Tears and Laughter both necessary in the Age of Drumpfelstiltsken ....
Some Christmas Doggerel? Abe Isaac’s Christmas Day Patient: An Interpretation
(1994 from H. Covitz —
Ditties et Lettres du Abe Isaacs:
Doggerel from an Analyst
with Too Many Years Behind the Couch
and Too Few Upon It— work in progress)
It wouldn’t be the first Christmas
Abe arose more than a’might listless.
Could it be that he was Jewish
That had Old Abe both tired and bluish?
Nah!
If Irv Berlin could celebrate a White morn,
Why need Abe Isaacs be so very forlorn?
“Neurosis, must be! Nothing less
That has me in this frightful mess.
If I could see a patient, maybe two,
I’d feel more involved, less the Jew.
A conference or meeting, maybe Grand Rounds
Would rid me of these perennial frowns
That visit me each Christmas Day
And last through the Feast of Circumcision,
New Year’s Day, a week away.”
Zo!
Abe fed the dogs and when he built a fire,
To warm his heart and still desire,
He heard a voice from just behind
Somewhere in his office, not in his mind.
He turned to make a quick inspection
Reality testing was his predilection!
And there he was, big, fat, and furry
Santa C. and in no big hurry
Sitting in Abe’s analytic chair
Flowing beard, long white hair:
“Abe. I’ve decided this morning to retire
Warm my frosted toes here by your fire.”
And Zo! Santa C. continued:
“I considered chilling out in Saskatoon
And thought for a moment — maybe Cancun.
One too warm; the other too cold
I need it just right. Like you, I’m getting old.
So I’m taking up residence in temperate climes
Your office is fine, if you don’t mind.
In exchange, I’ll share with you the truth
Of my reindeer friends and silly red suit.
I’m on the run ...
There are those who think me a common loon
And want me ensconced in some padded room.”
And Zo! Abe agreed to tell no one
About his friend now on the run.
And Santa agreed to tell his history,
Anamnesis full, leaving no mystery.
“I used to sell some pots” the story began
An incredible story for an incredible man.
“I’d travel about from Shtetl to Shtetl,
Mein vife vas Channah, I vas called Herschel.
Mein Life vas OK. Some taking, some giving.
Fifty Kopeks a’veek, not such a bad living.
For vone mit a nomen like Herschel Levy
Maybe not enuff fur Miniver Cheevey.
But dose Kepitalists are locked into visions of Gold
And vorry retirement vhen dey get old.
Vee Yiddin, vee make it on a little bit love,
Mit Challah und Chicken on Shabbos,
A little vood fur der stove”
“Zo! It vent on for many a year
Until problems mit Channah!
Oy! Vey es mir!”
“Fur der keeds left home
Und Channah began to mutcher,
I saw her tru der vindow mit Leibl der butcher.
Didn’t look like aerobics, vhat I saw in mein bed
A Qvick “Zai Gezundt” I offered
Outa der Shtetl I did head
To get me a new life, maybe a good German name,
Buy me a Prussian suit, get me some fame.
I grew der big belly und a zavtig grosse taches
Und I chose a shayna nomen, Santa Kleine Naches.
Den I bought couple reindeer, sold meine horse
Und abbreviated mein name to Santa Claus.”
“But mit’out a job, no vife, no pots, no pans
I needed to carefully voik out a ten year plan.
I couldn’t forget Channah, und der Butcher Leibl
Not mit’out cholent on mein Shabbos table,
Zo! I became a schnorer, collected many donations
Said I’d give them to kinder in der emoiging nations.
I had more den I could use and before very long
Kleine industrialists came to voik, I paid dem mit a song.
Dey called demselves elves, dey had funny little ears
Und seemed to get along fine mit mein friendly reindeer.
Dey didn’t vorry, mein elves, vhat vas false or true
Vedder I vas Herschel der Shaygitz or Santa der Jew.”
“Life vas pretty good though occasionally I got noivous
About der Tax-men. Zo I opened a seasonal delivery soivice.
But somevhere I knew inside of mein head,
My noives hed to do mit Channah und Leibl in bed
And somehow to do mit mein suit dat was red,
Und der odd “Ho! Ho! Ho! that I every stop said.
Zo! I decided if ever I’d retire from dis occupation
Und give up der drink, celebration und libation,
I’d come to an analyst fur a gutte explanation.
Zo! tell me Abe, you got an intoipretation?”
Abe knew immediately, just what to say
And was thrilled to have a patient on Christmas Day.
“Herschel, or Santa, it’s really much the same
Though sometimes there’s much to learn from a name.
For Hersch means “deer” in Yiddish as you know
And Herschel is “little deer”, a deer that must grow.
Combined with your little elves, an hallucination
Bespeaks organ envy and red fears of castration.
For reindeer are known best by their horn
Something akin to what it is that you mourn.
Embrace your gifts, your fine Yiddische soul!
Not everyone was meant for a splendid Norse Pole.
Big bellies and bottoms will offer no compensation
Nor will you feel better from either seasonal libation
Or what I must say, now, in my interpretation.”
“You tell yourself you give each child a gift,
On Christmas morn, their spirits to lift.
But if truth be told and truth be said,
You’re preoccupied with what goes on
In their parents’ bed.
You steal down the chimney while the kids are asleep,
Crack the bedroom door, just one little peep.
Hoping to learn that it was with force
That Leibl brought Channah to intercourse.
Herschel! You’re welcome to choose my office in which to retire
To warm your frostbitten toes, to hang your stockings by my fire.
But I will offer no proffer,
Can’t let you go
Before you accept the meaning of “Ho! Ho! Ho!”
For when you first said “Zai Gezundt” to Channah that night,
When through the window came that Primal Scene fright,
In truth, you wanted to say very much more ...
You had wanted to scream “Whore! Whore! Whore”.
My interpretation is near complete, just one more thought to say
Before we settle down, two Jews on Christmas day.
Mein tiere, Herschel, it takes neither psychoanalyst nor lawyer
To know that you’ve become a travelling voyeur.
But recall what male Jews say each morn first
And Socrates said it,too, in Diogenes Laertius,
Blessed are you God for not making me female
Blessed for not making me a roo or a snail.
Afterall!
Retiring here? You could have it worse.
And being a Peeping Herschel? It’s not such a curse.
That sack on your back? It could’ve been a purse.
And homophobia of that ilk
is multiculturally-speaking perverse.”
1. Oh! Woe unto me (and everyone else, too)
2. Mess around
3. Go in Good Health!
4. A Big and Meaty Buttocks.
5. Santa of Preciously Small Good Fortunes.
6. Eastern European Jewish Cassoulet.
7. A Sacred Beggar.
8. An Endearing though Broadly Anti-Multicultural term for Non-Jewish Males.
9. Roughly Sweety or My Dear!
