The Books

Kvetch

Moshe Melvin Murray, the mild mannered Mohel from Manhattan was meeting his friends for lunch. They were all military veterans, Melvin Herbert Rosenblum, and Murray Hyman Reinschrieber all met in Central Park.

“Moshe!”

“Melvin!”

“Murray!”

The three men greeted each other as they gathered at their favorite park bench. Each had a brown bag lunch. The bags may have been plain, but the contents were certainly not. They lacked something to drink, so they went to their usual local Quickie Mart. Julie would be behind the register today, she was a real looker. Besides that, she liked the three older men and harmlessly flirted with them.

They entered the store and exchanged hello’s before retrieving their drinks. As they approached the counter, a young man in a hoody cut in front of them.

“Move it old men. Get back to your rest homes!”

This pissed them off.

Then the punk pulled out a pistol. “This is a hold-up, hand over your cash!” He waved the barrel of his pistol towards the register.

Julie’s eyes grew big, as she froze in fear. The punk demanded the money again. Then, Moshe, Melvin, and Murray stepped up.

Moshe started. He stepped around the young man and looked at his gun. “You call that a gun! That’s not a gun, it’s a toy. My grandkids play with bigger barrels than that!”

“Back off old man, or you’re going to get the business end.”

“Ha! I’m a veteran, and I’ve faced worse than this on my best days during the war.”

“I said, back off! or I’ll shoot!” The robber waved the gun around.

“Ha, that’s no gun! I shot M-1’s, and machine guns. You’re an amateur!” Moshe said.

“M-1’s, that’s nothing Moshe, I commanded a howitzer crew, now that’s a gun!” Melvin interrupted.

“Howitzer! That’s a pea shooter Melvin. I manned a 20-inch gun on a destroyer!”

Murray bragged.

“You putz, Murray, destroyers didn’t have 20-inch guns, never did.” Moshe responded.

“Ok, maybe it was a twelve-inch, but it was bigger than a howitzer!”

The robber shared a look of dismay with Julie. His robbery was not going as planned.

“Don’t call me a putz, Moshe, just because you’re a mohel.” Murray responded.

“I’m the best mohel in Manhattan!” Moshe emphatically stated.

The punk was confused now. “Shut up, all of you, this is a robbery!”

“Robbery!? My daughter has more chutzpah than you can ever dream of. Especially with a play-gun like that!” Murray unexpectedly reached out and grabbed the gun out of the young man’s hand. He hefted it while the punk had a look of shock. “This is a joke!” He handed it to Moshe.

Moshe emptied the revolver of its bullets and spun the cylinder. “You should take better care of your pistol, young man. When is the last time you cleaned it?”

The kid stuttered. “I…what the…give me my gun back!”

Moshe gave the gun to Melvin, who looked it over carefully. The robber was trying to get it back.

“It’s my turn kid, wait.”

The robber was trying to grab it while Melvin kept it out of reach. “Give me my gun back, now!” he screamed.

Sometime during the verbal melee, Julie pressed the silent alarm. She was on the verge of laughing out loud at this point. The would-be robber was getting hysterical.

 Melvin was still eyeing the pistol, then he put his glasses on to look closer. He noticed a foreign object lodged in an odd place and started to pick it out. When it did not come lose, he banged the pistol hard against the counter. “Come out you dreck, come out!”

The punk was getting desperate and tried to forcibly take his gun back. Moshe, Melvin, and Murray were playing keep away, handing it back and forth to each other. They circled him, keeping him guessing which way it was going next. Julie busted a gut laughing as she was recorded the event on her smart phone.

“Give me my gun back you old fools!” the punk yelled at them.

“Fools, now you’re calling us old fools. Who’s the one chasing an empty pistol?” Melvin asked.

“Give me my gun back you old farts!”

“Now we’re old farts, Murray! Wait until I’ve had my daily prunes, then I’m an old fart!” Moshe exclaimed.

“Stop this!” the young punk screamed out.

Just then, two police cars came to a screeching halt outside the door.

The robber was freaking out now, desperately looking between the three Jewish men, and the cops entering the store with drawn guns.

An officer pointed his at Murray, who now held the robber’s gun. “Drop the gun, now, put your hands in the air.”

“Such authority, Moshe. Here’s the punks gun officer, he tried to hold up the store,” Murray said as he handed the revolver to the officer.

The would-be robber pleaded with the police. “I did, I did, just get me away from these crazy old men.”

Four police officers looked at each other with amusement as the cuffs were put on the young man and he was led to the patrol car.

The lead Sargent asked what happened. Julie told him the whole story between fits of laughter.

“Is that the way it happened?” The Sargent looked at the three men.

“Sounds about right, don’t it Murray,” Melvin asked.

“Sure,” Moshe seconded. “Say, officer, are you Jewish?”

He hesitated a moment, “Yes, why?”

“Here’s my card. I’m the best mohel in Manhattan.”

His partner couldn’t keep a straight face. He took the card and thanked Moshe before they walked back to the patrol car. Both could be seen laughing out loud as they drove off.

“You’re my heroes.” Julie gushed as she came out from behind the counter and gave each of them a big hug. “Thanks for coming to my rescue, I already posted it on Twitter, and Instagram.”

“What was so funny about that, all we did was kvetch about a gun. We need to buy our drinks. Oy Veh, so much trouble to get a bottle of water.” Murray complained.

Julie laughed from behind the counter. “Don’t worry, they’re on the house, have a nice day, see you next time.”

Moshe, Melvin, and Murray thanked Julie and walked out the front door kvetching about how crazy the world had become.

Glossary

Mohel: Someone who performs a Brisk, or as it’s known to us Goyem, circumcision.