Meanwhile...

Meanwhile...

The Marano brothers were parked in front of Rabbi Moish's community center and pigging out on Chinese food.

"Do not say --" Bunny dipped an egg roll in plum sauce.

"I told you so, Enzo..."

"It's not like we've done something like this before."

"Still, it's no excuse. It's like a P.O., either you agree to the conditions or you don't ship the order."

"This was supposed to be a clean whack in L.A. Nobody said nothing about going on the road."

"If the bitch won't give us a per diem for traveling expenses, the contract is off.

"Some adventure...Real life is such a put-on, nothing like on TV or the movies."

"Yeah, they make out like it's so cool to be a hit man. Dress in black, act ironic like John Cusak, or play the cultured European gentleman like Max Von Sidow in Three Days of the Condor."

"A dignified profession that pays well."

"You don't see hitmen chasing customers for money. They get paid or else."

"Meanwhile, here we are getting screwed for road expenses on our first job."

"Fucking Wendy, man. If it wasn't for her father, she'd be our first hit."

"I told you, Enzo. We should limit this new venture to the fashion business. I'd whack those assholes just for the fun of it."

"Then grind them up in the new meat grinder I bought at Costco."

"Start off with that prick Prosper who took us for over 200K. Meanwhile he just threw his daughter a 250K wedding. That's our fucking money. If he didn't screw us, we'd still be in business today making belts..."

"Stupid fucken pieces of leather that hold up your pants. Who gives a shit? I wanted to get out of the belt business from the day we opened up shop. Dreamed of being an actor."

"Meanwhile Enzo, I didn't hear you complaining all those years when we were making money."

"Yeah, Bunny. Those were good years before all the business went to China and killed local manufacturers like us. Twenty-one years in the business."

"Fucking Wal-Mart. For every schlepper saving a buck or two on useless crap, there's an American out of work because their factory shut down."

"Fucking new economy. Only good for billionaires and factory owners in China."

"And what about the Chapter 11 guys here, like that Prosper piece of shit. The douche bag still drives around in a Porsche."

"We should blow it up with him in it. What do we wanna kill these two schmucks for? One writer, one faggot, who cares?"

"And for only two grand a piece and we pay our own road expenses?  I'd rather go back into the belt business."

"I still can't believe we followed them out of L.A. What were you thinking, Bunny?"

"Me? What about you?"

"Forget it, call it a rookie mistake. Meanwhile, I still want to kill someone..."

"Me too, I just want it to be...meaningful."

"Good point, Bunny. It's never been about just the money."

"Of course, bro. It's about passion."

"Oh, now you're Mr. Tony-fucking-Robbins. Meanwhile, I'm the one who's always been saying to follow your bliss."

"Tell me about it. The minute the department stores stopped ordering the cabretta belts with the burnished buckles because of price, it was over for me."

"Me too. Selling bonded leather crap is a dog's lunch."

"This is a much better business, unlimited opportunity. Everybody has a special somebody...or two... they want to kill...We should offer volume discounts on whacks of three or more..."

"...Offer a special of the week, like mother-in-laws...It's all in the marketing. But I still say we should specialize in the fashion business.  Wall-to-wall schmucks. Once the word gets out, we'll make a killing."

"Meanwhile we're here on a job."

"And I didn't come out all the way here for nothing."

Scarlet Begonias for Harry

"Caveat emptor, gentlemen. While peyote may be a perfect food - organic, kosher and psychedelic, the taste is quite gnarly," Yankel née Jaz said while taking out a handful of McDonald's Chicken McNugget dipping sauces from his pouchie. "A little dipping sauce to make the trip sweeter." He handed Harry and Gomez the packets of dipping sauce.

"Sweet 'n sour?"Gomez said. "I'm more of a honey mustard guy."

"Can't help you there, hombre Gomez," Yankel neé Jaz said while peeling off the cover from the packet of sauce. "Dip on dudes!"

And so they did.

When Rabbi Moish returned with enough men to form a minyan of ten for the blessing of the new moon, the boys were slipping away. And by the time the rabbi led the prayer, Harry was tripping. Giant Hebrew letters floated up to the night sky, replacing the stars. Then a bearded fiddler ascended to the sky followed by a cow jumping over the moon. The cow, Harry thought, the cow. I'm home again, I'm in a Chagall, I'm a giant dancing in the sky,
I'm omniscient, I'm everywhere.

And they tripped under the stars, in the street and back on the bus. And it was all good.

Scarlet Begonias for Harry

Time-out for profaning the name of the Lord. Harry stared at the desecrated poster dripping with piss crumpled in the garbage can. Some of the text was still legible. Principle 11: Reward of the good and retribution of the evil. Dovetails nicely with the Curse of the Flunkers, he thought. So apropos.

Rabbi Moish knocked on door. "Are you finished your important call, Chaim ben Shlomo? I have a thirst-quenching lemonade and a mouth-watering jelly donut to raise your spirits."

No point leaving this pissy garbage can around. That would be rude.  Harry tossed it out the window.

"Two seconds, Rabbi Moish, " Harry said while slamming the window shut.

It never happened.

Harry opened the door. Rabbi Moish was standing there with a glass of lemonade, a platter of oily jelly donuts alongside Gomez, who was chomping with a full mouth. Harry passed on the
donuts but quaffed down the lemonade with gusto.

It never happened. It never happened.

"Oy vey, Chaim. You don't look so good. Perhaps some fresh mountain air and a spirited horah dance to clear the soul?"

Before Harry could resist, Rabbi Moish took Harry's hand and led them down the hall towards the entrance of the building. A young man with a red beard, wild sidelocks and a yarmulke embroidered with 'Grateful Dead', was studying Talmud at the reception desk.


"Yankel," Rabbi Moish called to him. "Time for a break. As King Solomon wrote, 'Too much study is the weariness of flesh. Come join us for a joyful horah my friend!"

Yankel, previously known as Jaz Goodman in LBG (life before God), didn't need any coaxing. He barely understood a word of the Hebrew text that he was looking at -- not studying. He was simply fascinated with the layout of the Talmud page; the dense arrangement of sidebars and paragraphs in different sized fonts. The pattern of letters and words came alive and appeared to be scurrying to and fro like ants on the page.  Almost as trippy as the Grateful Dead posters that decorated the walls of his bedroom. Yankel née Jaz closed his musty Talmud and rose from his chair.

"Count me in righteous rabbi. Like Jerry says in Scarlet Begonias, 'Once in a while you get shown the light, in the strangest of places if you look at it right.' "

"Wonderful, but another way to express the words of Moses," Rabbi Moish proclaimed. "The Torah lives and breathes relevancy, chaverim yikarim, my dear friends!"

"Mind if I bring along a little music to horah to?" Yankel née Jaz suggested.

"By all means, Yankele! Let this be a complete sensory experience!"

"Right on, righteous rabbi!" Yankel née Jaz exclaimed. He grabbed his boom-box loaded with his favorite Grateful Dead bootleg tape, strapped on his yak-pack "pouchie" stocked with his personal peyote supply, or "veggies" as his preferred to call them, and followed Rabbi Moish outside.

A magically clear night, a blanket of twinkling stars, a waxing moon. Rabbi Moish studied the sky with a sense of wonder as if discovering it for the first time in his life.

"Magnificent! The new moon, a symbol of rebirth, a messenger of the Shekhinah, reminding us that we hold change within us. As it is stated in the Talmud by Rabbi Yochanan, "Those who recite the blessing over the new moon in its time is as if they greeted the presence of the Shekhinah." A perfect night for us to revel in the glory of HaShem's creation with a Kiddush  Levanah, a blessing over the moon. Please excuse me for a few moments while I go back inside to gather a minyan so that we can celebrate this moment in it's full glory." 

Not a problem for Yankel née Jaz as he dipped into the veggie supply in his pouchie. He popped one into his mouth and then offered some to Harry and Gomez. "Time to trip on some veggies."

"Veggies?" Harry asked.

"Think I'll pass," said Gomez."Gives me too much gas. I'm on an all carb diet now."

"Not these veggies, man," Yankel née Jaz replied. "This is top grade peyote."

"Peyote?" Harry repeated.

"Best way to open up those righteous gates of perception. C'mon dudes you're not gonna let me trip alone. Partake, it would be a mitzvah."

"Peyote?" Gomez said with a mischievous grin to Harry. "Could make this exhausting trip more tolerable."

What-the-fuck time.

"What the fuck," Harry said. "What the fuck."

And they popped the peyote like a couple of kids taking Flintstone vitamins. Yankel née Jaz turned on his boom-box transforming the still air into a wall of a Grateful Dead concert.

3AM at the Oasis; Killing Me Softly with his Corn

Alone in the office, Harry picked up the black rotary phone and dialed Lee's number...most of it and then hung up. How could he explain this mess? Would it be better to call Nigel instead? Who teaches you how to handle these things in school? Just call, he thought, there was nothing else to do. This time Harry dialed the entire number. Lee picked up after one ring.

"Lee?"

"Harry?"

"Yeah, it's me, Harry."

"You okay?"

Harry's heart pounded. His voice quivered. "Ahhhh, I have a little situation..."

"Keep on going..."

"That will take me a few days to sort out."

"Fucking Mr. Cryptic. What's going on that you need to call while I'm about to have a wet dream with Pamela Anderson? She just flung off her panties."

"Will explain later. It's just that I'm not sure how much I'll be able to help on scripting this week..."

"You won't, the show got cancelled yesterday. The sponsors pulled out, the ratings sucked, yadda yadda yadda. Now can I get back to Pamela Anderson and her pussy."

Lee dropped the phone on his raging boner. "Shiiiit! Fucking Harry!" he cried before slamming down the phone.

The show cancelled? The job that never was. Couldn't be. What about the meeting-with-destiny crap? Can't be. Denial, denial. Regrets, regrets. This was the big break. Call again? I know it's past three in the morning, but Lee was such a prick. This is real. Harry's heart throbbed wildly, it felt like it was stuck in his throat. Harry slumped into the cushionless couch piled with junk in the corner of the office. A mouse jumped out from the pile as if it was shot from a tiny canon and scooted across the room. Surreal. Harry studied a small poster tacked to the wall: The Rambam's Thirteen Principles of Faith:

1.The existence of G-d.
2.G-d's unity.
3.G-d's spirituality and incorporeality
4.G-d's eternity
5.G-d alone should be the object of worship
6.Revelation through G-d's prophets
7.The preeminence of Moses among the prophets
8.G-d's law was given on Mount Sinai
9.The immutability of the Torah as G-d's law
10.G-d's foreknowledge of human actions
11,Reward of the good and retribution of the evil
12.The coming of the Jewish Messiah
13.The resurrection of the dead.

Harry fumed. What was the good of all of it all if God wasn't working for you? If you were the butt of a cosmic joke? The Charlie Brown of a God-produced sitcom where he never wins a game. There for laughs. Heaven's new hit sitcom is Starring Harry, and it looks like it has legs, this theatre of the absurd. Great entertainment if it's not your life.

Harry grabbed a chewed up Bic pen from Rabbi Moish's desk and started writing on the poster:

14. Life is a joke. Ha ha ha.

But it wasn't enough to placate his rage. Passion. Maybe that was it? More passion, rage on until the dying light. Harry ripped the poster off the wall and slam-dunked it into the garbage can. Didn't Moses do the same to the first set of the ten commandments?

Of course Moses didn't take a leak on the broken stone shards like Harry did on the poster in the garbage can. The aftermath of passion was terrifying.

3AM at the Oasis; Killing Me Softly With His Corn

Killing me softly with his corn.

"  ?"

"Yes my new chaver, Chaim Ben Shlomo, the world that HaShem created in six days is full of wonders, yet full of twists and turns. Sublime. That little creature, the mouse, might one day save my life. How? I have no clue, but The Almighty has a penchant for endorsing the unlikely. The brightest star is not necessarily the chosen..."

How to delicately get him to stop? Nice and as kind as they come, but insufferable. An image of Edvard Munch's painting, The Scream, flashed before Harry.

"...Was Jacob's star son, Joseph, the progenitor of the tribe that produced kings? No, my friend, this was not the case. The kingly tribe where ultimately the Messiah shall emerge is Judah, who was but a middle son, not the b'chor, the eldest like Reuven, or..."

The Scream, The Scream.

"Aaaaaaaahhhhh..." Harry screamed. He couldn't keep it in anymore. He burned with shame from the outburst and instinctively pointed to the corner of the office.

"The mouse," he mumbled.

Rabbi Moish chuckled, "Yes, I understand. We all have our own irrational fears. Yours may be mice, mine, like most chassids are dogs. Perhaps a cold refreshing glass of lime-flavored seltzer water will calm frayed nerves?" Rabbi Moish reached into the mini fridge, pulled out a half-full bottle of New York lime-flavored seltzer water and poured some into a coffee mug (after he emptied it's contains of chewed-up Bic pens).

"Aaaaaahhhhhh...." Harry cried.

"Why don't you just drink out of the bottle, Chaim? Coffee mugs can be rather intimidating reminding one of all the stresses of business..."

Harry grabbed the bottle of seltzer and chugged until it was empty. Cool relief.

"Rabbi, can I just use the phone now?"

"Of course, please proceed. It has occurred that you have been stalling. It is best to just grab the bull by the horns..."

Itzie stormed into the office. "Is everything okay? I heard a scream."

Rabbi Moish chuckled. "Everything is perfectly fine, Itzie, you alarmist. It seems that our friend, Chaim here was startled by a mouse."

Itzie chuckled. "Yes indeed. That reminds me of the story in the Talmud where--"

"--a young man needs to place an urgent phone call," Harry interrupted. Enough was enough.

Rabbi Moish chuckled. "I believe that it is now time for us to leave our dear friend, Chaim, alone to make his call."

The rabbis chuckled some more and left the office.

3AM at the Oasis; Killing Me Softly with his Corn

Finally some silence as the Itzie caravan drove on through the first night. When the bus reached Albuquerque, the weary pilgrims stopped for a break at a small synagogue & community center where they were greeted by the center's spiritual leader, Rabbi Moish Neuberger, an old classmate of Itzie. In anticipation of the pilgrim bus, Rabbi Moish set up a rest station with cots where they could nap and offered them full use of the center's facilities where they could eat, wash up and of course, pray.

"Would it be possible to make a short phone call, Rabbi Moish?" Harry asked."I left L.A. in a hurry with some unfinished business."

"With pleasure my friend, providing the person you're calling doesn't mind being woken up three o'clock in the morning."

"He might..."

Rabbi Moish led Harry into his cramped office. It was lined with charity jars jammed with change, stacks of holy books and strewn-about pamphlets. The rabbi opened the bottom drawer of his desk, pulled out a box of cookies, blew off the dusty cover and offered Harry a piece.

"Kichel?"

Harry passed on the dry, sugary cookie. "No kichel, thanks."

"A good piece of kichel can fortify the soul. And now for a tasty late night indulgence." Rabbi Moish chuckled before biting into the flaky twisted cookie, oblivious to the avalanche of crumbs and sugar chunks cascading down into his thick black beard. "Yummm, let the others eat their pizza pies into the wee hours of the morning, but for me, the humble kichel does the trick!" Rabbi  Moish finished the piece of kichel took another one out of the box. "Make yourself at home...Mr.--"

"Harry, Harry Starr."

"And what may I ask is your Hebrew name?"

"My Hebrew name? Uhhh... Chaim."

"Then Chaim it shall be, my new chaver. And your father's Hebrew name?"

"Uhhh...Shlomo..."

"So we have a Chaim ben Shlomo here. Chaim ben Shlomo, a mellifluous sounding name...Now Chaim ben Shlomo, please allow me to give you a blessing for a successful call," he said while unwittingly sprinkling kichel crumbs around the office during his bookshelf search for the leftover bottle of Coke from breakfast.

"There you are my friend the Coca Cola bottle? Hiding mischievously behind a box of shabbos candles? What a little scamp, that bottle of pop!" He took a swig of the flat Coke. More kichel crumbs fluttered like snowflakes from his beard onto the unswept floor.

"Ah, Coca Cola, a sweet elixir indeed, but now I have a strong craving for some pickled herring on a soda cracker." The rabbi opened the mini-fridge in the office and pulled out a sticky jar of pickled herring.

"My secret pantry," he confided while digging into the bottom drawer of his desk and fishing out a half-eaten pack of soda crackers. With a sly grin he said,"Care to partake in some late night munchies, Chaim ben Shlomo?"

"No thanks." Harry held back from gagging just as a mouse darted over his feet and across the floor. It disappeared into a pile of old Purim props stacked up behind the door.

The rabbi chuckled, "No need for alarm, my friend. That gentle creature lives here and bothers no one. Just another of God's wonders."

Prayer Pit Stop

Rambling along the highway on a spiritual journey. The monotony of the driving was as therapeutic as mediation. Barriers broken down. Just being, going with the flow, what felt right.For some,silence and inward contemplation. For others, confession and vows to change. For everyone, spontaneous soulful singing...except for Harry,("I've never tripped on communal joy. It just makes me feel self-conscious and silly.") and Gomez,("What have Ki got to sing about? A stack of unpaid bills?").

Ani ma'amin, ani ma'amin
B'emunah sh'laima
B'vi'at Ha'mashiach
Ani, ani ma'amin...

The same words they sang at Auschwitz while inexplicably clinging to their beliefs:

I believe, I believe
With complete conviction
In the coming of the Messiah
I believe, I believe...

And then they were gassed.

The bus pulled in to the full service center right off the highway in sweet home Redneckland.

Rabbi Itzie, The Merchant and The Knight, a former Israeli commando healing from the horrors of war, carried the coolers of sandwiches and fresh fruit into the restaurant. Itzie motioned to the pilgrims to take the empty tables, then he scanned the cafeteria's food offerings.

"You can soft buy drinks, bottled water and coffee but do not use any of the condiments like milk, cream or sugar. That's all that is kosher."

Gomez whispered to Harry,"Is he saying that I can't order a club sandwich?"

"He's telling you that."

"And if I do go ahead and order one?"

"Then ye shall be stoned or chanted to death:

We want Masiach now
We want Mashiach now
We don't want to wait."

Itzie and the men set down the coolers on the empty tables.

"After we finish eating, we will daven mincha here," Itzie announced.

Gomez pulled Harry aside."You mean we are actually going to pray inside this cafeteria? That's insane."

"I agree with you that, Gomez. An interesting juxtaposition."

Fifteen minutes later inside the cafeteria:

The Merchant tapped Harry and Gomez on their shoulders and said,"Please finish your lunches quickly, we're starting the prayers in a couple of minutes. The rabbi says there are some unfriendly looking men eating here, so he wants to get out as soon as possible."

"Let me just swallow the other half of this sandwich whole," Gomez said.

Two minutes later. The men are gathered together at the back of the restaurant for the prayer service. The area is clear except for a table of three scruffy rednecks looking on disapprovingly, in amazement, as if to say, What the fuck is going on?

The Merchant and The Knight gingerly approached the redneck table. "Gentlemen, we'd like to conduct a prayer service in this area," The Merchant asked. "Would you mind moving to an open table at the front of the restaurant, so that we don't disturb you?"

The rednecks exchanged astounded looks between them. They didn't have say anything. They did mind and they were pissed. The first redneck pointed to the yarmulke on Merchant's head and said,"That beanie stuck to your head?" Then he pulled out a gleaming hunting knife and licked the blade. "Maybe I should cut it off?"

"Beanie boys, ha ha ha," the second Redneck said and they all laughed.

Just the call to arms that The Knight had been waiting for since he moved to America. Flashback to Southern Lebanon, May 1982, Mission Mongoose redux. Test old hand-to-hand commando combat skills on real rednecks. Sweet. The Knight gave the first redneck a two-finger eye poke, smashed the sugar jar over the head of the second redneck and didn't have to do anything to the petrified third one who sat there, mouth agape.

The Knight pointed towards the front of the restaurant. "Nu?"

The blinded, the battered and the humbled, hobbled out of the restaurant.