High holy daze

Rosh Hashanah is a hot ticket: Notes from a wandering Jew.

The holiest days of the year are approaching, and you know what that means! Every year before Rosh Hashanah, synagogues send tickets to members for High Holy Day services. Non-members in the Tampa Bay area usually pay around $200.

That's right: Local Jews pay that kind of money for tickets to a show that doesn't involve Neil Diamond or a free buffet.

Included is usually a letter that lays out the rules and regulations for attending such services. Below please find a letter I received — their words in italics, followed by my translation.

Dear Members and Guests:

Enclosed are your non-transferable tickets for the High Holy Day services.

We're not kidding. Non-transferable means non-transferable, Judy Simon. Quit trying to pass off Cousin Louie for that ungrateful son who's having too much fun at Brandeis to come home. Louie's teeth have started falling out and we can smell the Ben-Gay a mile away. Tell Louie to purchase his own goddamn ticket.

Please bring your tickets to each service and present them to the ushers at the door. Show up with fakes you found on Craigslist and we'll pull a Mossad on your ass.

No one will be admitted without a ticket. This isn't a charity and we're not displaced refugees anymore. No one's buying the Bernie Madoff excuse anymore, so enough.

If you don't have a ticket with you, you will be asked to see the Office Administrator at the Lobby check-in desk, for entry. Have you met Louise? Last year she interrogated Mel Sinkowitz and he's still on medication.

Tickets are not required for children under the age of 18 entering with their family. Except for Joshua Greenberg. We know he's only 16, but enough already with the strange piercings and goyim boyfriends. His poor mother.

Parents — please — children need to remain with their family unless reservations have been made with our sitter service. Cantor Al's daughter, with the deviated septum, will ignore your children, but pay her anyway. She's saving up for that nose job which, let's be honest, will benefit everyone in the congregation who has to look at her.

Ushers have been instructed to return any children wandering the halls to their parents. Because we don't like them either.

Enclosed with your tickets this year is your new synagogue parking sticker. Please affix it to the front windshield of your car. This sticker will entitle you to park in our parking lot, based on availability. It will also entitle you to dirty looks and rude comments while driving in Plant City. So good luck with that.

Arrangements have been made to use the parking lot at the Mormon Meeting Hall adjacent to our property for overflow parking. Enough with the polygamy jokes. They're our friends this year. If you park in the Mormon lot, please respect their property and do not smoke or make fun of their magic underwear. In turn, they promise to stop throwing ham sandwiches on our lawn.

At Kol Nidre service the doors will close promptly at 8 p.m. until the completion of the Kol Nidre prayer. Nothing shows the Lord's love more than a lockdown. Besides, why are you always late? Do you think spending an hour in front of your make-up mirror makes up for that ass? A little more apple and a little less honey, darling. That's what you need.

In keeping with the decorum of the service we remind you to please turn off pagers and cell phones before entering the building. That means you, Dr. Klein. Loudly discussing a patient's propensity to piss during pap smears is inappropriate. We'd like to enjoy a good Shofar blowing in peace.

At the conclusion of Yom Kippur services, you are cordially invited to join us for challah, wine and juice. Because nothing tastes better after a 25-hour fast than stale bread and high-fructose corn syrup.

On behalf of the Board of Directors and more CPAs than we know what to do with, we look forward to greeting you at High Holy Day services, reminding you about unpaid dues, and criticizing everyone's kids.

L'Shana Tova Tikatayvu, bitches.

Here's hoping we all are inscribed in the Book of Life — before it slams shut and we're shit out of luck.

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