This chair in front of an eager reading audience has already been reserved for Mischa.
Photo: imago/Imaginechina-Tuchong
Misha is a great poet. He’s not the only one who says that, although he does say it himself, and not too rarely. But not only does he say it himself, but his feelings also say it. And his feeling is very reliable, at least as far as this feeling tells him.
But Misha is really a great poet, because not only does he say that with his feelings, but others also say that. For example, his mom Channa and his sister Mona also say that, and sometimes even his father Fima says it, who hardly ever says anything, but he also says it when he’s had enough to drink: Andser Mischa, emmes, dos is a great ojschtrachter (inventor)!
The toothless Aunt Toiba says it and the deaf neighbor Jascha and the clever Schloimo say it – and after all he knows what he’s talking about, because he’s talking nothing but nonsense, and he knows that too. That’s what the chickens caw and that’s what the crows sing, that’s what the fish murmur and that’s what the worms call. That’s what shame says (synagogue servant) and the bahelfer (teacher’s assistant), that’s what the chassen (cantor) says, even if he doesn’t say it, even the Rebbe would certainly say it if he had read something by Misha, and that must mean something if even the Rebbe would surely say so.
Ezzes von Was
Magnus Terhorst
Alexander Estis, a freelance Jew without a permanent address, writes so much schmontz in this column that it will make you sick to your stomach.
Yes, Misha is a great poet. Except he doesn’t write anything.
That’s probably why the Rebbe didn’t read anything by Mischa, because if Mischa had written something, then the Rebbe would certainly read it. And that must mean something if even the Rebbe would surely read it. If Misha had written something, then not only the Rebbe would read it, but the whole world would read it, because Misha is a great poet.
You can tell how great a poet Mischa is from the fact that he is a great poet without having written anything at all. How great Mischa will be once he has written something! Because if he writes something, what a book it will be!
“Sog zhe mir, what kind of book will this be?” Mame Channa or Sister Mona or neighbor Jascha or Aunt Toiba always ask him. Or sometimes Father Fima, but without asking, just with his face.
Oh yes, this will be a book the likes of which the world has never seen before. This will be a book about people and monsters, about heroes and monsters, about peoples and grasses, about animals and snails, about mushrooms and lice, about the dust and the stars, about the valleys and streams, about the cups and plates, about latkes (potato pancakes) and about oladky (pancakes), about clouds and about beams, about the fog and about life, about dying and about inheriting. It will tell how Abraham wrestled with God, how Samson defeated Goliath, how the Jews invented the wheel and how Aunt Toiba lost her teeth. Yes, Misha’s book will be a whole world like no other book has ever seen!
Mame Channa will praise it and Sister Mona, even Father Fima, who hardly ever praises anything, will praise it when he has had enough to drink, and the clever Schloimo will praise it without having read it, because he is like that too smart enough. The sparrows will chirp it from the rooftops and the dogs will chirp it in the streets. People will write about Mischa’s book everywhere, there will be comments on Mischa’s book and comments on comments, and the 17th edition will come out on the 16th day. All other human-made books will be thrown off the shelves; in the libraries there will only be the Torah and Mischa’s book and the commentaries on it, and entire masses will be held just for his book as soon as Mischa has written something, because Mischa is a great poet.