I was sitting at the library Thursday evening exchanging torrid emails with a young shiksa via my Blackberry.
On my lap was the sacred text of the February issue of Commentary magazine.
I sensed something ominous to my left and I looked up from my magazine and there was the rabbi.
Holy Hell!
I felt embarrassed. What if he read my emails? Oy ve! My shame would be complete.
Must act cool and calm. Am now yogi. Am now the embodiment of Alexander Technique. Am not ruffled he has not replied to my last email. Am not mad or sad. Am Holy Jew thrilled to be exchanging words of Torah with the Holy Man.
Whew, that wasn’t too bad. I don’t think I looked too guilty. He probably thought I was deeply immersed in political philosophy.
I just have that philosophical look about me, even when talking to girls.
Hmm, am I a bad man? Am I without shame? Did I transgress the most basic decencies, did I show the most base ingratitude, and am I therefore a rasha who should not be polluting the sacred shuls of Pico-Robertson?
No. I prefer to think of myself as a free-spirited fearless seeker of Truth.
I go see the Guru and surround myself with beautiful flexible women — including the daughter of a rabbi!
Afterwards, I chat with a new friend who tells me, "I gave up drugs and alcohol eight years ago when I started following the Guru.
"I’m a householder now even though I’m homeless."
Praise G-d.
A young woman walks up to me and asks about my tzitzit. Her father is Jewish and her mother Christian. She wants to wear tzitzit. Would that be resented?
"Well, they are for men," I say. "It would be like a man walking down the street wearing a dress."
"That wouldn’t bother me," she says.
I have a rueful smile and I breathe and I put my right hand over my heart and say to her, "Satnam."
