Nu?

Today I am a blogger. A blogger, my mother would say may she rest in peace. Vu den? a blogger.

Well, for the first time in fifty-four years, I have no congregation. Yes, Mr. and Mrs. Wall Street Macher hotshot, you think you're the only ones who can be forced out by cheap politics and sharp elbows? Hello, Mrs. Betty Friedan, you think age discrimination happens only to you and your ilk? No. Feeling like Willy Loman can happen to a Rabbi, too. Though it shouldn't happen to a dog. Feh.

So, my wife,Sylvie like the wife of the aforementioned Loman, says this to me when the schmendricks at Beth Yu Iz My Woman, strip me of my position. She's sounding like the Jewish playwright, that Miller fellow, who married the blonde shiksa, the Baker girl. Sounding like Artie Miller, a nice boy, from The Death of a Salesman.

"Attention must be paid," Sylvie tells me. "You must not be allowed to fall into your grave like an old dog. Attention, attention must finally be paid to such a person as you. So Moshe, you don't have to be very smart to know what the trouble is. You're exhausted. You've no one to talk to. Start a Blog."

Blog, schmog, I say. But Sylvie is right. Attention must be paid. So, pay attention, you. And visit here everyday, and listen. Because the good son, he listens.