The Life of the Jewish Soul Sucked Out

The Jewish soul walks into a synagogue, finds the sanctuary and sits down among the musty pews, picks up a siddur and pretends to read Hebrew. It’s looking for something to feel holy, what it knows is inside, but wanting to suck the outside in to feel real. But there is nothing to suck in except the closet smell of dead grandparents. There are no real grandfathers anymore. There are no real grandmothers anymore. The soul looks around for someone to be with. Everyone is either a busy rabbi or a busy rabbi’s receptionist. The soul is not sure what they are so busy about. The soul wants to shove the letters of Torah into its trembling mouth, ride a roller coaster on Mount Sinai, argue the Occupation with Moses, and have a schnaps with the Ba’al Shem Tov, whose faint humming echoes in the buzz of the Eternal Light bulb. The soul remembers when it belonged, how the key of A minor unlocked its heart and fed it stuffed cabbage. When “Tumbalalaika” and a campfire meant family.