This happened at my Bar-Mitzvah, 80 years ago; I wonder why I still remember it so clearly, but nevertheless, this is what happened:

My father had 6 brothers, (there were no sisters) and to them, laughter and crude jokes were the answer to all life’s problems, somewhat like the Irish.


Anyway, they were quick to discover that my Rabbi was truly enjoying the affair and drinking as if he were from Dublin and not Minsk. So, naturally, they encouraged him to imbibe even more, and it was early in the festivities that they laid poor Rabbi Nagdiman on his back on one of the flat serving tables and crossed his arms over his chest and left him there in a blissful stupor with his Yarmulke all askew.

The only clue that he was still alive was the broad contented smile that said to one and all, ….”don’t worry about me, I’m having a better time than you.”

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