BS"D
Reb Berish Lowenstein's cellphone showed no fewer than 78 missed calls, at least 12 of which were from his own home. He became suspicious when he realized that 16 of them were from his daughter's seminary principal, and he wondered why Rebbetzin Soro would call him and not his wife if chas vesholom his daughter was in some sort of trouble. She knew he was abroad, and she would rarely call him directly unless it was an emergency. The others were from neighbors, and he wondered what could be amiss on his usually quiet and stately block.
He checked his voicemail, and all he could decipher was one message from his usually calm next-door neighbor, Reb Nachman Lichtfeld. "The meshigginer, that Friedman, he says you gave him gelt and I should too. He's in chyrem, for what should I give him gelt? I know you didn't give him a cent, but what can I do? He's wearing a wig and a dress, who you know in the police that can maybe have him put in a byse-mishegoyim? He wants collect for his own seminary tuition, nebach, so crazy!"
Before he even thought to call anyone in Antwerp, Reb Berish called directory assistance and asked for the number to Creedmoor Psychiatric Center. He dialed that number, and asked to speak to the Jewish chaplain. He remembered that Friedman had admitted to spending some time at the notorious facility, and he suspected that when it came to his past hospitalizations, the minuscule menace was telling the truth for once. His brother-in-law was well-connected with politicians, and he figured he could somehow get Friedman deported from Belgium and taken right off the plane to Creedmoor if he could prove that Friedman was indeed of Creedmoor provenance.
Little did Reb Berish Lowenstein, an honest and well-meaning askan, know what was in store when the overworked and underskilled receptionist connected him, accidentally or purposely, to none other than the Admou"r meCreedmoor.
---to be continued tomorrow---
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
Moshe Aryeh Friedman Coverage Resumes Tomorrow
BS"D
http://www.vosizneias.com/122691/2013/01/28/antwerp-belgian-court-denies-friedman-girls-entry-to-boys-yeshiva-grandmothers-seeking-custody-of-children
Needless to say, the intrepid and decrepit Moshe Aryeh Friedman did not take this decision lightly, lightweight though he is. Find out tomorrow just how Moshe Aryeh Friedman plans to handle the chinuch of his children and thousands of other Yiddishe kinder...................with the help of a Rebbe who has been under mothballs for quite some time now!
http://www.vosizneias.com/122691/2013/01/28/antwerp-belgian-court-denies-friedman-girls-entry-to-boys-yeshiva-grandmothers-seeking-custody-of-children
Needless to say, the intrepid and decrepit Moshe Aryeh Friedman did not take this decision lightly, lightweight though he is. Find out tomorrow just how Moshe Aryeh Friedman plans to handle the chinuch of his children and thousands of other Yiddishe kinder...................with the help of a Rebbe who has been under mothballs for quite some time now!
Monday, January 14, 2013
Pesach Cruise with Moshe Aryeh Friedman
BS"D
Creedmoor Cruises, the travel fraud division of Moisdos Creedmoor veShaar Marin Bishin, is proud to announce that its Ignoramus-in-Residence for this year's Pesach Gala Garbage Barge Cruise Up the River will be the one and only, and boorich Hashyme that he is the one and only:
Seats begin at $300 for a tire attached to a rope made of certified non-Zionist hemp from an eco-kosher sustainable and smokable hemp plantation. Seats end as soon as the rope breaks or as soon as Friedman is thrown overboard.
Creedmoor Cruises accepts EBT cards at 65 cents on the dollar and Iranian rials at 50,000 to the dollar. Reserve now, as this cruise promises to be at least as successful as Friedman.
Creedmoor Cruises, the travel fraud division of Moisdos Creedmoor veShaar Marin Bishin, is proud to announce that its Ignoramus-in-Residence for this year's Pesach Gala Garbage Barge Cruise Up the River will be the one and only, and boorich Hashyme that he is the one and only:
Rabbi Moshe Aryeh Friedman Sheyirfa"sh
Rabbi Friedman will share his deep insights on such topics as:
- Life in Cherem
- Romantic Dinners with Ahmadinejad
- Loving Memories of Jorg Haider
- Mixed-Gender Education in Antwerp
- Single-Sex Marriage in Iran
Seats begin at $300 for a tire attached to a rope made of certified non-Zionist hemp from an eco-kosher sustainable and smokable hemp plantation. Seats end as soon as the rope breaks or as soon as Friedman is thrown overboard.
Creedmoor Cruises accepts EBT cards at 65 cents on the dollar and Iranian rials at 50,000 to the dollar. Reserve now, as this cruise promises to be at least as successful as Friedman.
Tuesday, January 08, 2013
Moshe Aryeh Friedman Collects for Seminary Tuition (Part 3)
BS"D
"Mustafa, you can maybe take me to the rich people, who give money, and not to the airport? Feldstein he is stupid, he send me to airport because he think I can collect there."
Mustafa Asad Fareed and Moshe Aryeh Friedman resembled each other not only in name, but also in moral fiber. Fareed was a Pakistani cabbie who made his living taking meshuluchim to homes in Antwerp, even though he was a fervent supporter of Islamic radicals. Since 60 Euro was three times the fare needed to bring his passenger to the Jewish residential district of Antwerp, Fareed was more than happy to ignore his order to take Friedman to the airport.
Instead, Friedman arrived on the doorstep of Reb Berish and Chave Byla Lowenstein's home, a few moments after Malki came home from seminary, accompanied by her friend Tamar.
"Shulem alychen. I am Avrohom Yeshiye Heschel Yekusiel Yehide Yitzchok Myer Yissochor DovBer HaCohen Lowenstein, but Reb Berish, or even if you like Fetter Berish, is fine with me." The watch importer, a native of Williamsburgh who had moved to Antwerp after marriage, was named for four relatives who perished in the war, each of whom was named for a famous Rebbe. "You are very welcome here whenever you want to come. I have to fly to the States tonight and I will be back just in time for Shabbos, but my wife, Chava Byle, and of course Malki and her sisters, will show you around."
Suddenly, the doorbell rang repeatedly. Reb Berish said: "Oy, it is always stuck." He called to his sons: "Yossel, Shmilu, you think one of you can fix the bell? The key to my tool chest is in my desk if you want to try tonight, or just call someone tomorrow morning before you leave for yeshiva."
This time, however, the doorbell was not stuck. It was being pressed repeatedly by an intercontinental perennial nudnik who had made himself a pariah in Antwerp after only a few months of residence there. What's more, he was wearing what appeared to be a dress.
Unfortunately, Reb Berish was not wearing his glasses, as he had rushed downstairs to welcome Tamar. He looked through the peephole of his majestic oak door and saw only a blurry, bedraggled figure.
"Someone please bring me at least ten Euro, or if someone wants to do a mitzvah, please come here. I left everything upstairs."
Reb Berish opened the door, to his great chagrin. Immediately recognizing Friedman, he angrily blurted out:
"Moishele Friedman? In a dress? Today is not Peerim, but I guess you wanted to look in place over at Bnois Yerushalayim. What may I seruv you? My wife makes an excellent Viennese cherem cake, you know..."
"I am fundraising for seminary tuition. I want to become a teacher from girls, they should know more from how to fight the evils of segregation, tzioinis, and everything. Maybe you can give me 100 Euro and lend me another 3,000?"
Reb Berish Lowenstein looked as if he was about to land his entire six feet, two inches of height and two hundred and twenty pounds of weight on the minuscule Friedman's shpitzel-covered head:
"Friedman, seminary? Or cemetery? It doesn't matter much because no one is burying you anywhere but in the Muslim cemetery, and maybe they have a place where you can learn to teach girls.. You belong in Sing Sing, no, really in Creedmoor, you meshigginer, you menivel, you shtickel po......you know what Creedmoor is?"
"Sure, Reb Yid. I was there when I was a kid. Dr. Weinberg, Rabbi Goldman..."
"You were really once in Creedmoor? I am not surprised. Rabbi Goldman, this is the chaplain there? I will call him and see if you were really there, because maybe you can be sent back. Meanwhile, get off my property, or I'll do my kappoores early this year with a fruitcake instead of a chicken!" The door slammed shut.
Little did Reb Berish know that Dr. Weinberg had left Creedmoor ages ago, and that "Rabbi Goldman" was an old alias for a self-appointed Rebbe who was hardly the chaplain there. So, he made a mental note to himself to call Rabbi Goldman at Creedmoor if he bumped into Friedman again upon his return from his business trip.
---to be continued----
"Mustafa, you can maybe take me to the rich people, who give money, and not to the airport? Feldstein he is stupid, he send me to airport because he think I can collect there."
Mustafa Asad Fareed and Moshe Aryeh Friedman resembled each other not only in name, but also in moral fiber. Fareed was a Pakistani cabbie who made his living taking meshuluchim to homes in Antwerp, even though he was a fervent supporter of Islamic radicals. Since 60 Euro was three times the fare needed to bring his passenger to the Jewish residential district of Antwerp, Fareed was more than happy to ignore his order to take Friedman to the airport.
Instead, Friedman arrived on the doorstep of Reb Berish and Chave Byla Lowenstein's home, a few moments after Malki came home from seminary, accompanied by her friend Tamar.
"Shulem alychen. I am Avrohom Yeshiye Heschel Yekusiel Yehide Yitzchok Myer Yissochor DovBer HaCohen Lowenstein, but Reb Berish, or even if you like Fetter Berish, is fine with me." The watch importer, a native of Williamsburgh who had moved to Antwerp after marriage, was named for four relatives who perished in the war, each of whom was named for a famous Rebbe. "You are very welcome here whenever you want to come. I have to fly to the States tonight and I will be back just in time for Shabbos, but my wife, Chava Byle, and of course Malki and her sisters, will show you around."
Suddenly, the doorbell rang repeatedly. Reb Berish said: "Oy, it is always stuck." He called to his sons: "Yossel, Shmilu, you think one of you can fix the bell? The key to my tool chest is in my desk if you want to try tonight, or just call someone tomorrow morning before you leave for yeshiva."
This time, however, the doorbell was not stuck. It was being pressed repeatedly by an intercontinental perennial nudnik who had made himself a pariah in Antwerp after only a few months of residence there. What's more, he was wearing what appeared to be a dress.
Unfortunately, Reb Berish was not wearing his glasses, as he had rushed downstairs to welcome Tamar. He looked through the peephole of his majestic oak door and saw only a blurry, bedraggled figure.
"Someone please bring me at least ten Euro, or if someone wants to do a mitzvah, please come here. I left everything upstairs."
Reb Berish opened the door, to his great chagrin. Immediately recognizing Friedman, he angrily blurted out:
"Moishele Friedman? In a dress? Today is not Peerim, but I guess you wanted to look in place over at Bnois Yerushalayim. What may I seruv you? My wife makes an excellent Viennese cherem cake, you know..."
"I am fundraising for seminary tuition. I want to become a teacher from girls, they should know more from how to fight the evils of segregation, tzioinis, and everything. Maybe you can give me 100 Euro and lend me another 3,000?"
Reb Berish Lowenstein looked as if he was about to land his entire six feet, two inches of height and two hundred and twenty pounds of weight on the minuscule Friedman's shpitzel-covered head:
"Friedman, seminary? Or cemetery? It doesn't matter much because no one is burying you anywhere but in the Muslim cemetery, and maybe they have a place where you can learn to teach girls.. You belong in Sing Sing, no, really in Creedmoor, you meshigginer, you menivel, you shtickel po......you know what Creedmoor is?"
"Sure, Reb Yid. I was there when I was a kid. Dr. Weinberg, Rabbi Goldman..."
"You were really once in Creedmoor? I am not surprised. Rabbi Goldman, this is the chaplain there? I will call him and see if you were really there, because maybe you can be sent back. Meanwhile, get off my property, or I'll do my kappoores early this year with a fruitcake instead of a chicken!" The door slammed shut.
Little did Reb Berish know that Dr. Weinberg had left Creedmoor ages ago, and that "Rabbi Goldman" was an old alias for a self-appointed Rebbe who was hardly the chaplain there. So, he made a mental note to himself to call Rabbi Goldman at Creedmoor if he bumped into Friedman again upon his return from his business trip.
---to be continued----
Tuesday, January 01, 2013
Moshe Aryeh Friedman Goes to Seminary: Part 2
BS"D
Malki Lowenstein could not have been more different from Tamar Moshashvili, and it was Malki upon whom both Rebbetzin Goldman and Tamar herself relied to keep Tamar out of trouble.
"Tamar, I am going to call Malki, she's wasting her time in class today anyway because she knows more about the parsha than Mrs. Lichtman, and I don't understand why I haven't been to her vort yet. Meanwhile, we have to do something about that phone, don't we. Maybe my son-in-law Yankel will give you something for it. He'll be here in a minute!"
For Tamar, this seemed like the Game Over message on one of the games she had played on her new phone. She did not have to wait long for Yankel to arrive.
"So, what is this I saw in the basement, I heard noise, and I saw Friedman the Freak down there! So I start to sing: "Moishe Aryeye Friedman, chomor di, eisel di, menivel di. Vus a shygetz tit do in Antverp...." His mother-in-law immediately recognized the Belzer nigun "Omor Reb Akiva, ashreicheim Yisroel..ma mikveh metaher.."
"YANKEL! That is a hylige niggin, where do you get such words!"
"Shvigger, where did you get Friedman? This is a GIRLS' seminary, isn't it - and where did he get that ugly dress?"
"The same place Miss Moshashvili got this phone here, I guess - from a store window."
Yankel, a large and burly, but gentle, man, brandished an owner's manual and bellowed: "Serial number 3685952. Manufactured 10 November 2012. Missing since motzoei shabbos parshas Vayero when my window somehow broke, right?"
Tamar Moshashvili shook as she spurted out: "Mister, you can have it back. The adapter is at home. 5 Vielge, third floor. The door is open. My mother drinks and sleeps all the time so just go in and do what you want."
"Miss, I don't turn Jews in to the police, but I had one more day before I had to make an insurance claim, so you are very lucky. Now, you don't look like a phone thief to me, so maybe you want to tell me who got you this phone? I wish it were Friedman because him I'm allowed to moiser, or maybe I could just break his beitzim with a nutcracker, but Friedman didn't rob my store because he wouldn't know which way to swing a hammer.."
"YANKEL! With a nutcracker you break eggs? There are girls around here! You want they should get confused when they cook for their husbands?" his mother-in-law scolded.
"Friedman's eggs I break with a nutcracker. Burich Hashem, you taught Rochele well and she knows how to break a chicken's egg, for what I need to know how to do it? I open a refrigerator in my store, I show it to the baleboste, ten percent off I give her, she buys, I take home the gelt. At home for what I should open a refrigerator?"
Rebbetzin Goldman was about to berate her son-in-law again for his inappropriate display of humor in her seminary, but Malki Lowenstein showed up in the middle of the chaos. She saw the burly electronics dealer confronting Tamar, and immediately asked: "Are you in trouble, Tami? We'll work it out."
Malki was actually quite petite, smaller even than Moshe Aryeh Friedman, but she was hardly intimidated by Reb Yankel's bulky form. After all, she was a daughter of one of the finest families in Antwerp, and her married sisters, all of whom resembled her, bought plenty of appliances from his store.
Reb Yankel turned around, and asked her: "Your name I don't know, but I think you have a sister Mrs. Berkowitz, maybe another one let me think..her husband is Berel Cohen, your father wholesales Swiss watches, and your brother, he likes computers and he wants to learn to play keyboard..."
"Yes, that is us, and thank you for always helping by giving us prizes for our chesed drives. Did someone call Hatzoloh?" She knew Reb Yankel was a Hatzoloh volunteer from the two-way radio he carried.
"No, but someone has a phone she wants to give back to me. And there is a freak from Vienna downstairs!"
"A freak from Vienna? My father says that there is a creature from Vienna that swims in the sewers here, and if my little brother doesn't behave, he'll feed him to the Viennese sewer monster. So he's for real?"
"This one can't eat your brother, and my shvigger she'll kill me if I said what he does eat in front of you and your friend. He looks like he came from the sewer, that's for sure. A house coat he wears, so ugly I'd be embarrassed even if my 95-year-old baabe who can hardly see anymore wears a thing like that! Now, forget Friedman and back to the phone. Your friend here says she got a 900-Euro phone from my store as a gift, but someone forgot to pay for it. I'm missing six more, not so good like this, but worth 400 Euro each."
"Rebbetzin Goldman, what is going on here? Friedman? Which Friedman? Downstairs?"
"Malki, yes, a man named Friedman entered this building by mistake and is resting downstairs with Mr. Igor the new janitor. He'll be gone soon. Tamar, please tell my son-in-law how he can get his six phones back and his window fixed."
"Tamar," Malki pleaded, "please tell Reb Yankel everything. I will get you money from my father if you have to pay him back, but please, my mother wants you to stay with us at least every Shabbos. She really doesn't mind. We have two extra rooms and everything you need.."
"Mr. Goldman!" "No, your principal is my wife's mother, not mine, my name is Mr. Feldstein." "My, my brother stole your phones. But he's not working alone. He probably doesn't have the phones anymore. This phone he gave me, I really don't even know where your store is and I try to make a better life for myself so I don't do nothing with my brother and his friends. I didn't steal it, but I believe you that it's yours. If you beat up Friedman, my brother and his friends will respect you and pay you back. Otherwise, I love Malki but I can't take money to pay you for what I didn't do!"
"Tamar is your name, yes? I am not street trash. I don't beat anyone up, not even Friedman. And I know you did not do it, even though you knew that phone wasn't paid for. Just give me back what you have, and that's it. Please come by my store if you need help; I know everyone in town. But I have to go to the police tomorrow, or I don't get insurance. Times are hard, and I can't lose money right now. If your brother drops off the phones or the money tomorrow before I guess about five when the day police shift ends, I won't say a word, and I won't even charge for the window unless he tries anything again. Friedman is another story. He'll get his own tuches in jail without my having to go there with him for beating up a sewer rat."
And who entered but Moshe Aryeh Friedman, minus his shpitzel but still dressed in a house coat, that was now ripped along the side as he had snagged it on a shelf peg in the basement.
"So these are two from my classmates? And who is this?" He turned to Reb Yankel: "Mister, shygetz aross, this is a girl's seminary. I'm Masha Esther Friedman, you are Tamar, and you are?" Friedman turned to Malki with a moronic grin on his face.
"I am Malka, my last name you don't need to know, and you are not Masha Esther Friedman. You are Moshe Aryeh Friedman, and yes, I heard your sons go to school with my two youngest sisters."
"MALKI! You've gone meshigge now too? What are you talking about? Your sisters have no boys in their school!"
Malki did not have to say a word. Reb Yankel pulled out a newspaper and handed it to his shvigger: "Shvigger, I know you don't read the papers, but this is one week you should. Moshe Aryeh Friedman has enrolled his sons in Bnos Yerushalayim, thanks to the courts and his menivel ideas. I should maybe sell his wife a washing machine on credit so she can run him through it the way his mother did when he was a baby.."
"Yankel, you have what paper there? From last Peerim? Hold on, I am getting my glasses so I can read this!"
"It's Sunday's Flemish paper. You know I advertise in there every week, so I get a copy in the store. Read it sitting down, Shvigger! I don't want you to fall or faint when you read it. It is true."
She quickly read and understood the article: "That does NOT mean that MISTER Friedman can register here though. This is a private school. Yankel, maybe you want to take him to the beis mishegoyim, or the zoo?"
Tamar had the last word: "There's no rat cage in Antwerp Zoo. I can flush his.."
"Tamar, STOP RIGHT NOW and please listen to your friend. You need to spend time in a real Yiddishe hyme. Go home with her tonight. You're a nice girl and you need to live like one so you can learn to act and talk like one. You know where she lives, you can just walk there after the last class. Friedman needs to spend time somewhere far, far away, because he is not going to set foot in a classroom here!"
Little Friedman piped up: "Tomor'l, shyne mydel, why your brother so angry at me? I can to help him so much, he wants to make big money in Gaza, in Iran...."
Rebbetzin Goldman nearly screamed: "Tamar and Malki, go back to parsha class. No need for you to hear such shtissim. Yankel, can you take Friedman somewhere in your car?
"Shvigger, Friedman might as well be in cherem. I can't be seen with him. I didn't drive here anyway, my car is in the shop and you know I don't like to ride a bicycle, so I took a taxi. Here's 60 Euro. I am calling a cab to take him out of town."
----to be continued tomorrow---
Malki Lowenstein could not have been more different from Tamar Moshashvili, and it was Malki upon whom both Rebbetzin Goldman and Tamar herself relied to keep Tamar out of trouble.
"Tamar, I am going to call Malki, she's wasting her time in class today anyway because she knows more about the parsha than Mrs. Lichtman, and I don't understand why I haven't been to her vort yet. Meanwhile, we have to do something about that phone, don't we. Maybe my son-in-law Yankel will give you something for it. He'll be here in a minute!"
For Tamar, this seemed like the Game Over message on one of the games she had played on her new phone. She did not have to wait long for Yankel to arrive.
"So, what is this I saw in the basement, I heard noise, and I saw Friedman the Freak down there! So I start to sing: "Moishe Aryeye Friedman, chomor di, eisel di, menivel di. Vus a shygetz tit do in Antverp...." His mother-in-law immediately recognized the Belzer nigun "Omor Reb Akiva, ashreicheim Yisroel..ma mikveh metaher.."
"YANKEL! That is a hylige niggin, where do you get such words!"
"Shvigger, where did you get Friedman? This is a GIRLS' seminary, isn't it - and where did he get that ugly dress?"
"The same place Miss Moshashvili got this phone here, I guess - from a store window."
Yankel, a large and burly, but gentle, man, brandished an owner's manual and bellowed: "Serial number 3685952. Manufactured 10 November 2012. Missing since motzoei shabbos parshas Vayero when my window somehow broke, right?"
Tamar Moshashvili shook as she spurted out: "Mister, you can have it back. The adapter is at home. 5 Vielge, third floor. The door is open. My mother drinks and sleeps all the time so just go in and do what you want."
"Miss, I don't turn Jews in to the police, but I had one more day before I had to make an insurance claim, so you are very lucky. Now, you don't look like a phone thief to me, so maybe you want to tell me who got you this phone? I wish it were Friedman because him I'm allowed to moiser, or maybe I could just break his beitzim with a nutcracker, but Friedman didn't rob my store because he wouldn't know which way to swing a hammer.."
"YANKEL! With a nutcracker you break eggs? There are girls around here! You want they should get confused when they cook for their husbands?" his mother-in-law scolded.
"Friedman's eggs I break with a nutcracker. Burich Hashem, you taught Rochele well and she knows how to break a chicken's egg, for what I need to know how to do it? I open a refrigerator in my store, I show it to the baleboste, ten percent off I give her, she buys, I take home the gelt. At home for what I should open a refrigerator?"
Rebbetzin Goldman was about to berate her son-in-law again for his inappropriate display of humor in her seminary, but Malki Lowenstein showed up in the middle of the chaos. She saw the burly electronics dealer confronting Tamar, and immediately asked: "Are you in trouble, Tami? We'll work it out."
Malki was actually quite petite, smaller even than Moshe Aryeh Friedman, but she was hardly intimidated by Reb Yankel's bulky form. After all, she was a daughter of one of the finest families in Antwerp, and her married sisters, all of whom resembled her, bought plenty of appliances from his store.
Reb Yankel turned around, and asked her: "Your name I don't know, but I think you have a sister Mrs. Berkowitz, maybe another one let me think..her husband is Berel Cohen, your father wholesales Swiss watches, and your brother, he likes computers and he wants to learn to play keyboard..."
"Yes, that is us, and thank you for always helping by giving us prizes for our chesed drives. Did someone call Hatzoloh?" She knew Reb Yankel was a Hatzoloh volunteer from the two-way radio he carried.
"No, but someone has a phone she wants to give back to me. And there is a freak from Vienna downstairs!"
"A freak from Vienna? My father says that there is a creature from Vienna that swims in the sewers here, and if my little brother doesn't behave, he'll feed him to the Viennese sewer monster. So he's for real?"
"This one can't eat your brother, and my shvigger she'll kill me if I said what he does eat in front of you and your friend. He looks like he came from the sewer, that's for sure. A house coat he wears, so ugly I'd be embarrassed even if my 95-year-old baabe who can hardly see anymore wears a thing like that! Now, forget Friedman and back to the phone. Your friend here says she got a 900-Euro phone from my store as a gift, but someone forgot to pay for it. I'm missing six more, not so good like this, but worth 400 Euro each."
"Rebbetzin Goldman, what is going on here? Friedman? Which Friedman? Downstairs?"
"Malki, yes, a man named Friedman entered this building by mistake and is resting downstairs with Mr. Igor the new janitor. He'll be gone soon. Tamar, please tell my son-in-law how he can get his six phones back and his window fixed."
"Tamar," Malki pleaded, "please tell Reb Yankel everything. I will get you money from my father if you have to pay him back, but please, my mother wants you to stay with us at least every Shabbos. She really doesn't mind. We have two extra rooms and everything you need.."
"Mr. Goldman!" "No, your principal is my wife's mother, not mine, my name is Mr. Feldstein." "My, my brother stole your phones. But he's not working alone. He probably doesn't have the phones anymore. This phone he gave me, I really don't even know where your store is and I try to make a better life for myself so I don't do nothing with my brother and his friends. I didn't steal it, but I believe you that it's yours. If you beat up Friedman, my brother and his friends will respect you and pay you back. Otherwise, I love Malki but I can't take money to pay you for what I didn't do!"
"Tamar is your name, yes? I am not street trash. I don't beat anyone up, not even Friedman. And I know you did not do it, even though you knew that phone wasn't paid for. Just give me back what you have, and that's it. Please come by my store if you need help; I know everyone in town. But I have to go to the police tomorrow, or I don't get insurance. Times are hard, and I can't lose money right now. If your brother drops off the phones or the money tomorrow before I guess about five when the day police shift ends, I won't say a word, and I won't even charge for the window unless he tries anything again. Friedman is another story. He'll get his own tuches in jail without my having to go there with him for beating up a sewer rat."
And who entered but Moshe Aryeh Friedman, minus his shpitzel but still dressed in a house coat, that was now ripped along the side as he had snagged it on a shelf peg in the basement.
"So these are two from my classmates? And who is this?" He turned to Reb Yankel: "Mister, shygetz aross, this is a girl's seminary. I'm Masha Esther Friedman, you are Tamar, and you are?" Friedman turned to Malki with a moronic grin on his face.
"I am Malka, my last name you don't need to know, and you are not Masha Esther Friedman. You are Moshe Aryeh Friedman, and yes, I heard your sons go to school with my two youngest sisters."
"MALKI! You've gone meshigge now too? What are you talking about? Your sisters have no boys in their school!"
Malki did not have to say a word. Reb Yankel pulled out a newspaper and handed it to his shvigger: "Shvigger, I know you don't read the papers, but this is one week you should. Moshe Aryeh Friedman has enrolled his sons in Bnos Yerushalayim, thanks to the courts and his menivel ideas. I should maybe sell his wife a washing machine on credit so she can run him through it the way his mother did when he was a baby.."
"Yankel, you have what paper there? From last Peerim? Hold on, I am getting my glasses so I can read this!"
"It's Sunday's Flemish paper. You know I advertise in there every week, so I get a copy in the store. Read it sitting down, Shvigger! I don't want you to fall or faint when you read it. It is true."
She quickly read and understood the article: "That does NOT mean that MISTER Friedman can register here though. This is a private school. Yankel, maybe you want to take him to the beis mishegoyim, or the zoo?"
Tamar had the last word: "There's no rat cage in Antwerp Zoo. I can flush his.."
"Tamar, STOP RIGHT NOW and please listen to your friend. You need to spend time in a real Yiddishe hyme. Go home with her tonight. You're a nice girl and you need to live like one so you can learn to act and talk like one. You know where she lives, you can just walk there after the last class. Friedman needs to spend time somewhere far, far away, because he is not going to set foot in a classroom here!"
Little Friedman piped up: "Tomor'l, shyne mydel, why your brother so angry at me? I can to help him so much, he wants to make big money in Gaza, in Iran...."
Rebbetzin Goldman nearly screamed: "Tamar and Malki, go back to parsha class. No need for you to hear such shtissim. Yankel, can you take Friedman somewhere in your car?
"Shvigger, Friedman might as well be in cherem. I can't be seen with him. I didn't drive here anyway, my car is in the shop and you know I don't like to ride a bicycle, so I took a taxi. Here's 60 Euro. I am calling a cab to take him out of town."
----to be continued tomorrow---
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