Lewis picks me up. He drives a leased German luxury car with a navigation system — it’s I.G. Farben’s pace car — yet he lives in constant fear of destitution.
He has no trust in the Almighty.
He’s a secular Jew. He’s wearing shorts. He’s bummed that Jeff’s Gourmet is closed for Christmas.
I welcome this opportunity to do kiruv.
Lewis: "You only eat in kosher restaurants?"
Luke: "Yes."
"You buying?"
Lewis: "Yes."
"It must be weeks for you. Cultists are purposefully famished. The rebbe wears a rolex, though."
"You’re vegetarian. Why can’t you eat vegetables out of a non-kosher restaurant?"
Luke: "Because G-d said not to."
Lewis: "God did not say not to. A scribe said not to."
Luke: "The Torah says you shall not boil a kid in his mother’s milk, that means two sets of dishes."
Lewis: "I can’t wait till you start selling life insurance. You’ll have to redirect your messianic zeal to a good purpose. You’ll still be saving lives."
"Luke…"
"I’m Levi."
Lewis: "Have you covered the mirrors for Luke Ford?"
Levi: "No. I still bring him out for the goyim and the Jewish goyim."
Lewis: "Who are the Jewish goyim? Oh, that’s right. I’m Jewish goyim."
Luke: "Your parents are secular. I regard you as though you were kidnapped by barbarians and you don’t know any better. You desecrate the Torah out of ignorance."
The kosher Subway is jammed. I drag Lewis across Pico Blvd to Pizza Station.
As I walk in, a young man walking out stares at me.
I nod.
"I read your blog," he says. "My name’s Barry."
Levi: "I’m Levi."
Lewis: "My brother’s name is Barry."
Barry doesn’t give a damn.
Lewis is intimidated by a big picture of the rebbe.
He’s used to goyisha Brentwood.
Pico/Robertson is a steep elevation for him.
Lewis orders a pita fajita. "Could I get some chicken with that?"
Levi: "This is a dairy restaurant, you goy! I can’t take you anywhere without you shaming me."
Lewis pays for my tostada. He pays for a bottle of water. He leaves a generous tip, more than 20%. He never gets his water.
"Make sure you blog that they never gave me my water," Lewis says. "I want you to have a great blog post up before I get home."
I wave out the window at Barry who’s playing with his daughter.
I see a bunch of people from shul.
Lewis muses that Rabbi Michael Broyde (his professor of Jewish law at Emory) and John Podhoretz (editor of Commentary Magazine) are the Robert Redford and Paul Newman of the Jewish commentariat. He asks me who’s more handsome.
I’m stumped.
Lewis: "This is surprisingly good."
"Who’s that friend of Jackie’s she stays with? The director?"
"Screenwriter."
"Has he got the Story of Baruch Goldstein greenlit yet, God bless him?"
We go next door. Lewis buys me $10 worth of chocolates from the brunette.
We flirt and leave.
"I’m so burned out," says Lewis.
"That’s because you’re secular life is so arid."
"Should I start fiddling and buying wholesale? I consider myself the Disraeli of Brentwood. I’m Jewish from the waist down."
Let there be no hope for slanderers, and let all wickedness perish in an instant.
May all Your enemies quickly be cut down, and may You soon in our day uproot, crush, cast down and humble the dominion of arrogance.
Blessed are You, O Lord, who smashes enemies and humbles the arrogant.
