In Which This Is One Of The Most Subtle Methods For Showing Concern

Hassidic Tales, with A Guide to Their Interpretation by the Noted Scholar

by WOODY ALLEN

A man journeyed to Chelm in order to seek the advice of Rabbi Ben Kaddish, the holiest of all ninth-century rabbis and perhaps the greatest noodge of the medieval era. "Rabbi," the man asked, "where can I find peace?" The Hassid surveyed him and said, "Quick, look behind you!" The man turned around, and Rabbi Ben Kaddish smashed him in the back of the head with a candlestick. "Is that peaceful enough for you?" he chuckled, adjusting his yarmulke.

In this tale, a meaningless question is asked. Not only is the question meaningless but so is the man who journeys to Chelm to ask it. Not that he was so far away from Chelm to begin with, but why shouldn't he stay where he is? Why is he bothering Rabbi Ben Kaddish—the Rabbi doesn't have enough trouble? The truth is, the Rabbi's in over his head with gamblers, and he has also been named in a paternity case by a Mrs. Hecht. No, the point of this tale is that this man has nothing better to do with his time than journey around and get on people's nerves. For this, the Rabbi bashes his head in, which, according to the Torah, is one of the most subtle methods of showing concern. In a similar version of this tale, the Rabbi leaps on top of the man in a frenzy and carves the story of Ruth on his nose with a stylus.


Rabbi Raditz of Poland was a very short rabbi with a long beard, who was said to have inspired many pogroms with his sense of humor. One of his disciples asked, "Who did God like better—Moses or Abraham?"

"Abraham," the Zaddik said.

"But Moses led the Israelites to the Promised Land," said the disciple.

"All right, so Moses," the Zaddik answered.

"I understand, Rabbi. It was a stupid question."

"Not only that, but you're stupid, your wife's a meeskeit, and if you don't get off my foot you're excommunicated."

Here the Rabbi is asked to make a value judgment between Moses and Abraham. This is not an easy matter, particularly for a man who has never read the Bible and has been faking it. And what is meant by the hopelessly relative term "better"? What is "better" to the Rabbi is not necessarily "better" to his disciple. For instance, the Rabbi likes to sleep on his stomach. The disciple also likes to sleep on the Rabbi's stomach. The problem here is obvious. It should also be noted that to step on a rabbi's foot (as the disciple does in the tale) is a sin, according to the Torah, comparable to the fondling of matzos with any intent other than eating them.


A man who could not marry off his ugly daughter visited Rabbi Shimmel of Cracow. "My heart is heavy," he told the Rev, "because God has given me an ugly daughter."

"How ugly?" the Seer asked.

"If she were lying on a plate with a herring, you wouldn't be able to tell the difference."

The Seer of Cracow thought for a long time and finally asked, "What kind of herring?" The man, taken aback by the query, thought quickly and said, "Er—Bismarck."

"Too bad," the Rabbi said. "If it was Maatjes, she'd have a better chance."

Here is a tale that illustrates the tragedy of transient qualities such as beauty. Does the girl actually resemble a herring? Why not? Have you seen some of the things walking around these days, particularly at resort areas? And even if she does, are not all creatures beautiful in God's eyes? Perhaps, but if a girl looks more at home in a jar of wine sauce than in an evening gown she's got big problems. Oddly enough, Rabbi Shimmers own wife was said to resemble a squid, but this was only in the face, and she more than made up for it by her hacking cough— the point of which escapes me.


Rabbi Zwi Chaim Yisroel, an Orthodox scholar of the Torah and a man who developed whining to an art unheard of in the West, was unanimously hailed as the wisest man of the Renaissance by his fellow-Hebrews, who totalled a sixteenth of one per cent of the population. Once, while he was on his way to synagogue to celebrate the sacred Jewish holiday commemorating God's reneging on every promise, a woman stopped him and asked the following question: "Rabbi, why are we not allowed to eat pork?"

"We're not?" the Rev said incredulously. "Uh-oh."

This is one of the few stories in all Hassidic literature that deals with Hebrew law. The Rabbi knows he shouldn't eat pork; he doesn't care, though, because he likes pork. Not only does he like pork; he gets a kick out of rolling Easter eggs. In short, he cares very little about traditional Orthodoxy and regards God's covenant with Abraham as "just so much chin music." Why pork was proscribed by Hebraic law is still unclear, and some scholars believe that the Torah merely suggested not eating pork at certain restaurants.


Rabbi Baumel, the scholar of Vitebsk, decided to embark on a fast to protest the unfair law prohibiting Russian Jews from wearing loafers outside the ghetto. For sixteen weeks, the holy man lay on a crude pallet, staring at the ceiling and refusing nourishment of any kind. His pupils feared for his life, and then one day a woman came to his bedside and, leaning down to the learned scholar, asked, "Rabbi, what color hair did Esther have?" The Rev turned weakly on his side and faced her. "Look what she picks to ask me!" he said. "You know what kind of a headache I got from sixteen weeks without a bite!" With that, the Rabbi's disciples escorted her personally into the sukkah, where she ate bounteously from the horn of plenty until she got the tab.

This is a subtle treatment of the problem of pride and vanity, and seems to imply that fasting is a big mistake. Particularly on an empty stomach. Man does not bring on his own unhappiness, and suffering is really God's will, although why He gets such a kick out of it is beyond me. Certain Orthodox tribes believe suffering is the only way to redeem oneself, and scholars write of a cult called the Essenes, who deliberately went around bumping into walls. God, according to the later books of Moses, is benevolent, although there are still a great many subjects he'd rather not go into.


Rabbi Yekel of Zans, who had the best diction in the world until a Gentile stole his resonant underwear, dreamed three nights running that if he would only journey to Vorki he would find a great treasure there. Bidding his wife and children goodbye, he set out on a trip, saying he would return in ten days. Two years later, he was found wandering the Urals and emotionally involved with a panda. Cold and starving, the Rev was taken back to his home, where he was revived with steaming soup and flanken. Following that, he was given something to eat. After dinner, he told this story: Three days out of Zans, he was set upon by wild nomads. When they learned he was a Jew, they forced him to alter all their sports jackets and take in their trousers.

As if this were not humiliation enough, they put sour cream in his ears and sealed them with wax. Finally, the Rabbi escaped and headed for the nearest town, winding up in the Urals instead, because he was ashamed to ask directions.

After telling the story, the Rabbi rose and went into his bedroom to sleep, and, behold, under his pillow was the treasure that he originally sought. Ecstatic, he got down and thanked God. Three days later, he was back wandering in the Urals again, this time in a rabbit suit.

The above small masterpiece amply illustrates the absurdity of mysticism. The Rabbi dreams three straight nights. The Five Books of Moses subtracted from the Ten Commandments leaves five. Minus the brothers Jacob and Esau leaves three. It was reasoning like this that led Rabbi Yitzhok Ben Levi, the great Jewish mystic, to hit the double at Aqueduct fifty-two days running and still wind up on relief.

Woody Allen is the focus of Woody Allen Week. This is an excerpt from the complete collection of Woody's prose, you can purchase here.

"Last of the Hobo Kings" - Mary Gauthier (mp3)

"Same Road" - Mary Gauthier (mp3)

"I Ain't Leaving" - Mary Gauthier (mp3)

In Which Whatever Woody Says Must Be True

Looking Glass

by GEORGIA HARDSTARK

As a child, when picturing myself as an adult, my imaginary life very closely resembled a Woody Allen film. Much like the beginning scene of Hannah and Her Sisters, a large part of my imaginary adulthood took place at a party. Glasses of wine clasped in one hand, the other hand gesturing wildly as I would surely be caught up in some argument or heated discussion, I would flit from room to room to check on guests, make sure the maid had enough petite food to pass around on shiny silver trays, all the while bitching about my mother. Boobs would be involved, too, as I would surely have grown them by then...large ones, actually, I assured my young and flat-chested self.

I look at my life now, and can’t help but think it was a detriment to my future that I was allowed, even encouraged, to watch Woody Allen movies as a child. "This is what Jews are like," I thought. “This is what adults are like."

If you’re one of my ex-boyfriends who had the opportunity to accompany me to one of my many family get-togethers (Hanukkah at my grandma’s house being the most hectic), you’d have seen that there was no reason for me not to think that Woody Allen movies might actually be documentaries, and not, in fact, fictional.

There is SO much going on. A drama in every conversation, a glass of wine in every hand, a complaint about one’s mother uttered at least hourly. The only one of my childhood fantasies that didn’t evolve into reality was the mammary-centric one (really, the most important one), as my breasts seemed to think that wine and hors d'oeuvres were enough to keep me happy as an adult.

Since many aspects of my life do resemble a Woody Allen film now, I couldn’t help but wonder which sister I most resembled, as I watched Hannah and Her Sisters last week. I was nothing like Mia Farrow’s character, the titular oldest sister, Hannah, I assured myself. Although the backbone of the family, the most stable and the one everyone seemed to rely and depend on much to her seeming comfort, I saw her as a pushover and much too trusting. That isn’t me...plus I have better hair. Probably to my detriment, I’m hypersensitive to other people’s intentions. Sure, I’d love a sister like Hannah, but aside from the fact that I find a young Michael Caine (playing Hannah’s husband) to be one sexy bitch, she and I have nothing in common.

Holly, played by the lovely Dianne Wiest, now she is the sister that scared me the most, because in the beginning of the movie I recognized more and more similarities between her character and myself. But by the middle of the movie, when she was berating Hannah after asking for yet another loan, taking bumps of cocaine during dates with small, balding Jewish men (SO not my type), and letting herself be walked on by domineering friends, I assured myself that this was not the sister I resembled.

This leaves us with Lee, the youngest of the sisters, played by Barbara Hershey. I am, indeed, the youngest of my siblings, so that’s an easy correlation to make. While I would never, not in a million years, have an affair with any married man let alone one that was married to my sister, Lee also found Michael Caine to be one sexy bitch, so there’s that correlation again. But that was just about where the similarities ended.

Aside from an affinity towards older bearded men and used bookstores, I was left once again to scramble to make connections with these fictional women, but I kept coming up short.

Once the movie was over, after everyone ended up happy and married and right back at a wine and hors d'oeuvres infested soiree, I realized that perhaps it was time for me to reevaluate my ideal adulthood fantasy, and to pick a new director to orchestrate my future. I’ve been holding on to this idea that I’m some quirky, neurotic Mia Farrow/Diane Keaton hybrid with better hair when in actuality, I’m less neurotic than inquisitive and bold, plus I look terrible in hats and becoming pregnant with Satan’s spawn is unlikely because I’m on the pill.

So Hannah can have her nitpicky life and her troubled sisters, as I’ve decided to mirror my adulthood daydreams after Spaghetti Westerns. At least this way I can prop my nonexistent boobs up with a corset instead of hiding them under a blazer and oversized tie.

Georgia Hardstark is the contributing editor to This Recording. She tumbls here, and blogs it all here. She last wrote in these pages about making up her mind.

"Bullet In My Breast Pocket" - Woody Allen (mp3)

"The Army" - Woody Allen (mp3)

"Private Life" - Woody Allen (mp3)

"Pets" - Woody Allen (mp3)

"The Lost Generation" - Woody Allen (mp3)

"My Marriage" - Woody Allen (mp3)

In Which We Deal With Woody's Unreal Expectations

Woody's Husbands and Wives

by CHAD PERMAN

Make no mistake about it, marriage is difficult. It's a wonderful, complicated, messy, beautiful, frustrating ball of emotions that can strangle you one day and make you blissfully happy the very next. At the same time, it just might be the single most misunderstood institution in our lives, and Hollywood is in no small part responsible for that, feeding rather gleefully into the 'happily ever after' syndrome that we all, on some level, aspire to — despite its absolute impossibility. No relationship (let alone a marriage) is ever a fairy tale, at least not in a conventional sense; nothing can live up to that, though we very nearly kill ourselves trying to prove exactly the opposite.

Which is precisely why a film like Husbands and Wives is such a welcome cinematic breather of sorts, something that those of us in the midst of the battle for happily ever after can watch and realize, heads nodding with knowing laughter: "Yes, exactly!"

Did desire really grow with the years? Or did familiarity cause partners to long for other lovers? Was the notion of ever deepening romance a myth we had grown up on, along with the simultaneous orgasm?

Perhaps the best thing about Woody Allen's 1993 classic is its recognition of life and relationships as they actually are, rather than as we would like them to be. True, at the time it was released Allen and co-star Mia Farrow were embroiled in a rather nasty and hugely publicized break-up, but the fact that the film itself - if not the stars' actual lives - seemed so accurately to depict the state of modern marriage ultimately means something. Whether we stay together or divorce, cling to each other or go our separate ways, this film has something to tell us, something to offer by way of proximity. And in the end, what else can great art ever really hope to do?

Judy: Do you think it could ever happen to us?
Gabe: Well, I'm not planning on it, are you?

Gabe and Judy Roth (Allen and Farrow) are a modestly happy married couple of ten years whose lives begin to unravel when their closest friends, Jack (Sydney Pollack) and Sally (Judy Davis), suddenly announce to them one night before dinner that they have decided to separate. They assure Gabe and Judy that this is an amicable decision, mutually arrived at and agreed upon: things simply weren't working out how either of them wanted any more, and they both felt the need to explore other options in life. And, while this turns out to be only barely true in actuality — an ugly collision of naivity and denial that manages to masquerade as a type of bold open-mindedness on the part of both Jack and Sally — it's still more than enough to shake Gabe and Judy's own relationship to its very core. After all, if their best friends in the entire world could split up, how could they (or anyone else, for that matter) ever expect to stay together for the long haul?

Jack and Sally's decision to separate quickly leads Gabe and Judy to some tough, emotional, heartbreaking conversations about the reality of their own relationship. In their room together late at night, getting ready for bed, they have the kind of conversations that most married couples end up having from time to time — at least, those couples who actually talk to one another — the kind where you carefully confess and backpedal, provoke and soothe, a crazy and numbing dance known so well by long-time lovers. You only hope that in the end they don't break you apart.

Judy: All those memories, they're just memories...they're from years gone by and they're just isolated moments. They don't tell the whole story.

As Gabe and Judy struggle to regain their footing, Jack and Sally continue their exploration of "other options". Jack quickly takes up with another woman — a much younger, ditzier aerobics instructor whom he quickly moves in with — while Sally slowly begins to test the waters of the dating pool, eventually jumping in with one of Judy's work colleagues. At first, their separation from each other allows them fleeting moments of relief that they mistake for happiness, forgetting that freedom always brings with it a certain anxiety and that, as unglamorous as it is to say, there is always a certain comfort and safety in the familiar that the excitement of something new can rarely replace, at least not fully.

While the first few pleasurable bursts of romance, lust, and love might convince us that things will somehow work out differently this time, they seldom, if ever, do. Miserable, but determined to keep trying, Jack and Sally struggle on.

Sally: Well, I've learned that love is not about passion and romance necessarily, it's also about companionship: it's like a buffer against loneliness.

Meanwhile, Gabe begins to fall for one of his much younger writing students (this is a Woody Allen movie, after all) and Judy starts to develop strong feelings for someone in her office (Liam Neeson). Gradually, their relationship drifts apart, the slow erosion of trust — along with continual arguments over whether or not to have children ∏— ultimately wearing the both of them down. It's heartbreaking to watch but, again, it's so very real.

This is how relationships often play out in each of our lives, whether we want them to or not. While some of us manage to struggle through the tough times and keep the whole thing together somehow, others feel they can only stand by and watch as the whole thing goes up in flames.

Jack: That stuff is really important, someone to grow old with...the thing that's so tough, that kills most people, is just unreal expectations.

Husbands and Wives is many things, but above all, it is honest. Make what you will of Woody Allen's own personal marital and domestic failings, the man knows how to hold up a mirror to all of our lives, our relationships, and show us the many ways — both humorous and heartbreaking — that we choose to live. It's a rare thing in American cinema today to see marriage so deftly captured onscreen — not just in its broad strokes but in its smaller moments as well — that when we find a film like Husbands and Wives, we must be careful to embrace it. As far as I can tell, it's really the only sensible kind of antidote we have to all those happily-ever-after stories, the cheap and dangerous Hollywood romances that only serve to whet an appetite that life itself can never hope to fulfill.

Chad Perman is the senior contributor to This Recording. You can read his essay on Brewster McCloud here. You can read his essay on National Lampoon's Vacation here.

"Bag of Bones" - The Maccabees (mp3)

"No Kind Words" - The Maccabees (mp3)

"Seventeen Hands" - The Maccabees (mp3)