Forty years ago today I was out on my bicycle collecting money on my newspaper route. I had just finished for the evening and went to the Pat & Sam’s Market in Marquette Hts. to buy some goodies with some of my loot for the week. I recall walking into the store and everyone was standing still ... the radio was playing on the intercom radio and it was news of Martin Luther King’s assassination. I remember being irked because I wanted to get my Suzy Q and soda paid for so I could get home before it got too late ... and nobody was working the register. They were all just standing there talking about this announcement. I was too young then to understand what had really happened. But I remember that day still. I wish I had been old enough to fully understand the news I had watched up until that day and I wish now that this country had learned a lesson from the man who died. I’m not sure we have.
The Tax Man At the end of the tax year, the IRS sent an inspector to audit the books of a synagogue. While he was checking the books he turned to the Rabbi and said: “I notice you buy a lot of candles. What do you do with the candle drippings?”
“Good question”, noted the Rabbi. “We save them up and send them back to the candle makers, and every now and then they send us a free box of candles.
“Oh”, replied the auditor, somewhat disappointed that his unusual question had a practical answer. But on he went, in his obnoxious way: “What about all these biscuit purchases? What do you do with the crumbs?”
“Ah, yes”, replied the Rabbi, realizing that the inspector was trying to trap him with an unanswerable question. “We collect them and send them back to the manufacturers, and every now and then they send a free box of holy biscuits.”
“I see!” replied the auditor, thinking hard about how he could fluster the know-it-all Rabbi. “Well, Rabbi”, he went on,”What do you do with all the leftover foreskins from the circumcisions you perform?”
“Here, too, we do not waste”, answered the Rabbi. “What we do is save up all the foreskins and send them to the IRS, and about once a year they send us a complete dick.”
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Border Disorder
