Today, the nerves of Aaron the Aryan are strung higher than the laundry on his ever-loving mother's clothesline and, as you likely know, the ever-loving mother of Aaron the Aryan lives in a very tall building indeed. Now, the why to this young man's sudden bout of anxiety is a tad too byzantine to illustrate sans some knowledge of yesteryear. So I figure that the most commonsensical thing to do is to retreat back to before Aaron the Aryan is known as Aryan the Aryan and just called little Aaron Klotsky. This way, you may better understand how he eventually becomes so nervous and such.
No knock to Aaron the Aryan intended, but he grows up without much of a clue in the world, living so charmed and bubbled an existence in a little town by the name of La Jolla. He is born here on one humdrum day, sporting blond hair and royal blue eyes, neither which bear much of a resemblance to the features of his ever-loving parents. The only thing he is sharing with them in fact is a very fair epidermis, which does not remain that way for very long once he starts bathing in the Californian sun (which is not actually a Californian sun, seeing as there is only one sun to my knowledge and it is very international). Soon after, little Aaron Klotsky learns to walk, talk and surf as good as anybody. And eventually it becomes rather difficult to discern between him and any other flip flop-clad La Jollan. Except, little Aaron Klotsky is different, you see. It turns out that he is really very Jewish.
So Jewish in fact is little Aaron Klotsky that it is a challenge to find even a twig of gentile on the deftly researched Klotsky family tree. Mister and Missus Klotsky are of course very pleased to admit this and often crow about it endlessly at parties and galas and potlucks and such. But I wish to say I never find being very Jewish so impressive, personally, because I am never understanding what makes one more or less so, and furthermore, being an atheist, I don't see the attraction to being very religion-oriented anyway.
Well, by and by little Aaron Klotsky becomes not so little and gets to wondering more than somewhat about his Jewish forebears. One day he asks his ever-loving mother, "Where are we from before La Jolla?" Now, Missus Klotsky is happy to tell this not-so-little Aaron Klotsky that once upon a time they spring from a land flowing with dairy products, but she hesitates. Wonders she, "Why tell my not-so-little son, when I can show him?" Indeed, Missus Klotsky becomes so enamored with the idea that she forgets to answer the question of Aaron Klotsky in the first place. Off she runs to convince Mister Klotsky that they must visit the place of -ites and -isms, and he is similarly smitten by the notion. And so it happens that Aaron Klotsky and the Mister and Missus end up on sitting on an aeroplane aimed square for the so-called holy land.
To abridge a few dull as dishwater chapters, let us just say that when Aaron Klotsky sees his so-called homeland for the first time, he gets very daffy indeed. And his ever-loving parents turn out to be quite partial to remaining yonder for some time as well. Personally, I will have to be paid more than somewhat to habitate in such a sandy place, but it apparently conveniences the Klotskies no little, and I might add that scratch is the last thing on the mind when you are as well-heeled as a Klotsky. Anyway, some time passes and Aaron Klotsky turns eighteen years of age. And it is on this birthday that he discovers, much to his La Jollan dismay, that he must serve in the so-called holy land's Israelite military and any minute now at that.
Meanwhile, I happen to be vacating in the so-called holy land myself and am sitting with Uzi Izzy in Phedinkus, a little joint on the south side of Alenby Street one Sunday morning about four o'clock, finishing my drink all quiet like, when who barges in more daffy than a bull seeing red but Aaron Klotsky. Of course, this causes great indignation among the other customers trying to enjoy their hangovers in peace and quiet, but Aaron Klotsky, who is worried stiffer than a bad case of rigamortis, does not seem to notice. He drops into a chair alongside Uzi Izzy, and then orders a kubbe-duo with sliced onions to come along, which is a dish that is considered most invigorating, and immediately Aaron Klotsky begins telling of his woes, although nobody asks him to. So Aaron Klotsky tells us as follows:
Well, (Aaron Klotsky says) according to Hershel the Heckler, all citizens of the so-called holy land must do some sort of military service and one thing and another and this includes myself. Now, at first I consider this earful nothing more than phonus bolonus and furthermore I hold little confidence in the word of a shifty type like Hershel the Heckler. So, I ask Gadi Shimon, who is seldom misinformed, for his two cents worth. But I forget that Gadi Shimon speaks little to no English, and so he starts frowning and raising his eyebrows more than somewhat until I remember. Well, what happens but right at that moment my ever-loving mother is walking by, mittens full of groceries and what not. I figure she might know a thing or two about this military business, so I stop her and say:
"Wait a minute! Do you have any idea what is with this military business?"
"Why," my ever-loving mother says, "do you not hear? Mr. Klotsky receives your conscription form in the mail today!"
Now of course all this is surprising news to me, indeed, (Aaron Klotsky says) and in fact I am quite flabbergasted, and as for understanding it, all I understand is that I'm getting a rotten deal and that frankly I will never come to the so-called holy land in the first place if I know I must serve in the Israelite military.
"Well, Aaron," I say after hearing all this, "it is a very unfortunate story and full of shocks and all this and that, and," I say, "of course I will never be so inconsiderate to call a guy a sap, but," I say, "if it is not naive to move to a country before reading the fine print, then it will do until something naive comes along."
Well, this is not cheering up Aaron Klotsky so much and I figure his case is just about hopeless when Uzi Izzy suddenly perks up. "What makes you so sure you are eligible?" Uzi Izzy asks Aaron Klotsky.
"What do you mean?" Aaron replies.
"Well, unless you are very certainly certified Jewish," says Uzi Izzy, "to my knowledge, you are not forced to serve."
Aaron Klotsky considers this for a second but then continues to sulk. "I'm afraid I am very certainly certified Jewish." he says, "In fact, I believe there are few people as certainly certified Jewish as me."
Upon hearing this, Uzi Izzy is looking very forlorn indeed, and I wish to say I see many a drooping kisser in my life, but I never see one so sad as Uzi Izzy's in that moment. And all three of us are quiet for some time, which is considered customary in such cases. But then, while giving Aaron Klotsky a worried gander, a thought suddenly crosses my mind.
"Why, Aaron," I say, "you don't look so Jewish."
"No?" he asks.
"In fact, if I am never meeting you, I will say you resemble just about anything but Jewish."
"I guess I do!" he exclaims and chances are we both guess right.
Then Uzi Izzy gives Aaron Klotsky a quick once-over too and asks: "How do you become so gentile-like anyway, Aaron?"
"Well, I am born and raised in La Jolla, you see," Aaron Klotsky says, "and if one lives in La Jolla, there is little choice regarding one's genetics."
Now this of course is making no sense but I have not the heart to tell Aaron Klotsky so, and furthermore I don't wish to burst some newly sanguine bubbles regarding Aaron Klotsky's draft-dodging prospects. Anyway Uzi Izzy, Aaron Klotsky and I begin to form a plan so as to convince the Israelite military that Aaron Klotsky is really just as non-Jewish as he resembles. And by and by, this is how Aaron Klotsky gets to being called Aaron the Aryan.
Now if you are never having to partake in something by the name of Tsav Rishon, I wish to say you miss nothing much because what is it but a room full of very testy testosterone at work. There are plenty of almost-military men taking tests from already-military men all on behalf of this military and it is a very sore sight indeed. And it happens to be on this day and spot that Aaron the Aryan finds himself in that prior mentioned state of tremendous anxiety. Today, you see, is his one opportunity to convince the Israelite military that he is not belonging in an Israelite military in the first place and he is sweating plenty of bullets over the matter. Aaron the Aryan sits awhile all on his lonesome, picking his knuckles into a ghastly state as young people are liable to do, when at last a little man bustles in to the room.
He is a pretty wide guy, very heavy set, and slow moving, and with jowls that you can slice shawarma off of, and tired run-down eyes, and he somehow resembles an old basset hound that just happens to be in military uniform. Walking around the desk, he takes a seat across from Aaron the Aryan, glances at him and then starts to chatter-train in his native tongue. Now of course Aaron the Aryan is not in a position to interrupt the wide induction officer, because he figures he is liable to hurt his fair-shake at cajolery and anyway, he does not wish to make this wide induction officer mad as he is apt to strong-arm Aaron the Aryan into an undesirable unit in some awfully sandy place is so he wishes.
So, Aaron the Aryan does not request a translation and just sits there, nodding his head every couple of seconds at the wide induction officer as he twaddles of this and that. Then after plenty of this, the wide induction officer opens his desk drawer and pulls out a piece of paper and a pen and slides it toward Aaron the Aryan matter-of-factly, chatting all awhile. But Aaron the Aryan is not letting a single finger linger on it, being very weary of signing sheets that he does not understand and such. So eventually the wide induction officer notices this and stops to look at Aaron the Aryan curiously. Then he says, "You don't look very Jewish."
Well, Aaron the Aryan is very gratified indeed that the wide induction officer at last stops chattering away, and is about to compliment the man's gentile-radar, when the wide induction officer interrupts: "But your file seems to suggest that you are so."
"My file?" he asks.
"Yes, yes. Everybody has a file, you see. And according to yours, the Klotsky family tree is very well populated with very Jewish figures."
Panicking, Aaron the Aryan starts, "But the thing is, I am not Jewish."
"No?"
"No, not even a smidgen."
Well, the wide induction officer takes a good long meddling gander at Aaron the Aryan for a few moments before turning to stuff his head into a bunch of paperwork. And meanwhile Aaron the Aryan feels more than somewhat uneasy, certain that he is playing all his cards and that the jig is about to be up. And just when he considers coming clean with the honest truth, the wide induction officer pulls his head out of the plentiful folders and papers and what not, and interrupts Aaron the Aryan once again. "It appears you are right!" he says.
Well, naturally Aaron the Aryan is very much surprised at this statement, because he is not right, and he is Jewish as a matter of fact, and if the file claims the contrary then this is a very peculiar circumstance indeed.
"How do you figure?" Aaron the Aryan asks.
"Why," the wide induction officer responds, "Don't you know? You are adopted after turning two years of age and your real family tree is not certainly certified Jewish in the slightest. In fact, there's not even a twig of Jewish in sight!"
Now as it turns out, Aaron the Aryan is in fact an aryan with not a Jewish bone in his bodice and when he confronts his ever-loving parents on the matter, they tell him an astonishing story indeed. Apparently, Mister and Missus Klotsky are always wanting to tell little Aaron Klotsky that he is not an honest Klotsky, but they never get around to it. And furthermore, when they decide to live in the so-called holy land, they figure that by and by Aaron won't mind serving in the Israelite military, being so daffy about the spot and all. But personally, I know this cannot be true, for if there is one thing a non-Jewish La Jollan never yearns for, it is to serve in an Israelite military.
Anyway, Aaron the Aryan resolves to mull over all these revelations and I hear he is taking a flight straight back to La Jolla to meet his real ever-loving parents just the next day. So this is about all there is to the story, except that when Aaron the Aryan decides to return to the so-called holy land and forgive the ever-loving Klotskies for misleading him and keep being Jewish anyway, he ends up volunteering in the Israelite military while he's at it. And last I hear, they are still calling him Aaron the Aryan in there on account of his very La Jollan looks.
"For two weeks I gambled in green pastures. The dice were my cousins and the dolls were agreeable with nice teeth and no last names." -guys & dolls
No comments:
Post a Comment