further research illustrates that these are only (gratefully) meted out to those accused of murder.]

[Middle Kingdom: Lotharingia, because it lies between both the Franks and the Teutons. Binleung: a sacramental nut, betel or pinang.
Information laundering: as per the Sfas Emes, you are the guardian of what you hear or see, and you must judge whether what you hear or see is fit or not. Cleanliness is next to godliness. Punichmentes: mediaeval word-association, by means of which the tolerance and guilt of an accused person are measured, much like the cart is put before the horse.]

It happened thusly, and no less: he had promised the Israelites that he would bestow unto them a guide of the delights of Balut, and he had relied on us to deliver him the Good Word. It is why we tasked you with giving this much-needed primer, as we have not the literary clout to persuade successfully as you do. Days and months they waited, but it became clear to even them that he had failed to procure on this information and deliver his promise.

[Thusly: in this manner, according to the details stated following the clause. Balut: balus in classical Ahskenazis, as spoken in Galicia and the Harrarrarrarrar Highlands, meaning an acorn. Strength, power, and ersatz coffee. Good Word: to those who know, a riezige sefer fun Reb Avigdor Ben Simcho Halevi (c. 1725 - 1810), a grammarian who moved from Googlehow to Berlin; davar tov, an instructional manual on speechifying for fun and profit. Tselb-helf vorter. Hence mention of "this much-needed primer".
Clout: strong and powerful unterveish, which is what the Hindus wear. It is much celebrated, and the origin of the modern pantie, such as the French cut, the high cut, the boy short, the granny, and the bikini brief. Orthodox preference is for the classic high-waisted garment (aka: Mormon Temple Clothing), both Reform and Reconstructionists prefer the thong. Days and Months: because every month there are more or less ten days when, due to niddah and subsequent spotting, the woman is gonz farshpetterd.
But we shall not mention that. Niddah, zivah, zavah.
Promise: half an hour to deliver pizza or it's free.]

We were also told, according to local Binleung legend, that an unfullfilled vow is a grave trespass in Israelite custom. For you see it brings dishonour unto those to whom were promised - and as you no doubt know, bringing shame is tantamount to execution in non-Occidental ideology.

[Grave trespass: Trespassing on graves is, in most societies, considered both bad luck and an offense. Mamesh.]

It was for all this that our friend was circumscribed by the Israelites, never to return to this Shangri-la of maize and cacahuetes (its most numerous exports). He has told us personally that he was literally "run out of town", when angry Israelites chased after him yelling "A Shah! A Shah!" We have no idea why the Aryan Monarch would become such a foul epithet, but once again local legend demonstrated that they were likewise chased from their homeland-in-exile, and from that day they would do the same to heretics, informers, and of course, shamers and promise-breakers.

[Cacahuetes: The pinda or guber, a paste of which combines nicely with grape jelly, especially on wonder bread (pan de nissim), but badly with marmelade. Circumscribed: that which takes place eight days after birth.
A Shah! A Shah! Gesundheit! But in the Seifer hamivharim and the Sefer hasheiles, Ibn Ezra shpers that 'shah' is an epithet for Moishe Rabeinu, camping at Yatvata (Yosvoso).]

For our imminent return to Holam-sing, we are now burdened with the efforts of finding a new traductor for which we cannot function. This is a task that strains our resources, something which we would quite like to avoid. When we return, we will no doubt encounter this same question again. Lest we lose another liaison to the highly guarded Israelite honor, we implore you to provide us with a proper thesis, preferably in full post form, to pass down the awaiting Israelites of the deliciousness of Balut.

[Now note that the aleph has a holam in it, wherefore we must mean Omar, an obvious misspelling (scribal error?) of Oman, a land famous for Frankincense and Myrh, referring back to the 'tea' (bsomim) mentioned previously. Traductor: chazzen. Burden: according to Ibn Ezra, the staff that smote his shoulder; something one indeed would wish to avoid. Balut: Beitzim muzarot. Deliciousness: as it says in the Shir Ha Shirim, "I am come into my garden, my sister, my spouse, I have gathered my myrrh with my spices, I have gustated my honeycomb with my honey, I have drunk my wine with my lactic exudate; eat, O friends, and drink, yes, drink abundantly, O beloved." Shlomo HaMelech wrote in English; who knew?]

Or Dinuguan.

[Ibn Ezra did not write about dinuguan.]

They must know the essence of Philippine délicacies!

[Philippine Delicacies: The Yerushalmi kugel and Apple sauce noodle kugel, as mentioned here: what to eat in Kikar Safra.]

Delay no more,

[Tom Delay, a heathen king, possibly Amalek. The gematria of his name spells out 'Mordor', which is a place of shadow and gloom.]

Thirty Day Beer

.   .   .   .   .


My best educated guess is that the person who signed himself 'Thirty Day Beer' is actually a Fratboy ('yeshive bocher') from the Midwest, who celebrated the end of term with a monumental bender.
Beer and pizza, for a solid month.

Both balut and dinuguan are ways of curing a hangover.
Neither are kosher le peysach, as they are associated with rice.
The prohibition is strictly de rabbanan.
See maseches kiddushin.



I had preserved egg and lean pork congee for lunch today.
With an oilstick (crispy fried dough).

Al netilas yadayin, hamotzi, and mezonos.
Plus a shehakol, just to be sure.





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All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
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A WONDERFUL LADIES' ROOM OF THE MIND

Sometimes a reader leaves jewels in my comments field. Usually this is either e-kvetcher, or the something-or-other amphibian. There are not so many commenters now as there used to be when I was still an angry young man writing about Jewish things or Israel, or sneering poisonously at the Dutch (my own people) or other Europeans (who are beyond the pale).
The Dutch ALWAYS sneer at other Europeans. The reason being that they are close enough to be familiar with our marvelous culture, so close in fact as to be able to observe our splendid example of how it is done, yet out of sheer perversion they refuse to be just like us, albeit necessarily a little bit more humble as would befit them.
I've never been able to figure that one out.
Maybe they're just a little stupid.

Now, as a Dutchman, I am superior entirely to most other Dutchman. Because my folks came over in the 1630s and settled New Amsterdam, in consequence of which I bear none of the stigma and guilt that adheres to the fatherland Dutch, whose horrendous colonial depravities passed my tribe by entirely.

Neener neener neener, bitches.


Anyhow, the reader.

New comments.

Valhala wrote:

"Dear most munificent BotH,

Please, I pray thee, approve my comment for posting, for thou art merciful and gracious.

Be also kind to thy humble commenter, and bestow me with a post as response to my comment, preferably a LONG post.

How can I possibly thank you for such a favor? Thine honor is all in duty."

[End quote]

That was at 5:55 PM, while I was in Marin County babysitting the cigar smokers. It's a tough job, but somebody has to do it. Works best if you enjoy a pipe filled with a blend composed of Latakia (around forty two percent), Turkish (Smyrna, more or less 20%), and aged Virginia leaf (altogether 36%). The balance of this mezcla is a mystery, and none of your business.

He or she had earlier (10:31 AM) written the following:

"My grandfather's name was Kerchy. I think he was a Jewish. Are you an Israelite? I know all about the Jewish! Bagels and lox are a big mitzvah to eat on Rosh Hoodesh. That makes me feel all farklempt all over!

Momma rarely, and never around the kids, used profanity. But when she did use it, it was always funny. Like -- what happened was -- we were in some crazy place, like Lake Taho. And we went into the ladies' room, and there was an old drunk lady in there, and it's just, like, you know, the sequined straps, one of those dames, and she said: "Oh Judy, you're terrific. The rainbow, you gotta always remember the rainbow." Then she went into one of the stalls; the lady knocked on the door. She said: "Yes?" She said: "Judy, never forget the rainbow. God has helped me through so many crisises and..." Well momma came back. Then she went up to her -- the lady went up to mom, and said: "I'd just like to say hello." And momma looked said and her and said: "hi". Which made me start thinking... Now, she went on and on and on about the rainbow, and about this and that, and dear little girl, and on and on and on. And as we were going out, she had on this incredible feathered boa, which someone had given her as a present, which was way too big for her, because she was tiny: she came up to here [just below the shoulder] on me. And the last thing that this lady said, again, was: "Don't forget the rainbow, Judy." And momma turned, and threw the boa around herself, and said: "How can I forget the rainbow? I've got rainbows up my ass." "

[End quote.]

That is an interesting submit.
Indicative of something.


FEATHERS UP THE WAZZOO!

It may surprise you to know that while I have often been in the ladies room, and not infrequently had occasion to ponce with feather boas (long story), there has never been a time when I visited the ladies room with a feather boa. And having read Valhala's account, I now feel an emptiness.
There is so much I haven't accomplished.

Years ago, when a friend visited Israel, he thought he saw me in the vicinity of Kikar Safra, exiting a store that sold inks and qlaf (קלף). This is NOT the same friend who brought the matter of the rainbow-hued tefillin straps to my attention ("there is no merit to the mitzvah if you accidentally tie yourself up because you can't remember which lash goes where - the Macrameier Rebbe accidentally hanged himself because he was not paying attention, zichrono nebech levracha"), NOR the friend who commented favourably on my Hello Kitty kippah.

In actual fact I have never been anywhere near Kikar Safra. It is easier to visit the ladies room than Kikar Safra, which is walking distance from the church of the holy seapuker.

The shortest route: head south towards HaGan Ha Leumi, turn left at Shlomo Ha Melech, and go right at Ha Sha'ir Ha Khadash.
Then follow one of the religious nuts.

If you are wearing a feathered boa, you will fit right in.

Just tell people it's al pi minhag.

Très catholique.


IF, and I say if, I ever have occasion to read the Shir Ha Shirim Asher LiShlomo from qlaf (קלף), you may rest assured that a rainbow feathered boa will most certainly be part of the picture.

I am resolved to before I die get a rain-boa.

It is emmes geshmak.

Tasty.


AFTERWORD

Why has a resplendent male specimen such as myself visited the ladies' room? No, it wasn't because I was searching for the Legendary Lost Date (probably about five foot two inches tall, black hair, and a lovely kissy face with spectacles), nor because I was in drag, but because I could.
After Savage Kitten and I broke up five years ago, I would hide out at the office downtown on Saturdays and Sundays, where it was quiet and peaceful, and I could plonk away at the computer or imagine that there were little forest creatures scurrying about. Often I was the only one there, and the ladies' room was closest to my desk.

There is no couch in the ladies' room. Nor a grand piano, or any of the other amenities that men fondly imagine. Not all ladies' rooms have those. The handsome turbaned Moorish servant with flavoured soaps and fluffy towels is also absent, and there is no wide screen teevee.
Honestly, why does anyone even go to the ladies' room?
They should visit the men's room instead.

It's not just standing room only.

You can sit.





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NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
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All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
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PENGUINS!

Sometimes people lay the juju on you. Remarks are made that have a basis on some other thought patterns than you were expecting, and what you hear (or see) may make little sense. Often context is everything. Conversations in Cantonese are often like that, as are discussions about anything at all with pipe smokers.
Chatting with a pipesmoker in Cantonese is, of course, a double blessing. Hold on tight, you don't know where this train will crash.
Maybe on a rickety trestle bridge?
Over a rushing stream.
In the Sierras.
Piranhas!

[Mr. Tu smokes RLP-6, which is made with Burley tobacco, Toasted Black Cavendish, and Golden Virginias. The flavouring could be best described as "compressed candy store". It is "addictive".]



Over on Mordechai's Facebook page, someone interrupted a political discussion to talk about flu shots. Which, when you think about it, is on the spectrum.

If you think about it a little longer, your head will hurt.

And, speaking of such things, did I ever mention that my apartment mate and I have Asperger's Syndrome? She's far further on the spectrum, so over the years I've learned to interior monologize whenever she says something baffling. It makes everything much more comprehensible.

[RLP-6 is not something I would choose, even if temporarily nuts, but far be it from me to begrudge stubborn people the freedom to make mistakes.]



For instance, while I was scarfing down a dish of Spam, Yauchoi, Tofu, and Wheat noodles, dressed with Abalone Sauce, Soy sauce, Sriracha hotsauce, plus tomatoes and olive oil, she went over to the hallway mirror and started talking. My input consists of the stuff in square brackets, not vocalized.


"Not the colour I wanted, but it's soft, and I look HOT wearing it; commanding, like I should be in charge of a submarine."
[Accepting things as they are.]

"Filled with HOT sailors!"
[Catching the ball and running with it.]

"Well, okay, just ONE sailor."
[Approaching things more realistically.]

"I'm tired, I'm going to bed now."
[Did you mention that there are koftas in the refrigerator?]


See? A productive and information-packed exchange. Both participants happy that they got something out of it. I have a secret passion for Spam.
It makes tofu taste good. Don't forget to add ginger. Lots of ginger.

We used to be a couple, in case you were wondering. Broke up a number of years ago, but we still like each other, and trust the other person around our stuff. The underlying friendship remains strong.
Which is a good thing.

And, because she's Cantonese, she's comfortable with my dining habits. If she were blonde, I would have died of gustatory ennui years ago, before we stopped seeing each other "that way".
Of course, given that I've hardly ever met an intelligent blonde, there probably would have been no relationship in the first place.
Either way, it's 'win win'.


And, speaking of 'win win', a reader whom I am certain I know, though we've never met, left the following comment underneath a recent post:

Cite:

Dear Mr. Back of the Hill,

I am an avid follower of your bloggh. I notice your ability to take any topic, be it Israeli politics, Chinese food, or tobacco inhalation, and run with it, turn it into something creative, thinktanky.

I would very much like to suggest (humbly at this point), a topic for a future post. Perhaps you could write about the connection between the Consitution of Madagascar (text here http://mjp.univ-perp.fr/constit/mg2010.htm) and Dogshit Golf. This is a topic connection that very interests me, and it would be great to read about it on your bloggh. My request right now is humble, but I might get more forceful if you express misgivings about writing such a post.

Thank you

Your Energetic Reader

[End cite.]


I do not have a dog. Consequently, I must approach the subject of whacking any evidence of their digestive process with golfclubs with considerable caution. On the plus side, I live in San Francisco, where there are lots of dogs, of all possible dimensions and personality profiles. One must take care not to loft a chihuahua with a mashie-niblick.
They're small, and quite disgusting; it's a natural mistake.
Why are chihuahuas dumber than rabbits?
They're the same size.

Given a choice between the two, the sensible man picks the rabbit.

Copyright: mongabay.com / wildmadagascar.org

The Constitution de la IVe République (11 décembre 2010) states preambulatorily that "le peuple malagasy souverain, affirmant sa croyance à Andriamanitra Andriananahary, résolu à promouvoir et à développer son héritage de société vivant en harmonie et respectueuse de l'altérité, de la richesse et du dynamisme de ses valeurs culturelles et spirituelles à travers le « fanahy maha-olona »

[Notation: Dans Wikipedia, il est expliqué que "Andriamanitra est un terme servant à désigner la divinité suprême. Andriamanitra signifie littéralement « seigneur parfumé ». ]


[The problem is that Mister Tu does not rotate his pipes very often ("ever"), and never cleans them. They are always soggy. Every three or four months he brings them in for me to ream and clean.]





From an anthropological view, Madagascar is a fascinating place, as the dominant culture reflects a connection with Indonesian (Bornean) origins, long isolated and transformed. Linguistically the native language (Malagasy) is a relative of the entire Malayo-Polynesian group. The population is a stable mixture of roughly equal parts South-East Asian and East-African ancestry.

[They are sodden and tar-stained by that time, filled with sticky carbon deposits.]






Especially in the traditional caste / class divisions of society does Madagascar show relationship with their kin across the ocean. Many of the terms and titles used are clearly of Malayo-Polynesian derivation, though the exact roots cannot always be recognized. For someone fascinated by languages, reading long lists of Malagasy words is both addictive and frustrating. What does it all mean? How does this relate to similar words which I already know?

[A pity, because Mister Tu has some eppes nice briars.]






Of course, framing their constitution in French further frustrates. Especially when they speckle that language with long poly-syllabic constructs that are unknown. It's like reading English with key concepts framed in Russian.

[That resemble sewers at the end of the cycle.]






The present Madagascene constitution has one hundred and sixty eight articles, not a single one of which mentions golf, whether suburban country club style or urban-defecatory. I fear my "energetic reader" is off on wild goose chase.

[Very wet and stinky sewers.]






In fact, given the absence of ANY connection at all between the constitution of the fourth republic and "dogshit golf", one naturally suspects that the presumed link was picked at random, and that one could as easily and imaginatively posit a relationship between that document and rat crack, cigar smoking Hhasidim, the Keter Aram Tzova, the Shir HaShirim Asher LiShlomo, and that helicopter which is flying overhead. There is certainly no less fibre between them.

[Anyhow, after I'm done, they are one hundred percent smokeable again. And they look and smell decent.]





To the best of my knowledge, urban yuppies in Madagascar do not habitually whack pet excrement over the garden fence at their neighbors. That, truly, is an all-American custom. And given that we have so many canines in San Francisco, I refuse to go into the yard for fear of flying poo. Crazy I'm not.

[I clean up toxic waste dumps.]






What particularly strikes me though is the fact that the central kingdom had a number of strong female rulers. In that they also resemble their distant kin, particularly the Achenese and Minangkabau. Both of which are at heart matrilineal societies, though modified by a strong Islamic identity.

[I'd really like to sit him down and explain: "Mister Tu, do NOT constantly smoke the same pipe! Let it rest after use, and employ pipe cleaners!"]





In the case of the Achenese, who call their land "the gateway to Mecca", because pilgrims took ship there for the Arab world, the state institutions were based on Muslim standards. Whereas the Minangkabau, equally fervent in their faith, never the less preserved the superior position of women, and ranked men's rights to property and status as subject to their wives and their in-laws.

["Both bristly (to remove tar inside the shank) and fluffy absorbent ones (to sop up those nasty vanilla fruit loop caramel juices)."]





In Acheh, like in Minangkabau, men gained independent wealth and status by moving out, and consequently both groups have trade links across the entire archipelago. Their position "at home" is often a discordant and inferior one.

["And while RLP-6 is a might fine product -- it must be, seeing as every pipestore in North America sells it in some form or other -- it is very much like a syphilitic whore of whichever gender; seemingly charming, but not the relationship you want for your son or daughter."]




One peculiarity that crops up in Malagasy history is the custom that the queens solidified their role by marrying their prime ministers.

["Popularity does not mean worth associating with."]






Some of whom they subsequently assassinated for being bothersome old cocks. In a few cases they then ended up marrying the decedent's brother, who had inherited the position.

["Try some nice Oriental blends, Mister Tu. Or a maidenly Virginia and Perique compound."]






It's a peculiar way of establishing authority. Conceivably this is an East-African influence.

["If you treat your pipe like a friend, she may eventually love you."]






Imagine that Elizabeth had to marry David Cameron. Hardly a match made in heaven. One can only roll one's eyes at the concept of combining that with regular democratic elections and the prospect of regime shift every four years.

["As it is, she bites, blows, and sucks."]






And what on earth would a parliamentary vote of no-confidence mean under those circumstances?

["And this one -- a beautiful black blasted Peterson bent billiard with a silver rim -- has developed cracks in the bowl."]





The Thatcher years would have been surpassingly surreal, almost defying description entirely.

["I've repaired it, and I think the fills will hold. In any case there's enough caking on the inside to maintain a modicum of structural integrity."]





Come to think of it, they were. Those were horrible times! Commoners and Andriana both saw their traditional position diminished, the economy of the Island was in shambles, and the combination of colonial rule and abolition of slavery imposed severe hardships on outlying cities of the realm like Belfast and Glasgow.

["But for crapssakes, Mister Tu, smoke clean! If you let a pipe dry out, and thin down the cake regularly, it will not crack, and you'll get many more years of pleasure out of it."]




In 1970, the British Empire lay in ruins, foreign nationals roamed the streets -- many of them Hungarian -- and many of these Hungarians went into Tobacconist's shops to buy cigarettes.

["Yeah, I know. RLP-6 just tastes SO effing good, when the tars and saps hit boiling point and that intoxicating vanilla cream perfume fills your sinuses."]





Hungarians are all in all rather like the Vazimba, living in the big rivers like the Amazon. They are larger than frogs, and eat honey.

["But good lord, Mister Tu, good lord."]






What sets them apart is the tradition of 'turning the dead' ("famadihana"), which involves removing the body from its sepulchre and re-wrapping it in fresh silken shrouds. This honours the omnipresent soul of the expiree ("ambiroa"), which permeates the tomb building, the family household, and the hills and valleys of Magyar Kuztaarsaszaug.

[I tried RLP-6 once.]






Even for the most well-to-do Magyar, this involves considerable expense, because of the need to host huge numbers of relatives and observe all the correct protocols. But is gladly done, due to the importance of the ancestors in the lives of their descendants.

[Sometimes risks are worth taking.]






Without their benevolent influence, there would be no protection against Gypsies, and the family farmlands would be over-run with horse-drawn carts, wild goats, and thousands of little unwashed black-haired children running riot and stealing eggs.

[Sometimes not]






Carpathia is a harsh mistress, gringo, and will kill you in ways you cannot imagine.

[Good pipe tobacco only, boys and girls, good pipe tobacco.]






It is to their credit that the Malagyarsy have, like the people in Marin, invented tofu as a Vegan substitute for eggs. Especially because eggs keep disappearing.

[Aromatics have no morals.]






Always protect your eggs, gringo. Always. The world is filled with young men who attack things with golf clubs.

[Do NOT douse yourself with cheap perfume.]






Perhaps they're in that helicopter that is flying overhead. I wouldn't put it past them. Flying Gipsies!

[I'm a missionary for clean living.]






When all else fails, hold onto your teddy bear!

[Depravity has to be tasteful and discreet.]






It's probably a good thing that neither rabbits nor chihuahuas are native to Madagascar. Or even urban male yuppies with clubs and Gipsies.
Given that they take over the territories and food-sources of other creatures, like Hungarians and lemurs.

And penguins.

[Not advertised to one an all with Hello Kitty odours.]






"What about the penguins", I hear you wailing, "will no one think about the penguins?"


Please don't worry.


I think about the penguins.


They are constantly on my mind.


Probably splendid with a squirt of Sriracha.


I was in Marin all day today, absorbing the stimulation that is guaranteed by the presence of cigar smokers. They are such intellectually rewarding influences. It's refreshing. I feel like a brand new man.

Why IS a helicopter flying overhead?

I am a pipe smoker.

Penguins.




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PINKY NEW FACE

Not entirely sure why he did it; it seems quite unrabbinic. But entirely in keeping with his character, given that he is the rosheshiva of the most influential academic environment in the five boroughs or the tri-tip area.

Seeing it has renewed my faith.

Ikh bin farklempt.


THE VISION!

The faithless may not know his true face, or utter his name.

Ve ha meiven, yaivin.


This image MUST be used for our school jersey.
Es iz a riezige mitzvah.
Mamesh.




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TESHUVERTLEKH TO A RECENT KVITTEL ABOUT TATTOOS

A correspondent who has visited this blog numerous times in a number of guises -- once even from Jerusalem, if I remember correctly, and another time while in Paris -- posts an interesting message in the comment field under a previous essay.

No, Baruch Hashem ("thank goodness") this time it has absolutely diddly-squat to do with "inhaling cigars".

Or the Aleppo Codex ('Keter Aram Tzova').


He writes:

Dear Mr. BackOfTheHill,

I recently had this exchange with my rabbi. I was wondering if you could include the exchange on your blog, along with a commentary, explaining any unusual, non-Englishy terms, or non-Christian concepts, to your readers, so that they might appreciate it more.


Dear Rabbi,

I have an esteemed Question for you.

What is the inyen of דוג שיט? It's obviously a very important mitzvoh, because it's in Hebrew. Is it, by any perchance, a name of the De*ty G*D? If so, I may want to get a tattoo of it on both of my arms and stenciled on something resembling a Louis Vuitton purse.

Thank you very much,

Richard-Adham Kalower

[Here was his response:]

Dear Richard "Ate Ham",


yes, דוג שיט is indeed the Hebrew name of a deity, namely Neptune (literally: Doug the Oarsman). In theory, it would be a good hiddur mitzvoh to have his image tattooed, but I doubt you'll find a craftsman, even if Jewish, who'll be ready and able to tattoo such an eccentric design.

Estimandly,


Rabbi

[End cite]


You, dear reader, will notice several items which may raise your eye-brow. Kindly leave it lowered; some things must remain opaque.

"Explaining any unusual, non-Englishy terms, or non-Christian concepts"

The relevant words are: rabbi, inyen, mitzvoh, tattoo, Neptune, hiddur mitzvoh.



EXPLICATIONES VERBA

Rabbi: originally meaning master ('great person, or thing'), now in Hebraic usage applied to one who has received smicha ('smicho l'rabbanus'), though in Arabic it is a name of the deity. Many Arabs, ignorant of the origin of the term in the proto-Arabic language which evolved into Hebrew three millennia ago, are outraged at the Jewish use of the word and intend to write an angry letter to the editor.

Editor: rabbi.

Inyen: topic, issue, matter at hand. An eppes riezige sach.

Mitzvoh: one of 613 entries in an ancient instructional manual which has been lost, possibly in the Midbar. Locating the missing tome has proven difficult since Menachim Begin (z"l) returned that miserable place to the Paynim in 1979. They are referenced in Toireh, but as the original doc itself cannot be examined, most people simply wing it.

דוג שיט: the rap-artist Snoop Dog in a canoe or other small aquatic conveyance. Ich veis?

Tattoo: images, designs, symbols, decorations, or even texts, which are permanently marked on the ectoderm of a human being or other sentient near-hairless creature. The process is considered painful, and usually a ghastly mistake, though for ethnic groups still resident in rainforest areas or underdeveloped regions like the Haight-Ashbury and the Mission District, it is also culturally significant, indicating that the wearer has achieved a life-goal like wrestling a whale or completing her first divorce.

The skin is the largest organ of the integumentary system, which protects the muscles, bones, ligaments and internal organs.

Skin is prominently mentioned in the Bible (Neviim, most notably in the book of Isayah: ספר ישעיה Sefer Yeshayahu), as well as several songs of a religious nature, such as the following:

When you hear the syncopation,
And sweet music softly moans;
It ain't no sin to take off your skin,
And dance around in your bones.

Just like those bamboo babies,
Down in the tropical zones;
It ain't no sin to take off your skin,
And dance around in your bones.

When it gets too hot for comfort,
And you can't get ice cream cones;
It ain't no sin to take off your skin,
Then dance around in your bones.

While Rabbinic Judaism looks sternly askance at this particular piyyut, considering it non-normative, nisht unsere minhog, veistu, and quite possibly heathen (pre-first temple, and note particularly the echoing of rites involved with worshipping asherim), heterodox cults such as Reconstructionist Judaism, New Age Jews, J4J, and Kabbalists, often sing it before entering the jaccuzi ('birkas ha mikvah').

Note: custom dictates that Arizal be used for scriptural tattoos, never Beis Yosef.

Neptune: heathen deity from the pre-exilic period. His worship faded during forty years in the midbar. For rather obvious reasons.

Hiddur mitzvah: making the mitzvah much more mitzvahish. It's like, how much more mitzvahish could this be? And the answer is 'none'. None more mitzvahish.

As is written: "Well, I don't really think that the end can be assessed as of itself as being the end because what does the end feel like? It's like saying when you try to extrapolate the end of the universe, you say, if the universe is indeed infinite, then how - what does that mean? How far is all the way, and then if it stops, what's stopping it, and what's behind what's stopping it?
So, what's the end, you know, is my question to you."

Craftsman: a Freemason.


Lastly, the term 'Louis Vuitton Purse'. This is an object of worship for many materialists. We do not hold by it. Es iz, as they say, nisht unsere minhog. But it is very popular in San Francisco, very regal. Geshmak.
Halacha dictates that after handling his 'Louis Vuitton Purse', the penitent shall toivel and sit in the jacuzzi till nightfall.


Nu, kvestions?

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THOUGHTS FOR PURIM 2013

The beautiful town of Gatkes rise high over Ketsegbeises Folyam, a minor tributary of the Danube, several miles before it joins that famous river. During the Habsbourg centuries it was know as Unterbruchen, though the original Hungarian name, Bugyi, was still in common currency.
Bugyi remains a by-word for earthly delights to this day.

It was here that the genius later know as Rabbeinu Mi Gatkes established a small beis medresh that brought the joy of knowledge to many surrounding communities.

"Va'aseh lachem michnesei vad lechassot basar ervah, mimatenayim v' ad yerechayim yich-hu."

Taking as his grundshlag this possuk from Seifer Shemos (28:42), the Ramgat (Rabbeinu Mi Gatkes) shperred that this commandment was fundamental to a tzniusdikke lebn in golus.
And, lechatchilla, that it would no longer be nutzlich upon the coming of Mosshiach, for as it is written, "ve-shafat betzedek dalim ve-hochiah bemishor leianvei aretz, vehikkah eretz b'shevet piv-u-verruach sfatav yamit rasha" ('He will judge the righteous poor and judge with fearness the constricted, and strike down with the stick of his mouth the wicked'), and further "ufeduyi YHW yeshuvun uva-u Tzion berinnah ve simchat olam al rosham sasa ve simcha yassigun hasu-yagon v'anachah" ('and therefore the Lord's righteous people shall return to Zion with joy upon their heads, while sorrow and conflict shall disappear forever').
Which mamesh must imply that what once they wore so low will now be worn strictly upon their brow.
Lemai nafka mina, what else could liberation mean?

And if some wore festive linen garments on their heads anticipatorily, they should not be faulted, because it is in the nature of man to hope.

[If anything, this was stam azoi about French ailments ('le brûlage du clappe'), for is not a severe itch prophesied? Vi es shteyt geshribn, 'both shields and corsets --- shall burn on them for seven years'.]

"U magen vetzinnah --- ubi'aru bachem es sheva sanim"
[Yechezkiel 39:9]



The Ramgat and his eishis chayil disported themselves oif shabbes without the constrictions favoured by the local goyim, which was commented upon favourably by many.
Gradda, even the neighborhood galachim praised their ruchnius and gashmius, and could often be found in a deep state of inspiration in their abode, studying bronfen with vigour.
Ad delo yoda bein Haman.....

The Ramgat's life work is found in the Likkutei Gatkes, and may be perushed at your local library.
Both the Rebbe of Prolicz and the Baal Ha Turetz studied it.
We can davka do no less.

A gitten voch, y'all.




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RABBI BOYARSKI AND STRANGE MENTAL ASSOCIATIO​NS

Third installment in a series written for Felix and Adam. It is late, and I am slightly beyond reason at this point.

I had been deep in conversation with a pipe smoker wearing a kilt when the chicken man walked into the tobacco store. Within mere moments I could feel my eye-lids grow heavy, as a bone-crushing ennui gripped me. The chicken man has that effect. He was trying to tell me a lange eingewikkelte meise about a relative who passed away while simultaneously referring to an English scholar of chassidismus.
As well as a chabadnik, whose connection with the foregoing escaped me.
Four months previously the conversation involved a masechte nobody ever reads, and kabalah.
Those of you who know him, know the effect.

[Kilt: an eccentric Keltic garment, both très geshmak and butch. Lange eingewikkelte meise: a long complicated story. Lang, lange: long. Eingewikkelte: tzerdraite. Meise: a story, a narrative example. Chassidismus: a version of Judaism from Eastern Europe that stresses faith, joy, and sincerity over scholarship and rigour. It provided an alternative to the intelektiwelische drang of the famous Yeshivos, and was consequently much opposed by the brilliant lights of Lithuanian Judaism, and especially by academies such as Volozhin, Slobodka, Ponevetch, and Mir. At the beginning, the contra-Chassidics were identified with the Gaon of Vilna (Eliyahu ben Shlomo Zalman Kramer), today it is perhaps best to think of Soloveitchik and Brisk as holding such simplicity at bay. Chabad: the Lubavitcher Chassidim, who among other things give much credence to a book that I find impossible to read without fury (Tanya, more commonly known as Likutei Amarim, by Rabbi Shneuer Zalman), but whose many shluchim do much good, even among the Gentiles. Masechte: a tractate of Talmud. One cannot really study Talmud without also going through the Shulchan Aruch ('the well-arranged table', by Yosef Karo) and without having at least a passing familiarity with the Arba Turim of Yakov ben Asher. Kabalah: sheer nonsense, and consequently popular among celebrities.]


The only thing that helps is a massive injection of cortisone, or ingestion of something rich and sweet.
Neither was available. The tobacconist that serves tasty cups of crème caramel, bread pudding, or sweet noodle kugel doesn't exist yet.
And I wouldn't trust any of those people to rip off my shirt and slam a long needle directly through my sternum.

Tzimmes, or noodle kugel? That is the question.
The first does not seem particularly appetizing, even if it is sweet. It requires the company of a plate of brisket, and some fairly mediocre wine.
Whereas a refined pipe smoker like myself would be more inclined towards a dry sherry, and a book about something obscure.

Imagine then, a serving of Kugel, the sherry, a volume of dikdukei soferim, or maybe a Tikkun.


JERUSALEM KUGEL

Half a pound fine or medium noodles.
Half a cup sugar.
Quarter cup oil.
One teaspoon ground pepper.
Quarter teaspoon salt.
Three eggs, slightly beaten.

Preheat your oven at 350 degrees.
Cook the noodles till tender in a large pot of salted water. Drain and cool.
Heat the oil and carefully add the half of the sugar. When the sugar turns colour (caramelizes), remove from heat and stir to keep it from burning, then promptly add the noodles, remaining sugar, salt, and pepper, and mix together. When it is cold enough, mix in the eggs. Gloop it all into a greased pyrex dish, and place it in the oven for an hour or so, till gilded and crisped on top.

The amount of pepper can be increased. Raisins can be added but are not orthodox. Note that perfect caramel is a beautiful ruddy hue, whereas anything noticeably darker verges on burnt. Let it sit for while before serving.


Instead, you might prefer something a little more old-fashioned, perhaps with a bit of Amontillado, and a nice article about literary archeology.


APPLE SAUCE NOODLE KUGEL

Half a pound fine or medium noodles.
Half a cup sugar.
Two cups (1 pint) sour cream.
Two cups (16 fl.oz) applesauce.
Quarter cup raisins.
Pinches cinnamon, dry ginger, ground cardamom, salt.
4 eggs, slightly beaten.
Butter.

Cook the noodles till tender in a large pot of salted water. Drain and cool.
Mix all ingredients together. Gloop it all into a greased pyrex dish. Dot with butter.
place it in the oven for an hour or so.
Three hundred and fifty degrees.


You could also read The Lonely Man of Faith, by Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik while pensively eating your kugeln.
Which is highly recommended.


In any case, either of these kiglech, with or without the sherry, should inculcate a nice Litvishe attitude - more than sufficient to counter the absurd amateurish baalshemism of the chicken man, and in keeping with the spare persevering scholarship of both Rabbi Shmuel Shlomo Boyarksi and Rabbi Mordechai Breuer, who were mentioned in the previous post.
The kugel yerushalmi would probably have even been something that both men had tasted numerous times.

The wine, not so much.

While not yayin nesech, it is stam yainom, and hence something with which neither of those gentlemen would have had much truck.
Rav Breuer because he was a sincere and erliche mentsh, rav Boyarski because as a sofer he had to adhere rigorously to the full set of rules that dictate a clean and trustworthy life. Both were choshuve leite, a chezkas kashrus pre-empts their consuming such a product.
I myself, as mamesh a gontseh goy, have a chezkas of lo kashrus entirely when it comes to food and drink.
As you might have noticed from some of my other food posts.
Though not so much an epicurean as an apikoros.

[Yayin nesech: wine that has been poured for an idol (such as arguably communion wine may be), as was common among the heathens. Stam Yainom: wine handled or made by an idolator or someone who holds by idolatry. Erliche: honest, and by extension upright, sincere, and reliable. Mentsh: human being, but more usually person in the most positive sense. Sofer: a scribe, more specifically a scribe producing religious texts, whose personal conduct, sincerity, and adherence to the rules has to be beyond reproach, in order that the products of his hand can be considered kosher. Choshuve: proper and reliable, respectable. Leite: people. Chezkas Kashrus: one of my favourite concepts, being that there is a presumption of correctness and reliability to a person, organization, or thing, based on what is known. Such as, for instance, the talmid muvak of a respected rabbi might have, or a pipe manufactured by Dunhill prior to the eighties (examine the date marking on the bottom of the shank). Mamesh: a gevaldike virt that serves to emphasize - certainly, completely, entirely, all together, how can you possibly doubt what I say? Gontseh: another gevaldikeit, meaning entirely, all of. Goy: nation, but also a masculine Gentile. Lo: no, not, none. Apikoros: better than a shaigetz, if married to your daughter. But still not quite our kind dearie.]


FINAL NOTE: there is no real connection between a kugel (or kigl) and either gentleman named above. But ever since Rabbi Boyarski was mentioned, I have had Yerushalmi kugel on my mind. A bee in the bonnet, if you will.
No, I cannot explain that. Perhaps it's because it is quintessentially Ashkenazi, perhaps the place name connection.
But perhaps this Thanksgiving you should prepare a kugel as one of the dishes?
It would be far better than that weird candied yam muck.
A bit of ginger is an excellent addition.
Good for your digestion.
Takeh.


[Boyarski: Part One, Part Two, and Part Three.]

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