roshashona at my mom's

This is the cup I got on my Bar Mitzvah from Rabbi Kellman at the Beth Emeth Bais Yehuda Synagogue. My mom has it in her china cabinet. She pulls all our little ceremonial cups out on holidays. She distributes them randomly to the guests. They're like party favorites at a birthday. "Hey look what I got, Michael's cup!" (my brother Michael) "This ones filled with his pink ulcerated Crones diseased intestines." Michael internalized our Holocaust Survivor parents miserable grief and guilt to the point of almost killing himself. He still doesn't know how to get angry without wanting to destroy people. So he stays emotionally dead. The wine in my cup looks like the bloody scabbed diarreah of all my rottenest childhood memories, not the sweet concord wine from Israel that I poured in the cup. The liquid hisses as it glistens with pain.


Mom is the best jew. Jenny wins hands down. She has an excellent jew rating. She balances her cheating on all major orthodox values and practices with her wildly extensive jew charilty and jew cultural contributions to the jew community locally and internationally. She's a player. And a keeper of the gate. The one I'm always pissing on. Well that's how she sees it. What with my convert wife. And by default half jew son. My rejection of her extended jew family, her jew community of friends and her racist jew synagogue. And disrespect for her rank. She has a 5 star general ranking tatooed by the Nazi's on her forearm. She has the Auschwitz card, I've got the Joker. My kind of jew life works for me. My new jew wife has a sweet abiding love for jew life and culture. And jews like me. We do lots of jew stuff in our quiet undisciplined way. It's our business how we jew. My mom's judgement is a dark arbiter. We stay away.