to be Jewish before," Nemiroff explained. "That's why I want to get bar-mitzvahed."
The rabbi looked at Nemiroff. "What makes it so important now?"
"Because if I don't get bar-mitzvahed tonight, I'm going to miss the best piece of ass in my life."
The rabbi's mouth fell open. "I beg your pardon?"
Nemiroff explained to Rabbi Rosenberg. The rabbi was sympathetic.
"Have you thought about Catholicism?" the rabbi asked.
"No, no," Nemiroff screamed. "It has to be a bar mitzvah."
"Do you know any Hebrew?" the rabbi asked.
"I know a little French," Nemiroff said.
"It's got to be Hebrew," the rabbi said.
"I'll fake it," Nemiroff answered.
"What about the caterer?" the rabbi went on.
"Caterer?"
"Yes, you can't have a bar mitzvah without a caterer. I tell you what, come into my office and we'll work this out."
"But I don't have the time," Nemiroff protested. "It won't take long at all," the rabbi reassured him. "By the way, do you have your checkbook with you?"
"No."
"Doesn't matter," said the rabbi. "I have a counter check in my office that you can use." Rabbi Rosenberg led Nemiroff into his office and sat down behind his desk. "Now," the rabbi began, "figure on having a hundred people."
Nemiroff blanched. "But I don't know a hundred people who would come to my bar mitzvah. Besides, it's got to be tonight."
The rabbi shook his head. "That doesn't matter. You want to have a real bar mitzvah, don't you?" He waited while Nemiroff nodded his head. "Then we have to go through the motions." The rabbi took out a pen and the counter checks. "Now just make out a check for three hundred dollars to The Rosenberg Catering Service."
Nemiroff paused for a second with the pen. "Rosenberg?" he asked.
"Yes, that's my brother Morris."
"But . . ." Nemiroff started to protest. "A Catholic confirmation takes weeks and weeks." Nemiroff wrote the check. "Now, of course, you'll want music."
"Music?" Nemiroff shouted. "Two hundred dollars to The Bar Mitzvah Boys, Inc." Nemiroff looked at the rabbi. "That's my cousin Murray." Nemiroff wrote.
"Then there's the matter of buying a chair in the temple."
"What's that for?" Nemiroff was almost afraid to ask.
"That's for another three hundred in case you want to come and pray."
"And who should I make that out to?"
"You can just make that out to me personally," Rabbi Rosenberg told him.
Nemiroff wrote the checks. He handed them over to Rabbi Rosenberg.
"Congratulations," the rabbi told him, "you've just been bar-mitzvahed."
"But what about the ceremony?"
"Look, you want to sit here and argue with me, or do you want to get home to that nice girl?"
Nemiroff thought about that for a moment "Maybe you could write me a note or something that says I was just bar-mitzvahed. Otherwise, she's liable not to believe me."
"Of course," said the rabbi, picking up the pen. Then he wrote: To whom it may concern. Nemiroff has just been bar-mitzvahed.
Nemiroff read the note and put it in his pocket He watched the rabbi put the checks into his pocket Boy, have I been bar-mitzvahed, he thought. He raced out of the temple and home to Miss Booe.
Miss Booe was waiting for Nemiroff at home. Nemiroff ran in and showed her the note from the rabbi. "See. See," cried Nemiroff, "I've been bar-mitzvahed. Eight hundred bucks' worth."
Miss Booe was joyous. She threw her arms around Nemiroff and dragged him into the bedroom. "Now tell me about it," she said, stepping out of her dress. Nemiroff looked at her magnificent body. "Aaaagg-ghhaa uugghuugh . . ."
When Nemiroff opened his eyes the next morning he was a new man. Never had he felt like this in his whole life. He got out of bed and walked over to the window. He stuck his head out of the window and began to scream at the top of his lungs, "I'm Jewish, man, can everybody hear me. Me, Nemiroff, I'm Jewish. Bar-mitzvahed even."
The yelling woke Miss Booe up. "What are you doing?" she asked.
Nemiroff went over to the bed and leaned over and kissed her. "I
The rabbi looked at Nemiroff. "What makes it so important now?"
"Because if I don't get bar-mitzvahed tonight, I'm going to miss the best piece of ass in my life."
The rabbi's mouth fell open. "I beg your pardon?"
Nemiroff explained to Rabbi Rosenberg. The rabbi was sympathetic.
"Have you thought about Catholicism?" the rabbi asked.
"No, no," Nemiroff screamed. "It has to be a bar mitzvah."
"Do you know any Hebrew?" the rabbi asked.
"I know a little French," Nemiroff said.
"It's got to be Hebrew," the rabbi said.
"I'll fake it," Nemiroff answered.
"What about the caterer?" the rabbi went on.
"Caterer?"
"Yes, you can't have a bar mitzvah without a caterer. I tell you what, come into my office and we'll work this out."
"But I don't have the time," Nemiroff protested. "It won't take long at all," the rabbi reassured him. "By the way, do you have your checkbook with you?"
"No."
"Doesn't matter," said the rabbi. "I have a counter check in my office that you can use." Rabbi Rosenberg led Nemiroff into his office and sat down behind his desk. "Now," the rabbi began, "figure on having a hundred people."
Nemiroff blanched. "But I don't know a hundred people who would come to my bar mitzvah. Besides, it's got to be tonight."
The rabbi shook his head. "That doesn't matter. You want to have a real bar mitzvah, don't you?" He waited while Nemiroff nodded his head. "Then we have to go through the motions." The rabbi took out a pen and the counter checks. "Now just make out a check for three hundred dollars to The Rosenberg Catering Service."
Nemiroff paused for a second with the pen. "Rosenberg?" he asked.
"Yes, that's my brother Morris."
"But . . ." Nemiroff started to protest. "A Catholic confirmation takes weeks and weeks." Nemiroff wrote the check. "Now, of course, you'll want music."
"Music?" Nemiroff shouted. "Two hundred dollars to The Bar Mitzvah Boys, Inc." Nemiroff looked at the rabbi. "That's my cousin Murray." Nemiroff wrote.
"Then there's the matter of buying a chair in the temple."
"What's that for?" Nemiroff was almost afraid to ask.
"That's for another three hundred in case you want to come and pray."
"And who should I make that out to?"
"You can just make that out to me personally," Rabbi Rosenberg told him.
Nemiroff wrote the checks. He handed them over to Rabbi Rosenberg.
"Congratulations," the rabbi told him, "you've just been bar-mitzvahed."
"But what about the ceremony?"
"Look, you want to sit here and argue with me, or do you want to get home to that nice girl?"
Nemiroff thought about that for a moment "Maybe you could write me a note or something that says I was just bar-mitzvahed. Otherwise, she's liable not to believe me."
"Of course," said the rabbi, picking up the pen. Then he wrote: To whom it may concern. Nemiroff has just been bar-mitzvahed.
Nemiroff read the note and put it in his pocket He watched the rabbi put the checks into his pocket Boy, have I been bar-mitzvahed, he thought. He raced out of the temple and home to Miss Booe.
Miss Booe was waiting for Nemiroff at home. Nemiroff ran in and showed her the note from the rabbi. "See. See," cried Nemiroff, "I've been bar-mitzvahed. Eight hundred bucks' worth."
Miss Booe was joyous. She threw her arms around Nemiroff and dragged him into the bedroom. "Now tell me about it," she said, stepping out of her dress. Nemiroff looked at her magnificent body. "Aaaagg-ghhaa uugghuugh . . ."
When Nemiroff opened his eyes the next morning he was a new man. Never had he felt like this in his whole life. He got out of bed and walked over to the window. He stuck his head out of the window and began to scream at the top of his lungs, "I'm Jewish, man, can everybody hear me. Me, Nemiroff, I'm Jewish. Bar-mitzvahed even."
The yelling woke Miss Booe up. "What are you doing?" she asked.
Nemiroff went over to the bed and leaned over and kissed her. "I
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