People are going totally batsh*t over the latest issue HEEB magazine, and they’ve got plenty of good reason:

You’ve got Roseanne Barr dressed up as a domestic goddess Hitler baking burnt gingerbread Jews, a recipe for German Chocolate Cake topped with broken shards made of sugar, and a feature extolling the wonders of Berlin as a vacation hotspot. My bubbie is spitting from her grave, I can tell you.

On one fingernail-chewed hand, I have to applaud HEEB for publishing a “Germany Issue” – it’s an “edgy” Jewish magazine, and the Holocaust is pretty much the end of the earth in terms of what’s acceptable satire. And if you’re gonna dive off that edge with both middle fingers blazing at your dead ancestors, you might as well do it right and get Roseanne Barr to put on a Fuhrer mustache. After all, this is a woman who did this to the national anthem – bringing down sacred cows is her specialty.

Then I read this (explanation? excuse?) from from HEEB’s publisher, Josh Neuman:

“When we depicted Sarah Silverman behind a hole in a sheet or Jonah Hill dressed as Moses holding two kegs as if they were tablets, we weren’t trying to be shocking—we were trying to communicate something truthful about contemporary Jewishness. Yes, that may sound impossibly high-fallutin, but it’s the truth and while we kind of don’t give a shit whether the magazine wreaks havoc on smug and sanctimonious visions of Jewish life, we do care when our intentions (or those of our collaborators) are distorted…Virtually every pitch we received leading up to the publishing of our Germany Issue circled back to the Nazis and the Holocaust and almost all of them were humorous in nature. Naturally, our editors couldn’t help but wonder whether something new was happening in the culture— whether the taboo against joking about the Holocaust and the Nazis exerted as much power as it used to. “

Neuman goes on to cite Curb Your Enthusiam and Seinfeld to support his claim that Holocaust humor is actually going mainstream – HEEB was just documenting a cultural trend. Fine. But “we weren’t trying to be shocking” comes across as such an obvious lie – the styling of the photo shoot is so over the top it just smacks of late-night editorial meetings fueled by Red Bull and vodka and adolescent one-up-manship: “Yeah, yeah, dude, then we’ll BURN the cookes! It’ll be SICK!”

The concept is clever enough – I get it. The problem is, it’s just not that funny. Hipster New York Jews in their 20’s and early 30’s lampooning the suffering of a generation that will never, ever find the humor in the Holocaust is the kind of sad joke mean high-schoolers play on the kid with autism who doesn’t understand the social rules: It’s not fair, and the only people laughing are the a**holes.

And now that HEEB has sacrificed this little lamb, I wonder where they’ve left to go?

First we had Bernie Madoff. Then Rabbi Rosenbaum, the kidney-pusher. And now, to complete 2009’s trifecta of Jews Making The Rest of Us Look Bad is this bleach-blond bimbshmo, Orly Taitz.

A Russian Zionist who claims that Bibi Netanyahu is her Facebook friend, Taitz is the self-styled queen of the “birther” movement – those insistent that President Obama is not actually an American citizen. “Dr.” Taitz is a dentist in Orange County, CA who also claims to be a lawyer – a fact that can’t be verified.

Earlier this week she claimed to have documentation proving that he was born in Kenya, on which MSNBC’s David Shuster asked her to elucidate. Instead, she lost her sh*t.

Maybe now she’ll go away?

Look, I have nothing against the Jew-Bus, aight? I get my yoga on and I’ve spent a little time on the mountain at Spirit Rock. I read Sylvia Boorstein’s That’s Funny, You Don’t Look Buddhist and Richard Kamenetz’s The Jew in the Lotus and they are some WISE peeps. Nothing wrong with letting go of ego, and you’d have a hard time convincing me that Buddhist teachings interfere with being a decent Jew.

But what is it about meditation practice that makes some people such a**hats? After living in Marin County for over 12 years with personal transformation junkies who wear their Prana clothes to lunch and exude a pretentious, more-enlightened-than-thou “serenity” that evaporates into road rage the minute someone cuts off their Mercedes SUV, let me tell ya, a good lampooning has been LONG overdue.

And who better to deliver it than Arj Barker, Marin County-and-beyond comedian who once made me pee in my pants laughing at a party on Alan Watts’ boat in Sausalito. Boy’s gone viral – this was on the HuffingtonPost.

Buddha’s laughing, Arj.

Sickest Buddhist from GenerateLA on Vimeo.

UPDATE: Aw, durn it! TheWorstHorse reports that Arj is coming out with a DVD later this year, so you’ll have to BUY it. How…unZen.

In honor of my dad, Dr. Skip, and my Brother the Doctor arriving home from Tanzania safe and sound, I’m posting this vid of Slovenian a cappella jazz choir Perpetuum Jazzile performing this incredible rendition of Toto’s 1982 hit “Africa” – complete with thunderstorm.

Deep bow to Creative First Aid for the inspiration!

I’m a little confused. Yesterday was Tisha B’Av, the ninth day of the Hebrew month of Av and a day of fasting and mourning for Jews to commemorate the laundry list of tragedies that have happened on this exact day through history. Here’s an overview, stolen from one of my own posts:

“The Mishnah discusses the Five Great Calamities that happened in Jerusalem on the same day years apart, including the destruction of both temples and the Bar Kochba’s failed revolt against the Romans.

And the pattern continues: The Jews were kicked out of England on the ninth of Av in the year 1290 CE, Spain kicked us out on the same day in 1492, Germany declared war on Russia in 1914, the Nazis began deporting Jews out of the Warsaw ghetto in 1942.

Sometimes there’s a time zone gaffe, but bad things still happen when it’s Tisha B’Av somewhere: The AMIA bombing in Buenos Aires took place on the 10th of Av in 1994.”

And there’s more: On the day after Tisha B’Av in 2005, Israel began its unilateral disengagement of the Gaza Strip settlements and the forced expulsion of the residents of Gush Katif, and the next year, the IDF fought Hezbollah terrorists in Lebanon the three weeks leading up to Tisha B’Av.

It’s not a fun holiday at all. Observant Jews fast, and though I grew up Reform, there were always somber, educational activities at Jewish summer camp that fed my fundamental identity that I was part of a tribe that had survived much.

So here’s why I’m famisht: Why was this day completely ignored at my kids’ Jewish summer camp at the JEA? As far as I know, there was no mention of Tisha B’av yesterday, only sugar highs from donuts and the excitement of having a sleepover in the auditorium that evening. Sure, there are plenty of non-Jewish children at this camp and no one wants to freak them out with tales of Temple burnings and ghetto murders, but really? Not even a little white-washed program squeezed in between hip-hip dance and free swim?

We want summertime to be so free and easy, full of afternoons by the pool and sticky popsicle lips. But as Jews, the more we ignore the difficult and ugly parts of our history, the more likely those parts will come back to bite us on the ass.

I don’t blame the camp, but the main reason I sent my kids there is because I figure they’ll get at least a smidgen of Jewish education by osmosis. Yes, as a Jewish parent it’s ultimately my responsibility to teach my children their heritage, but I can’t possibly shoulder the burden of history entirely.

Maybe next year El Yenta Man and I will do a puppet show by the pool and serve popsicles.

Am I the only one who finds pale, strung-out looking actors and actresses sucking each other’s blood a poor excuse for a movie/t.v. show plot? Twilight, True Blood – enough already!

Not only is it totally nauseating that young people are going around these days trying to emulate codependent blood junkies, it’s just so unimaginative – can I get a werewolf or something? Maybe some fairies? I’d watch a cyclops if it meant I didn’t have to look at Robert Pattinson’s unibrow ever again.

But even the kvetchiest Yenta’s gotta relish Bangitout.com‘s take on the trend:

Top Ten Signs Your Jewish Bubbie & Zaydie might be Vampires (via Bangitout.com)

10. All 3 meals a day consist of a bright red liquid: Borscht.

9. Heavy yiddish accent, could it be Transylvanian?

8. Skin color is pale white. Heavy red lipstick/blush isn’t helping.

7. In your mind, they’ve been alive forever.

6. Kvetch when exposed to the sun.

5. A wooden cane is their worst nightmare.

4. Always serving chopped liver, taugh you to suck out marrow

3. Seem to sleep heavily all day

2. Picked out their coffin already (parents always saying they have one foot in grave)

1. Teeth come out at night

As if the Jews haven’t had it bad enough with that f*cker Madoff stealing everyone’s tzedakeh funds, now we got Orthodox rabbis in New Jersey peddling human kidneys.

And I here I thought organs were only allowed in Reform synagogues. (Heheheheh, a little Yenta humor for ya.)

In better news, our tribe may trump the bad press of last week by gaining a heiress. But whomever’s writing the headlines at E!Online oughta get a kick in the tush for this one:

“Ivanka Trump’s Winning Marriage Formula: Lose Your Shiksa Goddessness, Gain a Fiancée”

This you call a formula? Ridiculous. Ivanka went through the kosher-ist of kosher conversions and such cheap references to her former shiskahood are straight-up tacky. Plus, she’s still pretty damn goddess-y. Bet her Shabbos kugel kicks ass.

I know I’ve expressed the sentiments of an alterkocker before, but I think you might be with me here:

Yesterday evening my daughter came out of her room in a pair of orange shorty shorts, ready to go out to dinner.

El Yenta Man looked at me. “Really? She’s going to Hirano’s dressed like a Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader?”

I shrugged. I wasn’t pleased, but I know better than to start in with a 5 year-old about her fashion choices. I figure if we begin WWIII over slutty clothes now, she’ll be the 12 year-old who leaves the house wearing a button-down and jeans but has stuffed a plaid micromini and a Sharpie for blackeyeliner in her backpack to change into at the mall. (Not that I know ANYTHING about that.)

But El Yenta Man is senstive to his little girl growing up, especially if she’s going to grow up into looking like someone we don’t want our son dating, so he enforces some rules to keep her dressed her age: No cutesy high heels, no bottoms with writing on the tuchus, and absolutely no teeny shorts.

Though I don’t let my blood pressure get all spiky over them, I think these rules are reasonable, and let me state here that the orange short-shorts that she came out flouncing out in didn’t start out teeny – it’s just what happens when children grow. My plan was to let her wear the shorts to dinner (Hirano’s a nice place, but trust me, you could wear your pajamas there and the waitress would just bring your edamame with no comment) and then snatch them out of the laundry for the hand-me-down pile.

But EYT wouldn’t let it go. “Look, honey, we’re not leaving until you change your shorts.”

Foot stamping. “WHY??? I think I LOOK CUTE, DADDY!”

Daddy: “You’d be even cuter if you were dressed like you’re not ready for a pole dancing lesson.”

Mommy: “Um, what Daddy means is those shorts just aren’t appropriate.”

Daughter Diva: “They are. They ARE. THEY ARE THEY ARE THEY ARE!!!!”

Mommy: “Well, look, I’m pulling up my skirt to where those shorts come down on you. Does that look nice?”

Daughter Diva (looking closely): “No. Because your legs are squishy.”

Mommy (eyes rolling): “Thanks so much. But my point is that is just shows too much, right?”

Daughter Diva crossed her arms and glowered like a pit bull asked to give up its steak. My husband is fairly laid-back guy, but once he issues an edict, it does not get repealed, and seeing that this was one of those family stand-offs that usually end badly, I wandered into the kitchen wondering if I could throw together a meal from cereal and chicken broth.

“Just a minute,” he said, and went into the bedroom. Now, you may remember that EYT has some extremely creative ways of dealing with conflict, but nothing tops what came next:

He comes sauntering out of the bedroom wearing one of my tank tops, shoulder muscles bulging. “OK, I’m ready to go!”

Daughter Diva’s scowl melted into big giggles; I actually found it so hilarious I started braying like a donkey.

“What?!” he growled, flexing. “What’s wrong with this? I think I look nice!”

“INAPPROPRIATE,” said my son, who’s nine and was wearing a perfectly normal shorts and shirt and was not amused by any of this.

“Really? Why?” asked EYT, pointing at Daughter Diva. “It fits me fine. What’s the problem?”

Daughter Diva guffawed. “It shows too much.”

“Riiiight,” said her daddy. “Do you want me to wear this to Hirano’s?”

“NOOOOO!” she squealed.

“Great, then please go change.”

And without another word, she went into her room, put a jean skirt over the short shorts and came out and curtseyed. “Finally, I’m starving!” sighed my son.

We gathered at the front door, where I thanked my husband for handling this so well. “But you look like you belong at strip club in the Castro. Please go put your real shirt back on.”

This all has got me thinking about modesty in our girls. Observant Jewish women follow the parameters of “tznuit,” covering the arms, legs and in many cases, hair. Though I grew up in the hot Arizona sun rocking half-shirts and showing my bellybutton, I’m coming to understand the blessing of covering up one’s physical parts in order to project a deeper, inner beauty. Not that I’ll be giving up my Victoria’s Secret bikini anytime soon, but lately I find myself avoiding things my closet that show cleavage and (and the squishy parts.)

And maybe I am just a premature alterkocker, but it makes me so uncomfortable when I see teenage girls and even younger showing so much skin. “What are their mothers THINKING?” I ask myself. Obviously, it’s pretty damn difficult to tell your daughter how to dress when all of her friends are spending their allowances at Abercrombie & Fitch and Hollister. I suspect my daughter was trying to emulate some of her teenage camp counselors, who are otherwise sweet and polite and responsible, but probably aren’t aware they’re influencing their charges into style choices that get hootchier with every passing season.

She’s probably going to be really pissed when she finds out the Shorty-Shorts Rule will apply until leaves for college.

My dad, Dr. Skip, has been been doing a far better job of updating his blog than I have.

Of course, if I had huge kidney tumors and witch violence to write about, I might be more garrulous.

Please, read his latest updates here – it gets a little gory, but they’re really saving lives in Tanzania.

A friend wrote to ask if they’re on a “mission,” wondering if my father and brother went to Tanzania as part of one of the many organizations in Africa that promise medical care and food relief to indigenous people – as long as they convert to a particular religious belief. My friend was concerned because good people donate tons of money to these groups that basically practice spiritual blackmail – give up your savage tribal ways and we’ll give your baby some clean water!

While this is not funny at all, the thought of my obnoxiously agnostic brother preaching some fusion of Jewish evangelism to a group of African schoolchildren made me spray sweet tea out of my nose with giggles. He thinks I’m practically a fundamentalist because I teach Sunday School!

Oh hee-ELL no, I told my pal. Dr. Skip and Bro da Doc are really there to help whomever shows up at the door, and they couldn’t care less what their patients believe as long as they’ve got something surgically fascinating for them to diagnose and possibly cut out.

I actually think it’s a organization out of United Arab Emirates who funded the trip – which just goes to show you this is a religion-free deal. Which oxymoronically, may be the key to tikkun olam.

Oy, it’s so humid I could spread the lack of breeze on a bagel … the barometric pressure is making my hip feel like it’s doing the mambo to techno … the grass in my neighbor’s yard is so high the dog got lost in it this morning … I thing the buffalo wings I ate for lunch scalded the lining off my intestines … I want to go to the midnight premiere of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince but I’m afraid some goth kid will thrown popcorn at me if I fall asleep ….

Ahem. Yes, it’s ALWAYS kvetch season ’round here, and I’m the team captain.

Get your uniform here.

Here.