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Tribal Chief
Every Thursday night for 17 years, I ascended to a pied-á-terre overlooking the dome of Har Sinai to dine with that beautiful but aged woman whom I affectionately referred to as the world’s only living Jewish saint.
As we devoured her incomparable meals, we discussed a variety of sophisticated subjects ranging from the unparalleled delightfulness of baked chicken to the miracles of modern chiropody. And occasionally, we would discuss politics.
At election time, if I thought The Saint showed any preference for one candidate over another, I would admonish her: “Grahm, do you believe there’s any difference between these clowns?” Having enjoyed voting privileges since women’s suffrage, she would just smile and endure my impertinence. “Oy, Jackie, I don’t care about that,” she would groan. “I just vote for the Yids.”
How sad then that she is gone now, departed from this vale just a couple of short years before seeing Michael Bloomberg climb into the biggest arena of them all. Like Moses in the West Bank, The Saint was taken to the edge of the Promised Land, only to be denied her entry.
Bloomberg hasn’t officially announced his intentions yet, but having quit the Republican Party, he’s obviously trying to convince the world that he has good sense.
He’s definitely running. The rest of us can just sit back and marvel at the delicious possibilities, nay probabilities, of a Kohain-in-Chief.
In my mind’s eye, I can already see the first post-election morning: At dawn’s early light, a swarthy little man with flowing beard and robes strides atop the Empire State Building and with one foot on the ledge blasts the shofar, thus announcing the victory of America’s first chief executive with overt mother issues.
When Bloomie takes the oath of office rocking back and forth, left hand on a scroll, little tassels dangling from his pants and a leather box strapped to his kippah, everyone south of Norfolk will clutch his chest and keel over.
If Jerry Falwell weren’t already dead, this would definitely kill him.
And yet a Bloomberg presidency would have its appeal to conservatives. Who better than a Jew to remove budgetary pork? Can’t you hear the commentary on Fox News: “What, we should pay retail for intercontinental ballistics?”
Bloomie could also be the inventor of his own foreign policy credo: Speak way too loudly and carry a big schtick. Replacing America’s current diplomacy of training an itchy trigger on every nation on Earth, Bloomie’s method will employ non-violent but certainly not peaceful Jewish tactics of unrelenting guilt.
Here’s how it would work on a mediation call with Olmert and Abbas: “Ehud,” the president will say, obviously aggravated, “how can you not invite Mahmoud to your son’s bar mitzvah? He’s your business partner.” At this point, the first lady shrieks into the receiver: “You two are giving this man a heart attack!”
Everyone will be furious but chastened.
In the end, President Bloomie will be remembered as an American Disraeli, a true patriot worthy of his own monument beside Washington, Jefferson and Lincoln. When they come to unveil it, the worshippers will ooh and aah at the incredible likeness to the great man himself ¬-- right down to the high forehead and its little horns.
If none of this seems terribly plausible to you, cheer yourself with this thought. Bloomie probably has a much better chance at the Oval Office than membership at the Elkridge Country Club.
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