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GLYNN CLEANERS AND LAUNDRY
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BRUNSWICK, GEORGIA
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family would have properly
thought worth mentioning.
For you can be assured, dear
reader, that the final provo
cation that caused me to slay
him with the same dispatch
Moses slew his overseer, de
rived from sources rooted over
a past far longer than this or
any recent Passover. That dog
has been offending me in fact
since time began.
But dead and silenced this
embodiment of that shadow is!
But he only. No other! There
were more before him. There’ll
be more after. Nonetheless the
-van An in the m p m nr Y
of his absention is to bring to
mind for the reader’s light
Passover perusal some other
of that long line of questioning
to which I was subjected un
til that fatal moment.
To begin with, that is, to
begin with before we get to
the actual beginning, one must
concede that his questions, as
I remember them . . . even the
few’ I’ll cite here, loosely and
as they come to mind . . . are
not all as unutterably rhetori
cal as the humor they’re dress
ed in would have it seem.
They do merit a certain legiti
macy. They are not so un
similar to certain more rari-
fied Talmudic disquisitions.
They have an indubitable
point somewhere. Although
one must also admit that the
time interval say between
Moses’ announcement that the
day of Exodus was at hand and
the moment of actual Exodus
was certainly of no duration
sufficient to drill an under
sea passage. On the other
hand, I am by no means cer
tain that that was the ques
tion really intended. The dead
one in fact tended in his last
dying gasps to suggest it
wasn’t! And that what he was
intending to inquire of really
was of a question more alle
gorical in order, namely why
is Exodus accomplished neces
sarily by division of water
rather than by joining of land.
That, however, didn’t neces
sarily block out all those other
ludicracies of inquiry he made.
There were thousands concern
ing Passover alone. Millions
concerning Purim for exam
ple. But Purim isn’t now. Pass-
over is. And so, if I can finally
get to it, I’ll call to mind just
a few, like I said, in memorian,
as it were.
I can remember the bolt that
seized me the afternoon he
came up with this one: Unto
what presence, via exodus
anew, shall the Heebees trans
it, and via what new passing-
over shall that which only be
Israel now become? (I felt like
cutting his whiskers after that
one!) What he meant of course
is that as the altars of Abra
ham are distinct to the altars
of his cousin Caananites, and
5b
as distinct as the temple in
Jerusalem was to the temple
of Amphet-ra, so too no doubt
shall the land of this exodus
still to come, still to be passed-
over, he unto the qualities of
that milk and honey promised
as fundamentally characteris
tic of the last one. And who,
he asked, can prophesy what
its name shall be.
But to the devil with ques
tions. The four that are com
ing up , are enough I suspect.
Nobody has apparently been
able to come up with a satis
factory answer since Moses
bounced his stick off a nick.
Obviously if correct ones were
to be had there would be no
need to continue tossing them
out year after year for the
last five and one half mille-
nia. Naturally. I countered
that the perpetuity of repeat
ing those four kashas only in
dicated the unnatural concen
tration power my people pos
sessed. Their capacity to stick
it through! their staying pow
er! But he, the vile one,
wouldn’t go for the promotion.
He dubbed the compulsion to
repeat them century after cen
tury as merely symptomatic of
an obsession that could only
and plainly be titled psychosis.
None-the-less, to show where
the real shoe fits, he, that
mamzer, was the least inhibit
ed of questioners! Typical of
his trickery! As old as the
serpent!
One that irked me especial
ly, although I could not quite
divine its esoteric import, was
the question concerning the
meaning of that’ “passover’’
that passed the Pope over re
cently from old Rome to new
Jerusalem? He put the ques
tion to me hours before the
Roman Pontiff landed, and
what in retrospect I believe
really irked me was his snide
suggestion, made at the time,
that if the Pope were as ex
ecuted as thoroughly in Jeru
salem as was our President
shortly before in Dallas, then
could I logically anticipate a
world-wide wave of anti-Heeb
riot so fierce as would make
the consequence of that cru
cifixion two thousand years
ago, when it began, look like
nothing.
That I killed him was too
good for the bum. Ordinarily,
I’d feel guilty, but I do not
this time. But guilty or not,
who cares? You? Me? My
four kasha-askers? Besides,
I’m sick of answers too. I
won’t spend another forty
years splitting grains of desert
sand. May my calves in the
future be spotted, not golden.
That luster let me leave for
others. I care for nothing
more, really. And for protec
tion all I want is a deep tun
nel drill in my hand. The
wand of Moses will no longer
do. I lost it. It’s been swiped.
The Southern Israelite