OAKLAND, CA — Noah Rothstein doesn’t pretend to kid himself when it comes to where he ranks in the eyes of his longtime girlfriend and obvious goy, Amber Fleming. Witnessing Fleming swell with excitement at the mere mention of the word “Christmas,” Rothstein is keenly aware that no amount of love, admiration or even couples social media pics will ever help him measure up to Santa Claus, colorful lights and joyful carols.
As a result, Rothstein has had to come to terms with his No. 2 standing in the relationship. “Nothing about me — or the culture I grew up with — will ever make Amber feel as good as Christmas does,” Rothstein admitted. “So I’ve just learned to embrace it. I don’t try to be better than candy canes, sugarplums or anything roasting on an open fire.”
Early on in the two-year relationship, Rothstein made attempts to integrate some Jewish practices into the couple’s holiday celebrations. However, nothing he did could compete with the allure of Christmas. “I really wanted our holidays together to have more of a Christmukkah feel, but we have latkes and chocolate, and they have pretty much everything else,” he said.
While it took Rothstein some time to fully comprehend Fleming’s strange obsession with the holiday, he now tolerates hours-long gift shopping trips, ugly sweaters and pulling random spruce tree needles out of his feet every morning. “There’s no point in fighting it,” he said. “Now, I just enjoy Christmas the same way Amber does; in a maniacal and frighteningly unhealthy fashion.”
Max Rosenblum is a comedian and writer based out of Los Angeles. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram @mrmaxrose.
Walk into any church in Europe, or anywhere else for that matter, and what do you notice? Floors? Yes, there are floors. Ceilings? Yes, there are also ceilings. Often very high ceilings. Books? Yes, lots of books. Typically, one of them seems to be more important than all the others. But I’m talking about something else you may notice, that is if you’re paying hard enough attention. Given up yet? Okay, I’ll tell you. It’s that Christianity has a slight obsession with Jesus. You know, the racially ambiguous emaciated guy typically hanging from two mounted wooden beams. If this comes as news to you, take a moment, do a Google search and come back to this article. I’ll be right here…
So now that you are up to speed with what I’m talking about, you know that every one of these so-called “God centers” have at least two dozen statues and paintings of Jesus (very few of him not dead or dying). In some cases there are more, but always two dozen at least. Yet, even with all these homages to the Christian lord and savior, not one of them mention that Jesus was actually a Jew. Was someone going to tell everyone in here? I mean, I can’t be the one to turn over that stone.
Don’t get me wrong, I wanted to. It took everything in my power and all of my strength gained from three weeks of free meditation classes to fight my natural urge to approach praying strangers and whisper softly into their ear “You know, Jesus was a Jew?” while they fumbled a strand of beads in their hands. But I kept my composure and didn’t utter a sound. I’m very proud of my progress and how far I’ve come.
That doesn’t keep me from wondering though. Were my fellow visitors aware of this when they paid the 30 euro entrance fee? Did these people even think about the fact that Jesus probably celebrated Passover while they were snapping selfies in front of stained glass windows? I hope so. As I took a lift to the top of the cathedral for an aerial view of the city, I couldn’t help but wonder if the six other people with whom I shared this small shaft knew what I knew. I couldn’t be the one to tell them though. It’s not my style, not after how hard I’ve been working on myself.
Instead of flapping my gums about how, as a kid, Jesus likely lit the Menorah candles, I just took baller photos of me staring off in the distance coupled with the caption “TFW when you’re in God’s house and not telling everyone Jesus was a Jew.” Allow me to me clarify. I’m not telling anyone in the church about Jesus being Jewish, but you’re out of your mind if you believe I’m not going to broadcast this information to my social media network. I think the 37 people who follow me understand what I mean.
Growing up on a farm in Iowa, I spent much of my childhood tending to our family’s livestock and picking fresh produce from the grounds. The nine of us (mom, dad, three sisters and three brothers) lived almost entirely off what we grew and cultivated ourselves.
My favorite activity as a youngin’ was going out to the coop on Sundays to collect all the eggs laid by our chickens during the previous week. Eggs are actually one of my favorite foods. It’s a good source of protein and I eat eggs in every style. Well, except deviled eggs because frankly… they remind me of Satan.
I particularly enjoy fried eggs because I like breaking the yoke on the plate I created in my pottery class and using bread to soak up the tasty goo. Fried eggs also go well on top of pasta and burgers. One time though I was at a cookout and someone brought deviled eggs. I couldn’t bring myself to even look at them. Just the ingredients alone make me think of evil and temptation. Mayo is the lubricant the devil uses to screw people for eternity. The thought of mustard brings to mind the ooze that seeps from your pores in the fiery depths of Hell. When I look at the cayenne pepper, I can’t help but be reminded of those crimson horns protruding from Satan’s skull.
When I was in my early 20s, I really bulked up by combining regular workouts with a large intake of protein. Much like sports hero Rocky Balboa, I was even known to chug back raw eggs after an intense gym session. My friends used to call me “Raw Eggs Randy.” My name is Tim. My friends like alliteration. I never cared for it. When I finished my first triathlon, I invited all of my friends over for a potluck, and Geraldina brought her (in)famous deviled eggs. I almost vomited thinking about the texture and how Jesus died for our sins.
I also love eggs scrambled, hardboiled, over easy, over medium, Benedict, poached, omelette, and Uterine.
— Tim the Christian