My first beast is—
My second beast is—
My third beast is—
My fourth beast is—
2nd Step up up up the ladder: you’ve got to rank them, first for the least problematic, fourth for the most, hymn…murmuring, this might be too tough for this crowd and so again he asks, do you want an example?
Do we want an example? they answer.
But do you really, truly want an example?
Do we really, truly want an example?
Nu. For example, sayseth the suit…you — and he points prophet his manicure into the fleshmess, as if desperate accusation he asks, what’s your name, friend? Fat mensch in the rear. You, yes you to the right. Your other right. Sorry, didn’t know you were one person. God, you’ve just got to have problems…
Me, He says, hymn, my name’s, uh, er…J-Jacobson.
Take your time, Mister Jacobson…a stutterer, too, slow of speech, a Moses-on-the-make — haven’t I met you before. No? Don’t be so nervous. Where are you from and what is it that you do wherever that is, Mister Jacobson?
I’m from, hymn, a little town called Weissnichtwo, that’ll do, outside Weequahic, back east — and I’m, I’m a successful…
Aren’t we all? And that’s why we’re here.
An attorney, junior partner in a stable, very profitable firm — but I want to have my own practice one day.
I’m sure you will, Mister Jacobson…everyone, say Shalom to Mister Jacobson, and all of them say Shalom to Mister Jacobson. Nu. Mister Jacobson, you’re up, you’re on, your turn — now, your First Beast is…?
My first beast is probably my…um, er, my boss, Goldenberg, he’s founding partner, real senior.
Goldenberg, the mensch frowns, typical, and then your Second Beast, Mister Jacobson?
My second beast has to be my mother-inlaw — yes, that they’d buy…my third beast is my accountant at tax time, and for my fourth I’m going to have to go with an intangible — say, my inability to form lasting relationships.
We’ve all been there before, Mister Jacobson, and the mensch smiles to twinkling glint, trust me, chching. Let’s not underestimate ourselves, chaverim…Mister Jacobson’s beasts are every bit as terrifying as those of Daniel’s dream: The first was like a lion, and had eagle’s wings: I beheld till the wings thereof were plucked, and it was lifted up from the earth, and made stand upon the feet as a man, and a man’s heart was given to it. Chapter 7, verses 4 through 8—copies not even xeroxed but mimeographed will be made available during the break between sessions.
And so, Mister Jacobson, the 3rd Step, dying to know what that is?
We’re dying, they say, we’re so dying.
Nu, for the remaining five days of the week, deal with one beast a day, in order from first through the fourth — bad to worse, if you will.
On the Second Day, after highlighting your recent work achievements, and I’m sure you have at least one, respectfully ask your boss for a raise, plus an additional week’s paid vacation.
On the Third Day, plan to go into work late if it all, having had brunch after sex in the morning…relations with your wife, I mean, buy her flowers, a shtickel candy, balloons and a card, calmly and coolly outline your reasons for not wanting to take her mother, your mother-inlaw, on your vacation, which, as a direct result of my method, will have been extended by a week that you both can afford.
On the Fourth Day, Mister Jacobson — nu, that was His name — make the decision to switch accountants, and you’ll find one, through the recommendation of a coworker, I’m sure, or try your accountant’s accountant, who’ll subsequently save you a swindle; remember — feel free to deduct the tuition you’re paying today.
On the Fifth Day, Mister Jacobson, make sure to thank your coworker for his recommendation, and you’ll be asked to engage with him in a multitude of racquet sports, followed by a shvitz, let’s say, with him and his friends who’ll soon be your friends, too, perhaps due to the newfound confidence you’ll surely exude.
On the Sixth Day, invite your mother-inlaw over for Shabbos just so that there’re no hard feelings and, never forget, on the Seventh Day, rest — I’m sure you know how to do that, Mister Jacobson; you seem quite capable in that department…hahaha, but seriously.
On Days One through Seven, you, Mister Jacobson, by first identifying your four beasts, ranking them, then dealing with them manageably, one at a time, will be able to get control of your life — and if He can do it, chaverim, then you’d be pitiful not to! Raving applause, Ben palms His forehead with a complimentary towel unrolled from a tabled hot stack. And now, the mensch won’t get held up in inspiration when time, which is five days older than mensch, means money and so much of it, which is far younger and more attractive, more useful, accommodating, understanding and pliant, we’ll break to take questions and refreshment, he says, the carted coffee and coffeecake rolling in to the rear, but make sure to be back in time for Session Two: The Book of Job: How to Be a Friend in the Midst of a Whirlwind, for which I hope you’ve all paid in full. Save your seats. Only six more weeks to go…and thank you, Mister Jacobson, for allowing us to make an example of you. You’ve been good people; have a slice, a sip, take a bow.
In the multipurpose, eminently convertible room opposite, opening up at the western end of the lobby of the Grand, this Ben, often billed as the Fantabulous Neb Disraelien, affectionately known as the Nebbish of Northern Illinois, in high demand at yeshivas, kollels, rabbinic courts, and community fundraisers, lifecycle rituals large, small, formal, semi, hemi, and demi, as Host, M.C., he’ll do your dishes, your windows, or just spend quality time as a reassuring presence, work whatever room you want him to work (Madison Square Garden, hotel, showroom kitchen or broomcloset) as a straightmensch, a narrowmensch, an eyeoftheneedle mensch, even as his own “beautiful assistant,” takes all comers and kinds shaved, waxed, and inordinately plumed, makes appearances at among others the first hopefully annual meeting of the Schnorrer’s Lodge, arriving in from the hallway’s wings on a unicycle and juggling babies and utilitybills mind the vomit and papercuts, then humming while pretending to play on a homemade varnishspattered prop of a Stradivarius violin: discontinuous excerpts from the classical repertoire, two bars each all he knows, interspersed with hot klezmer variants and sung parodies of zmirot, liturgical gems including but not limited to a flatulence/syncopation version of a popular Shabbos niggun, and a strained Arabian arrangement of the Kaddish entitled Muezzin on Up; and maybe just maybe if you asked nicely or took to justify to him a special occasion, a favor or bris milah belated, when he had to stretch or just the gelt did, he’d close with a set of magic, always the same tricks: doing two things at once, doing three things at once, which multitasking is perfected in his signature disappearing act, being in two places at the same time. Old hat, you might say, but the new one’s in the mail, he assures, being blocked. That’s how he makes rent and meets obligations, him and the other impersonators though maybe not all of equal skill; they make do how they make out: some doing alright, fulltimers with talent and good representation even impressively, you’d be jealous, while others limit their incarnations to secondlives, moonlit impersonation, Shabbos night pillowstuffing, deluding themselves backstage, on breaks in whispers to their agents their stagey, smothering mothers: it’s a hobby, it’s only a hobby, don’t take it so seriously, you know, the amatory amateur, I do it for the love…or else, making progress, I’m almost there, the big’s about to break just around the corner — and all of them, despite the dilettantish dereistic, and regardless of income, reported or not, and whether or not their involvement extended or ever will into an investment in a multitude of surgical options, whether loved, respected if not acclaimed, or just pitied or reviled for the fallen stars in their eyes, all are false, counterfeit Bens numbering in the hundreds of thousands (that is, if the original’s even real), each with alimony to think of, and court costs, the price of getting another Get, and, always, there’s the mortgage to make, mouths to feed, life.