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 CATSKILL AFTERNOONS

   by Holly Rennick (Reneckstein before Ellis Island)

   AUTHOR'S NOTES

   As this piece involves a nice Jewish girl, I'll post a picture of one,
just not the one I'm writing about. 
http://images.asstr.org/files/Authors/Holly_Rennick/Jewish_Girl.jpg

   And I'll address one question.  My friend Cindi wonders if the resort
still has openings for next summer.  I told her that an extended Catholic
tribe might not enjoy gefilte fish for Friday dinner.  Minnesota has places
just as fun for family get-togethers.

   As few of you speak Yiddish, I translate a few terms in the Endnotes,
but I think you'll figure them out in context.

   PART ONE

   "Look through the hole," Miriam instructed, pulling my hand.  We were in
what at the resort we called the girl cousins' room.  The others were off
horseback riding; otherwise she couldn't have snuck a boy cousin in.  She'd
turned off the light and guided me beside the double dresser.

   It was special to be let in on something by Miriam.  I liked to look at
her, which was pretty easy since we're related.  I'd seen the bumps of her
nipples at lunchtime.  I knew she was already dating.  I hoped when I got a
girlfriend, she'd look like my cousin.

   The hole hidden by the flap of wallpaper was hardly enough for one
eyeball and low enough that I had to get on my knees.  How she'd discovered
this particular flaw in the plaster, I hadn't a clue.  The rooms in this
place couldn't decide if they retained their 1930s grand décor, or were
just in need of renovation.  Maybe that was part of the resort's supposed
charm; the Borsht Belt as it always was.  I'd rather have had a few video
machines.  I kind of think it's good, though, to eat kosher for a few weeks
each summer.

   It was dim on the other side -- the light was off, but the blinds didn't
quite close -- but not too dark to see a guy and a girl, not much older
than Miriam and me.  The girl I recognized from the dining room, a captive
in another extended family summer vacation.  They were Reformed like us --
nothing old-world in our fashion.  We can still spot each other, though, by
the sentences that end in questions.

   I'd passed the girl once in the corridor and, best I could judge, she'd
been braless.  I know how to tell.  Summer in the Catskills, people dress
up.  Too many mothers.  But maybe not when you're just going down the
hallway.  She'd smiled and said hi and probably knew I'd looked.

   The guy I'd seen going to the fitness room and reading in the lounge. 
The books date from the 50s, but there are still some good ones.  Native
Son, for example.  The guy had seemed bored, but you don't just walk up to
someone older and ask if he plays chess.

   We go to the Catskills for the summer, but don't really do much that's
not prescribed.  We come to the same place because we've always come to the
same place.  I guess having a cheery staff to schedule your day makes it a
vacation.  They act cheerful for the tips because if they're not, we won't.

   I could hear the rasp of the radio in the other room.  A City FM
station. Oldies.  Tom Petty.

   "What are they doing?" Miriam was beside me, close enough for her
question to tickle my ear.  It was a whisper, but with the music on the
other side, they wouldn't have heard anything.

   "Sitting on the bed." I didn't add that the girl was in her bra and
panties.

   Miriam interrupted my inspection.  "Naked, right?"

   Miriam asked this?

   "She's in her underwear," I admitted.

   "She's a senior and he's her cousin.  He goes to Hofstra.  Know what
that costs?"

   The guy's her cousin?  My own cousin tells me this?

   "How do you know?"

   "She told me at the archery range.  They've been lovers for two summer
vacations already.  Plus holidays.  She's from Connecticut, actually."

   "Lovers?"

   "What they're doing, dummy.  She calls it "rubber hour" because their
folks are playing bridge right now.  Get it?"

   I guess.  What they were doing was kissing.

   "Is he feeling her up?"

   Why's she asking me?  It's not like I'm another girl and we can talk
about this sort of thing.  But she'd asked.

   "Sort of," I judged.  He'd worked the girl's straps down and was
reaching behind her back.  When her breasts popped free, bigger than her
bra suggested, I could see her moons, brown against the paleness where she
didn't tan.

   It looked like she was laughing, but I couldn't really hear.

   I didn't think I should be watching, but Miriam had me squished against
the dresser and must have sensed I'd seen something.  "What happened?"

   "He's got it off, her bra, I mean."

   "Pervert!" the "p" making a puff of air against my temple.

   "Don't"

   "Just teasing.  Nice boobs?" nuzzling my shoulder with hers.  I wasn't
sure whose she was referring to.

   "I guess," I to play it safe, but I wasn't guessing anything.  The other
girl's breasts were jiggling even more than they'd done in the hall.  But
better than that, now I could actually see them.

   "Tell me when they're naked." Miriam seemed intent on the state of their
attire.  I hadn't told that the girl was unbuttoning his shirt and playing
with the front of his pants, but Miriam seemed to know.

   It didn't take long for the two to do away with their clothes.  The girl
had a triangle of black and his erection looked imposing.  I'd never seen a
guy hard before, except for myself, that is.  I'd seen my mother naked when
I was little, but that hardly counts.  I'd seen Miriam naked back then,
too, but when she didn't have hair.  Neither did I.  We'd giggled about
each other's anatomy, but weren't sure why.  In retrospect, though, she was
probably a little more knowledgeable, as she wanted me to make it big.  No
way!  I told her, even though I could.

   I'll bet that Miriam has pubic hair like the girl's by now.

   "They're naked," since she asked.  I didn't add that he'd put on a
rubber.  He made it look pretty easy.

   "He's got a big boner, right?" Miriam flicked my ear with her tongue.  I
kind of liked the tickle.

   "I guess." Actually it looked a lot bigger with a rubber on it, but I
wasn't going to say that.

   "Are they doing it?"

   "Doing what?"

   "Making love," with a withering sigh like I was really dumb.

   "I'm not sure," guarding my response.  Actually I had a good idea, but
couldn't tell exactly as they were sideways to me and I couldn't see
between them.  It's strange talking to your cousin about making love, but
at least when she's behind you, she can't see your face.

   "We shouldn't be doing this," I warned, watching the lovers wiggle. 
They kept trying to kiss, but it must have been hard to do while reaching
between their legs to arrange themselves.  Shouldn't they pull a sheet over
themselves or something?

   Miriam dismissed my hesitation.  "She doesn't care.  She used to have
this room and told me about the hole."

   "She knows?"

   "She thinks you're cute," lips against my cheek.

   What do I have to do with it?  "No way!" but bolstered by the thought. I
don't even know her name and she's a senior!

   "Really.  She said you could watch."

   Me?

   "She tips the maids so they'll change the sheets afterwards," Miriam
added matter-of-factly.

   "How much?"

   "I don't know.  They sell rubbers to the guests, but it's not like an
official hotel business, do you think?"

   "No way!" It occurred to me, though, that my cousin knew he'd put one
on.

   "So describe it, cute boy, what you see," returning to her demanding
mode.  She'd worked an arm over my spine and was nibbling the side of my
neck.  It made me shiver.

   "They're sort of playing around," I summarized, "playing" being a
general word.  The guy was trying to shove.

   "Should I take off my shirt?" Miriam's response.

   Her shirt?  I envisioned Uncle Amos turning on the light and finding us.
"You shouldn't."

   "Chicken!" And with that pulled herself onto my back, wrapping her arms
around me to balance.  I was a horse and she was a saddle blanket.

   "Don't!" I tried to shrug her off, but she'd already mounted.

   She'd somehow slid up both our shirts enough for me to feel the
stitching of her bra against the back of my ribs.  The twin cones weren't
as big as those of the girl in the other room, but I liked how they felt.
I'd touched Miriam before, of course, but only when we were messing around
and she'd not noticed.  Not really a feel, more of a press.  Sort of like
when her leg got between mine.  One time, though, I didn't get away fast
enough and I was afraid afterwards that she'd known I got hard.

   "Tell me how they make love," reaching under my arms to play with my
nipples.

   "Don't," not to stop her, but to document my protest in case Uncle Amos
busted in and asked why the light's off?

   I wasn't going to tell my cousin that the two were almost having sex. 
"Why don't you look for yourself?" I maybe couldn't keep her from knowing,
but didn't have to be the reporter.

   "No.  I want you to say everything they're doing.  Everything." She
wasn't letting up.  "Besides," the owner of the smaller breasts continued,
"I've seen them make love three times.  Sometimes she gets on top, but not
like this," referring to her own superior position.

   She'd seen them do it three times?  We'd only been here a week.  "Get
off me!"

   "Tell me how they're making love," a bit bossy.  Her hand was rubbing my
stomach.  Bucking her off would make a racket they'd hear on the other
side.

   "Stop it!  We'll get in trouble."

   "Not if you hold still.  Tell me about his boner."

   Miriam's fingers moved onto my belt, hardly an inch away from finding
out that I had one, too.

   I didn't know what to do.

   Sometimes when you don't know what to do, it's better to stay still and
do as you're told.  "I think they're having sex."

   "How?"

   "You know, having sex."

   Her reach found my crotch as if to demand details.  "Who's on top?"
keeping up the interrogation.

   "He is."

   "Is she coming?"

   "I don't know." It's not that I didn't know about a girl's orgasm, but
it was from movies.  You get a pretty good idea from R's, but maybe not the
little details.  X movies actually show less, just more of the flesh and
more of the sound.

   "She always does." Miriam predicted, her hand assessing my condition. 
"I knew you had a boner," triumphant, the undeniable truth as she unbuckled
my belt.  I'd hardened to where it almost hurt.  "I always know," she
boasted, probably a lie, I realized, but it made me wonder.

   You can't talk to somebody as she pulls down your zipper.

   Should I let her?  With your cousin, at least, it's more likely to stay
a secret.  It's less likely, on the other hand, to be a secret that gets
forgotten.  Anyway, it wasn't about me letting her.  She was just doing it.
I moved my legs apart a little, hoping she'd not notice.

   How was I supposed to know that she'd really reach inside, around both
sides of me, even?  It's weird when someone you're related to has her hands
inside your underpants.  Not that it wouldn't be weird with someone you
weren't related to, but Miriam's at least seemed safer.

   If I'd let her take off her shirt, maybe she'd have taken off her bra,
too, I wondered.  It would be fairer.

   One hand encircled me while the other checked out my hair.  The hand
holding me felt cold.  I was afraid she'd think I was too little or too
big, I wasn't sure which, but she didn't seem to find a problem.

   "Heabie," her thumb and forefinger confirming that I was a yid, as if
she didn't know.

   "Everybody's that way," I argued a bit defensively.  You hardly ever see
a goy who's not circumcised.

   Miriam changed the topic while securing me with a take-charge squeeze.
"Did you know that Dad and your mom do it?"

   "Do what?"

   "Duhhh."

   It made me almost forget about where her hands were.  Mom and Uncle
Amos? No way!

   "It's why we come up here every summer," Miriam summarized while
starting to stroke.  "When Mom's hot-toweled in the salon, they get
together.  They just check the appointments on the masseuse's door.  Smart,
right?"

   "Get together?"

   Apparently my question merited no answer.  "I thought Dad was doing it
with the red-head waitress," she admitted, forgetting to rub, then speeding
to catch up.

   There was method in her hand, knowing how much to stroke to get me
rocking forward and backward.  It was like being put on auto-pilot while I
was thinking about something else.

   I, too, had noticed the red-head's attention to older males.  She
laughed a lot and bent over.  I'd not have been sure she was Jewish but for
the fact that the red wasn't quite right and she never bent over for the
rabbi.  Resorts up here give a deal to a rabbi so the place looks legit.  I
suppose he certifies the kitchen, but basically he just expounds on Israeli
politics while his wife gossips with the ladies whose hair has stayed
unnaturally black.  They've been here forever.

   "How do you know it's with my mom?" I challenged.  Mom wouldn't do
something like that, have a boyfriend.  It was true, though, that she
doesn't go to the salon with Aunt Sarah.  It's her rest time.

   "They get together in her room.  Her bed squeaks like the one in there,"
directing me next door.  "They should play the radio, you think?  They're
quick because Mom's appointment is only for a half-hour."

   Mom sleeping with her brother-in-law while Dad's working in the City? 
I'd seen them playing footsie under the Jacuzzi bubbles one afternoon, but
figured it was some sort of joke.  Mom's swimsuit even has a little skirt.

   "Are you sure they sleep together?"

   "They don't sleep, dummy," her hand emphasizing her point.

   When you're talking about this sort of thing while watching somebody
else do it, it helps to have someone keeping you on the subject.  It helps
you think about what you're thinking about, actually.

   It's not that thinking of Mom in bed is that sexy, but it gave me reason
to remember her hair.  Does Uncle Amos kiss her down there?  Do grown women
need sex more often than just on weekends?  Dad barely arrives in time for
Shabbat, but they could start catching up afterwards.  Maybe Uncle Amos is
just better at it, even if they have to be quick.  What if Mom gets
pregnant?  I suppose they've thought about it, as Uncle Amos is pretty
smart.  Maybe he gets rubbers from the maids.

   Does Mom tip the maids extra?  Probably not, since she's got five days
without Dad noticing the sheets.

   I knew that Mom ditched her bra when she watched TV and I'd once shoved
a pair of her black panties down my pants to see how it felt, but it wasn't
like I spied on her.  Could Uncle Amos tell they were sisters from the way
they did it?

   "Jacob went to bed with Leah and Rachel and they were sisters, right?" I
queried my cousin, though I'm not sure it applied any more.  We're always
honoring Jacob.

   "Ask the rabbi.  He'll know how many times." I could feel the grin in
her voice.  "Or ask his wife.  She'll know which positions."

   I didn't know a lot about positions, other than the one I was watching,
but I didn't want to sound stupid.

   Don't worry about my mom, though," Miriam consoled.  "She's got her
lover, too, but I don't know who.  Dad had the big V and the pills hidden
in the bottom of her make-up keep disappearing."

   That answered my concern about a baby brother.

   I'd watch for clues about Aunt Sarah.  She shows a little plunge when
she dresses for dinner, but they all do.  The thought of going to bed with
Mom's sister was sexy, even if she was my aunt.  I liked how soft she felt
whenever she hugged me.  Will Miriam's breasts get that size?  Is it one of
the staff?  Whoever he is, Aunt Sarah's boyfriend is a lucky guy.  What's
her best position?

   I didn't want to know too much about my dad's sex life.  Maybe he drives
up after a hard week, horny as can be, but Mom's already had her fill from
Uncle Amos and claims a headache.  So he gets talking with that red-head.
Her bra's scooped so low that I can't figure out why my objectives don't
pop over the hem when she clears the dishes.  She's the one I'd go after,
the red-head.  I'll bet she knows oral sex.

   It occurred to me, though, that on Sundays when the men fly-fish and
Mom's art group paints landscapes, Dad and Aunt Sarah stay around to read.
But you never see them in the lounge.  He's pretty conservative, maybe
wouldn't choose the red-head.

   My cousin's stroking brought me back to the present.  "Is this how you
do it?" How'd she know how I masturbate?  I'd be just on by back, the only
difference.

   "I don't know," a dumb answer, I realized, but what do you admit to your
cousin?

   "Say if you want it slower," planting her knees to counter the excesses
of my rocking.  Had I been making too much noise?

   I realized that there was probably no going back.  Once you start
building up your load, it's going to find its way out.

   I didn't offer any suggestions as she seemed to know how it works.  I
hoped she knew it might be messy.

   "You're going to come, so it ought to be when they do," she suggested.
When a girl's stroking your penis, she's the boss, especially when she's
got her other hand around your balls.  And really especially when she's
making you watch people having sex.

   The situation was rapidly degenerating.  Stalling was working against
me, I realized, but the way she was doing what she was doing, stalling
didn't seem such a bad idea.  She knew more about me than I thought.  It's
not that I didn't want to come; I really did.  I just wasn't sure if I
wanted to with her knowing.  On the other hand, I wasn't sure if I wanted
to come without her help.

   "I can't tell much," trying to prolong the dialog and postpone my
ejaculation.  It was true; I really couldn't tell much.  They were moving
too fast and too close together.  The girl's mouth was open and her pillow
was on the floor.  The guy looked like he was concentrating.  Their bed was
louder than their radio.  I suppose if you were in the hall, though, you
wouldn't know to listen.

   She'd hooked her heels over his legs and was pulling against his back.
He was on top, but she was the one making sure they stayed connected.  Kind
of like my cousin was the one making sure I stayed hard.  Girls know stuff.

   "Just move the way he does." Miriam seemed to know what he was doing
without even watching.  But then, she'd already watched three times.

   I didn't move as much as he did, but for sure I moved.  It was hard not
to, as Miriam's fist anticipated the girl's gyrations.

   I'd the distinct impression that the girl was now-and-then catching the
reflection of my eye.  She'd grin my way, but the guy couldn't tell because
his head was beside hers while his butt was bouncing up and down.

   "You can think of me, not her, if you want," Miriam allowed.

   I wasn't sure if that meant thinking of her in the other room doing it
with the guy, or of her right here, doing what she was doing.  It seemed
kind of mixed together.

   She'd pushed her lap up so my hip shoved against it each time I pulled
back from her stroke.  I was glad the other two had their radio tuned up.

   I was starting to feel tingly.  "You better be careful."

   "Keep watching," Miriam's chin poking the back of my neck, her fist now
furious.  Somehow I knew that she was grinning with the girl.

   "Uhh, maybe you ought to..."

   "Imagine we're in there."

   Too late!  Ohh!

   "Good boy!" as I creamed on her forearm.  She wasn't mad.  She shouldn't
have been -- it being her fault, of course -- but I'd been a bit concerned.
I'd totally forgotten to keep telling her about the other two, but she
didn't seem to mind.

   "Makes hair on your chest," she whispered, massaging spilt seed into my
breast like a brand.  "Makes babies in a girl," she darkly added, "unless
you wear something."

   I guessed I missed the point, so she clarified, "The maids' little
store, remember?"

   Do you just ask them, I wondered?  They'd all know when they saw me
afterwards.  Maybe the girl does the shopping.

   "Next time we'll trade places," Miriam ruled, after settling me down.

   Her bra showed white in the darkness and one of the straps had fallen
down.  Something in the way she didn't fix it told me she'd felt pretty
involved.  It didn't end the same way for her as it had for me, of course,
but she, too, had been breathing hard.  And she didn't even have the excuse
of watching the others.

   Trade places?

   She must have read my question.  "To get to know me better," she
explained.  It makes more sense if you've been to cheder.  The Torah word
for sex comes is spelled yod-dalet-ayin, to know.  "So you'll be a better
lover," she translated, since she knows my Hebrew isn't that good.

   My cousin touched a wet finger to her cheek and giggled.

   When I refocused through the hole, the two were still twitching.  It
wasn't that long till the afternoon bridge game would be over and our
cousins would be back from the stables.

   PART TWO

   Being wife of the Rabbi, of course I must keep informed on the lives of
our synagogue, "synagogue" being loosely constructed at a resort.  The
Rabbi's quite scholarly and misses some of the intricacies of daily life.

   I really shouldn't be mentioning this, but the guests include two
sisters who've been coming since they were girls.  I can't say who, but I
believe you knew their father.  If I remember correctly, the sisters
discovered their womanhood here when they were younger.

   It's really none of my business, but would you believe that they switch
husbands?  I wouldn't say it if it weren't true!

   They're quite clever, those two.  Each husband thinks that he's the only
one up to something.  One of them is only here for weekends and the other
goes fishing on Sunday, so there's hardly any chance of getting caught, the
way I see it.

   Our maids are most prompt in changing the linen.  I worked in a resort
in my day and the tips aren't insignificant, I assure you.

   While I can hardly approve of trading husbands, these two yentzers would
be with women less suitable if the wives hadn't done what they did.  Men
have that nature, am I right?

   Nu, you've got a point that we do, too, but at least we think ahead. 
We'd not go outside our kind, for example.

   What's quite vulgar, though, is how some of the staff carries on these
days.  Take that kurveh who works in the dining room.  You know the one I'm
talking about, the one popping out of her top.  She's at least 45, I'm
sure. I spoke to her directly about distracting the Rabbi; he's very busy
and can't be diverted from his responsibilities.  Not that he could be,
actually.

   What's perhaps most interesting this year are the two pairs of cousins.
The one, the boy's going to be a doctor -- a specialist, I'm told -- and
the girl's in high school.  They're quite mature for their age and as a
matter of fact, this isn't the first summer they've been together.  Do you
know what the boy's parents are paying for his education?  It's really
quite a fortune!  It's not important who they are, but I do believe you
know her mother.  Rose Irving from Hartford, of course, but don't let on
that I told you.

   You think I'm guessing?  Remember what I said about that Goldstein girl
last year and we know what happened to her!

   The other cousins are children of the two sisters I mentioned.  He's not
much past his Bar Mitzvah and if my judgment is right, they were both
virgins when they arrived.  It's not hard to tell when they lose it. 
They're just relatives and then a little something kicks in and you can see
them eyeing each other, am I right?  He crosses his legs more.  You start
to see her standing right behind his arm.  When that's not enough, they'll
exchange looks and disappear.  In our day, we called it petting, right? 
"Did Hyman get your hymen?" we'd say at school.  And we wore so many more
under-things, did we not?

   The first time I held a schmuck, he had to show me what to do with it,
can you believe it?  He's a broker now, quite successful, actually.  I
thought there'd be just a drop.  You smile, but it's the very truth.

   I knew that those two were going to shtup when they came down to the
dining room and never looked at each other.  The next morning, off they
went in a canoe, grinning like fools, a pool towel wrapped in their poncho.
I didn't tell the attendant.  Gone nearly two hours.  Probably the old
Keller cabin.  And there's a girl who'd know how make him the one looking
at the rafters.

   I'd not be sharing a word of this, except the maids proved me perfectly
correct because of what the girl bought.  In our day, it was the boy who
took care of that sort of thing, yes?  If he didn't, "Fertile days, girdle
stays." Remember that one?  Imagine our fathers if we'd gotten pregnant!

   These young people -- and even their parents sometimes -- assume that
women of our age just watch our needlework.

   And as well you know, I had my suitors.  The Rabbi was from the right
family, of course, but several of the handsome ones were very talented, if
you get my point.  Oy vay!

   My husband, the Rabbi, says the Law is perfectly clear about virgins. 
If a man sleeps with one, it's time to break the glass and that's that. 
But there's no way I'd have wanted to get tied down at 16, especially not
with a nephew who was older than me.  I'm sure you'll agree that the father
of your children needn't know about a wedding never blessed.  Just act
modest for a while, nu, so he doesn't wonder.  We know a few things, do we
not?

   But what's in the Talmud about us with a b'suleh male?  Not a word!  I
helped a few enter manhood, I suppose, but that's when I was younger.  The
Rabbi, of course, was pure because he was in yeshiva.  If he wasn't a
yeshivot, I'd have needed fewer suitors, if you know what I mean.  Like you
said, it's how we're created.  Even now when we go to Israel, nu, I hardly
know who we'll run into.  My life!

   But back to those cousins.  Did I mention that the girls are in those
rooms next to each other on the second floor?  You know what I'm referring
to, nu.

   There's really no matrimonial potential in what they're doing, despite
what my husband, the Rabbi, says about earlier times.  They should get to
know some other nice Jewish young people, if you ask me.

   PART THREE

   It's that time of the afternoon.  The old shrew's lurking around the
lobby to see who sneaks upstairs.  For sure it will be those two girls and
their cousins.  When you're their age, you want a boychick all the time. 
What they lack in sophistication, they make up in enthusiasm.

   If I understand the schedule on the spa door, there will also be the
father of one of those girls with the mother of her cousin.  Complicated,
no?  I'll simply say there's justice on the weekends and leave it at that.
They come back to this place year after year, so it seems to work.

   Morris is pleased as punch with the power of his little blue pill.  The
maids supply him, as he wouldn't be seen going to a pharmacy.  You can fuck
the whole minyan if you like, but why bother with ten men when you can lay
the rabbi?

   Morris says there's an exception to the rabbinical prohibition when the
rebbitzin is a yenta.  A faith that lasts must allow for the human
condition, is the way he puts it.

   Undo my hair first, is the way I read it.  He likes to watch it wave, so
I get to be where I want.

   So I'd better get back to where he's waiting.  He's got a lot of
responsibilities.  I just have to clear these last tables of their coffee
cups.

   THE END

   ENDNOTES

   A few translations:

   "Bar Mitzvah" - boy's coming-of-age ceremony at age 13.

   "Boychick" - boy.  Yiddish meets English.

   "Borsht" - beet soup.  Delicious.

   "B'suleh" - virgin.  Always feminine.

   "Cheder" - Hebrew school.

   "Gefilte Fish" - you like it or you don't.  Served with horseradish.

   "Goy" - Gentile.  Not a Jew.

   "Kurveh" - trollop.

   "Minyan" - ten men required for synagogue.

   "Nu" - almost any sort of expression you want it to mean.

   "Oy vay" - Oh my!  or any other exclamation.

   "Rebbinzin" - rabbi's wife.  Many responsibilities.

   "Shmuck" - penis.  Some would say that "Putz" is more diminutive, but
some wouldn't agree.

   "Shabbat" - Saturday, the holy day, except it starts Friday evening.

   "Shtup" - to have sex.  From the German "schtopfen", to stuff.  Use "to
know" in mixed company.

   "Talmud" - the rules of tradition.  Worthy of infinite debate.

   "Torah" - known to others as the Old Testament.

   "Yenta" - busybody.

   "Yentzer" - philanderer.

   "Yeshiva" - where one studies to be a rabbi.

   "Yid" - Jew.

   Okay, Cindi says I have to tell you these jokes.

   Jewish Weddings

   At an Orthodox wedding, the bride's mother is pregnant.  At a
Conservative wedding, the bride is pregnant.  At a Reform wedding, the
rabbi is pregnant.

   Jewish Sex Therapy

   An older Jewish gentleman marries a younger lady, but despite his best
efforts, the woman never achieves orgasm.  As a Hebrew wife is entitled to
sexual pleasure, he asks the rabbi.

   The rabbi strokes his beard and suggests the following: "Hire a
strapping young man and while the two of you make love, have him wave a
towel over you.  Your wife will fantasize and have an orgasm."

   The gentleman hires a young man to wave the towel, but it doesn't help.
Perplexed, he goes back to the rabbi.

   "Try it in reverse," says the rabbi.  "Have the young man make love to
your wife and you wave the towel."

   Once again he follows the rabbi's advice.  The young man gets into bed,
the husband waves the towel and the wife has a resounding climax.

   The husband smiles, looks at the young man and says triumphantly, "Ah
hah!  You see, THAT'S the way to wave a towel!"

   THE END

   Wherever you found this story on the web, thank you to the server.  My
problem is that I've no systematic way to update the various servers.  As
literary errors (or just lame word usages) are made known, I'll repair that
which is salvageable on /~Holly_Rennick.  If you take
the time to read me, don't wade through an early version.

   You can contact me via the site's message form.
   Holly