thought," he lied. "I mean, I never dreamed in a million years that anyone like you would ever fall in love with me."
"Don't be silly," Miss Booe said, "I think you're terrific. You're strong, handsome—and Jewish." She looked up at him. "You are Jewish, aren't you?"
Nemiroff shook his head a few times, then finally spit it out. "Yes, yes, of course I'm Jewish." Imagine, he thought, I finally admit that I'm Jewish and I don't get the crap beat out of me.
Miss Booe pulled him down on top of her. "Oh, wonderful. Now kiss me."
While Nemiroff was kissing Miss Booe he started to realize what he had done. For the first time in fifteen years he had voluntarily admitted he was Jewish. And look what it got him. Miss Booe. Maybe being Jewish wasn't so bad. "Let's go to bed."
Nemiroff looked around to see who had said that Then the voice came again: "Let's go to bed." Christ, Nemiroff thought. It's her. She said that Nemiroff froze. He didn't know what to do. No one had ever wanted to go to bed with him before. Nemiroff stared into her eyes. "Do you know what you're saying?"
"Yes."
Nemiroff thought about it some more. "I mean you really want to go to bed with me?" She nodded her head. "I don't believe it."
"Don't you love me?" Miss Booe was asking. "Yes, I suppose so," Nemiroff answered. "But don't you think we ought to think about it?"
"What's to think about?"
A light lit up in Nemiroff's mind. "Is this some kind of a joke?" he asked. "What do you mean?"
"I mean are you diseased or something? Did Marshall send you over here to get even with me?" He pushed her away.
"I don't even know anyone named Marshall," Miss Booe said.
"Oh yes you do. He works at the camp, too," Nemiroff went on, "and he probably put you up to this."
Miss Booe looked hurt "No, honest I came over cause I love you."
"But you're beautiful."
"So what?"
"Well, if you were me you'd be suspicious too," Nemiroff said.
"You mean you don't want to go to bed with me?" Miss Booe asked.
"Of course I do, it's just that . . ." Nemiroff stopped for a moment to think about what he was saying. Was he mad? Finally he said, "Oh, what the hell, let's go to bed."
On the way to the bedroom the roof fell in. "Did you have a big bar mitzvah?" Miss Booe asked.
"A what?" Nemiroff stopped in his tracks.
"Bar mitzvah," Miss Booe went on. "I want you to tell me all about your bar mitzvah while we're in bed making love."
Nemiroff sank to the floor. "But I've never been bar-mitzvahed."
Miss Booe looked shocked. "But you told me you were Jewish."
"I am, recently that is, but I just haven't been bar-mitzvahed yet." Nemiroff prayed that she would understand.
"Look, Nemiroff, I love you because you're Jewish, but you can't really be Jewish if you haven't been bar-mitzvahed."
Nemiroff stared at her. "Look, what's this Jewish hang-up you've got? Can't I just show you my birth certificate?" He was desperate. He already could see this beautiful girl walking out of his life just because he didn't have a lousy bar mitzvah. He didn't want to lose her. Miss Booe was the girl that could make his life worthwhile.
"I'm sorry, I'll have to go," Miss Booe was saying.
"No, no, wait," Nemiroff screamed, "don't go. Give me a chance. I'll get bar-mitzvahed. Now. Tonight Just wait right here." He ran out of the house.
Nemiroff ran up the steps of the temple and burst through the doors. He nearly knocked Rabbi Rosenberg flat on his ass.
"Can I help you?" the rabbi asked.
"Who are you?"
"I'm Rabbi Rosenberg."
"Do you do the bar-mitzvahing?" Nemiroff asked.
"Yes," the rabbi said.
"Then you can help me," Nemiroff said, grabbing him by the arm. "I want you to perform an emergency bar mitzvah."
"A what?" the rabbi screamed.
"An emergency bar mitzvah," Nemiroff repeated. "I have to get bar-mitzvahed. Now."
"What's your name?" the rabbi asked.
"Nemiroff."
"I've never seen you here before, have I?" the rabbi questioned.
"No, but that's because I never realized how important it was
"Don't be silly," Miss Booe said, "I think you're terrific. You're strong, handsome—and Jewish." She looked up at him. "You are Jewish, aren't you?"
Nemiroff shook his head a few times, then finally spit it out. "Yes, yes, of course I'm Jewish." Imagine, he thought, I finally admit that I'm Jewish and I don't get the crap beat out of me.
Miss Booe pulled him down on top of her. "Oh, wonderful. Now kiss me."
While Nemiroff was kissing Miss Booe he started to realize what he had done. For the first time in fifteen years he had voluntarily admitted he was Jewish. And look what it got him. Miss Booe. Maybe being Jewish wasn't so bad. "Let's go to bed."
Nemiroff looked around to see who had said that Then the voice came again: "Let's go to bed." Christ, Nemiroff thought. It's her. She said that Nemiroff froze. He didn't know what to do. No one had ever wanted to go to bed with him before. Nemiroff stared into her eyes. "Do you know what you're saying?"
"Yes."
Nemiroff thought about it some more. "I mean you really want to go to bed with me?" She nodded her head. "I don't believe it."
"Don't you love me?" Miss Booe was asking. "Yes, I suppose so," Nemiroff answered. "But don't you think we ought to think about it?"
"What's to think about?"
A light lit up in Nemiroff's mind. "Is this some kind of a joke?" he asked. "What do you mean?"
"I mean are you diseased or something? Did Marshall send you over here to get even with me?" He pushed her away.
"I don't even know anyone named Marshall," Miss Booe said.
"Oh yes you do. He works at the camp, too," Nemiroff went on, "and he probably put you up to this."
Miss Booe looked hurt "No, honest I came over cause I love you."
"But you're beautiful."
"So what?"
"Well, if you were me you'd be suspicious too," Nemiroff said.
"You mean you don't want to go to bed with me?" Miss Booe asked.
"Of course I do, it's just that . . ." Nemiroff stopped for a moment to think about what he was saying. Was he mad? Finally he said, "Oh, what the hell, let's go to bed."
On the way to the bedroom the roof fell in. "Did you have a big bar mitzvah?" Miss Booe asked.
"A what?" Nemiroff stopped in his tracks.
"Bar mitzvah," Miss Booe went on. "I want you to tell me all about your bar mitzvah while we're in bed making love."
Nemiroff sank to the floor. "But I've never been bar-mitzvahed."
Miss Booe looked shocked. "But you told me you were Jewish."
"I am, recently that is, but I just haven't been bar-mitzvahed yet." Nemiroff prayed that she would understand.
"Look, Nemiroff, I love you because you're Jewish, but you can't really be Jewish if you haven't been bar-mitzvahed."
Nemiroff stared at her. "Look, what's this Jewish hang-up you've got? Can't I just show you my birth certificate?" He was desperate. He already could see this beautiful girl walking out of his life just because he didn't have a lousy bar mitzvah. He didn't want to lose her. Miss Booe was the girl that could make his life worthwhile.
"I'm sorry, I'll have to go," Miss Booe was saying.
"No, no, wait," Nemiroff screamed, "don't go. Give me a chance. I'll get bar-mitzvahed. Now. Tonight Just wait right here." He ran out of the house.
Nemiroff ran up the steps of the temple and burst through the doors. He nearly knocked Rabbi Rosenberg flat on his ass.
"Can I help you?" the rabbi asked.
"Who are you?"
"I'm Rabbi Rosenberg."
"Do you do the bar-mitzvahing?" Nemiroff asked.
"Yes," the rabbi said.
"Then you can help me," Nemiroff said, grabbing him by the arm. "I want you to perform an emergency bar mitzvah."
"A what?" the rabbi screamed.
"An emergency bar mitzvah," Nemiroff repeated. "I have to get bar-mitzvahed. Now."
"What's your name?" the rabbi asked.
"Nemiroff."
"I've never seen you here before, have I?" the rabbi questioned.
"No, but that's because I never realized how important it was
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