Make Mine Mike

5 thoughts regarding my nephew's bris last week:

1. Are all rabbis frustrated stand-up comedians? Or just the mensches I've met lately -- the ones we interviewed for our wedding, who officiated my mother's recent headstone unveiling and this schticky alter cocker? He had a jokey rejoinder for every occasion. ("No thanks, if I ate a bagel at every bris, I'd look like a bagel!") Still, you don't make fun of the moyle for his borscht-beltiness -- the guy's skilled with highly specialized knives. Sorta like samurai swords for the shvantz. Oh jeez, it's contagious.

2. Speaking of which, someone I know expressed his disdain for his ritual. "Oh, you think they should cut the cutting?" I said. He said that sounded like a bumper sticker. "No," I said. "'Honk if you're for foreskins' sounds like a bumper sticker."

3. It's the only bris I've attended aside from my own. I doubt I winced as much the first time.

4. How can such a tiny little thing on such a tiny little thing bleed so much? I held the little dude for a long time in the other room, away from the family. Eventually he stopped crying, but soon I was the one getting upset -- if I stayed there any longer, there wasn't gonna be any sesame bagels or whitefish left for me.

5. Despite the last few posts, I promise this site won't turn into a baby blog.