Thursday, July 24, 2008

The Chosen Ones - Chapter 1.4 - Takin' It on the Lamb

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The Chosen Ones – Chapter 1.4

I guess now that I let the cat out of the bag, I should give you all a little background on the whole “daughter” thing. It would have been a wonderful story had it been allowed to end in a Disney movie. I managed to get out of that hospital back when I was seventeen obviously. It came at a cost though, because the family was on a Jew hunt to say the least. My father was no help because he was simply a Jew in name only. He was in the middle of the whole shake down that was trying to gain fifty percent of that grocery store. I of course had to learn this while I was in hiding upstate, but news trickled in to me from others in the old neighborhood. I was totally immersed in a Yiddish society which was desperately trying to change my identity for me. It was a different set of circumstances then what they usually worked on, but needless to say these weren’t exactly Bugsy Siegel fans either. I wasn’t the first mob child they had hidden, and was introduced to distant relatives of many that simply wanted out of that world.

That overly glamorized world that most of the shlubs watching HBO on Sunday nights seems to think is the life, isn’t for everyone. There just so happens to be many who know the difference between right and wrong. I suppose that for many years I had, and I’m still pretty sure that my mother had. I did stop hating God while I was being nursed back to health and sanity by his children upstate, and more over I might have actually grown to love God. It never hurt anyone after all to love God. My copy of the bible unfortunately disagreed with so many of the tenants that I had been teaching myself over the years. It appeared that murdering my father was a no no. Unfortunately it was out of the question to murder a bunch of skuzzy Italians as well, and appeared to have no indulgences for “even if they eat and act like pigs” or “even if they are Godless fucks who violate every last word in the bible,” and it all seemed to bleed out of me as I concentrated my efforts into being a better person myself. I was free of it all after all and there was no reason for me to continue to leak hatred. The Rabbi that got me out of it all even told me in strictest confidence that for all he knew there could be a hell, and if there was I may never have to see my father again.

I never actually graduated from a traditional high school. It didn’t really matter because my new identity said that I had, and I figured I was pretty up on my reading and writing. I was a new person completely by the time my eighteenth birthday had rolled around officially, even though my new ID had said that it had passed six months prior. It had to be that day of course that the New York Post came in with the story that my guardian angel back in the city had been gunned down in front of the very hospital that I had met him at. I was beside myself, and it took many people to work on me for days to get my temper under control. The disease that my father and his chosen family had infected me with was pulsing through my veins and the story itself ripped all of those old memories of hate to the front of my brain. A long train of Italian names witnessed “blacks” do it, and I knew the usual pile of shit when I read it. My evenings were spent talking to the new found God that I had embraced, and my mornings were spent in the company of others.

I never read between the lines in all of this though. How could I? As far as my own little world went I didn’t even understand the full scale of the crap that I had left behind. I assumed that being out of sight and out of mind would mean that the family had kissed me off, and they were simply going about their own business as usual. I should have remembered how my mother disappeared. I should have remembered what it means to be an embarrassment to anyone in the family, and most importantly I should have remembered that I wasn’t leaving a family of human beings I was leaving a pack of animals that should be slaughtered and extinct! There I go again, but it isn’t really easy to talk about.

I don’t know how they knew, but they knew. They always seemed to know, and despite their inability to learn, if you don’t adapt to the hunt, then you get taken down like an antelope. I had been in the same place too long, and like they always seem to do, they found the right person or people to give them the information that they wanted. I’m sure that my own father had a part in that as well. As much as I love my people they always seem to assume that their parents mean the best and that all Jews are ok deep down inside. Of course it wasn’t my father that had come to collect the family secret. It was a full scale captain and a few of his crew that came into my little village and started mingling around to get the information that they needed on a five foot nine boy that probably only appeared in the area over the last year.

There is no word for “tact” or “skill” in Wop. Actually if I was to be completely honest with you, they seem to appreciate a fabulous disaster more than the next person for some ungodly reason. The rooming house that I was living in had over twenty people in it, at any given time. In contrast the diner that I had been flipping burgers in usually had a small portion of that, and it was also exactly where I would be any day between the hours of five am and two pm. I can almost guarantee that they knew that before they burst into the rooming house at eleven am and started killing everyone. Twenty three people died, and every last one of them I had called friends and meant it sincerely.

The town constable showed up at the diner knowing exactly what they had gone to the boarding house for, and he wasn’t alone. News travelled slowly in the region, but the police had gotten the call from the house next door, and intelligence dictated top him what a Cadillac full of Italians was doing in a house full of gunfire. They pulled the car in behind the old metallic diner and waited there. Centuries of persecution and death had taught many in this community exactly how to deal with these types of criminals, and I watched four fat Guido’s get gunned down out front of the diner as I was pouring coffee. The diner emptied out to see why it had happened and that was when I found out about the rooming house, and collapsed on the spot. Again I was infuriated that I didn’t get to kill any of these men, but on the same side of the coin I was sad that the towns’ folks had to see this. That was nothing compared to the personal guilt I had because of the murders on my behalf. I hated again, but I knew exactly what the town faced as long as I was in it. At the same time, I took solace and comfort in the way the constable dealt with the problem, and the way he took me aside afterwards to explain some things to me.

“Nobody should ever blame you for the actions of others,” he started while we watched the town recyclers dragging the bodies up into the back of a garbage truck. They had no respect for the bodies, and it would have been looked upon as sinister, to anyone who didn’t know what brought their dead bodies to this point. The town mortician and a gang of volunteers were dutifully taking care of the bodies on the other side of the town, but these bodies were being treated properly in my opinion. There was no look of shame on the constable’s face as he watched along with me, the compressor cramming the bodies in with everyone’s kitchen trash, to be taken to the landfill. “You don’t ever treat them with respect, they don’t deserve it. You don’t ever sink to their level, but you don’t ever give them respect.”

His English was good, but the fact that he usually spoke Hebrew would have been obvious to anyone. He explained to me the centuries of hatred and strife that his family had dealt with many times when he came in for his morning breakfast. I had always envied his ability to place everything into black and white as easily as he could, and tried to get as much from him as possible every morning. It was refreshing his outlook on “necessary evil” and “unnecessary evil” and then again it was even more of a history lesson to see it put into context like this. I’m sure as I stand here today that he might not have been too happy with the way I was playing with my food before I ate it, like the way I punished my father for his sins before I sent him to hell but my self righteousness now would be understood if not at least tolerated. You don’t cry for the roaches that finally walk through the roach motel, and you don’t shed tears for the monsters of our time as they get eradicated.

This was when I had made the decision to take advantage of my anonymous status and head for the homeland. I had been encouraged to seek out the love of our people in the middle east by the rabbi, even though he himself wasn’t much up for the violence that goes on in that part of the world. I on the other hand was starting to get the feeling that I was to be surrounded by violence whether I liked it or not, and I had only my pathetic excuse for a father to blame for all of that anguish. At least in Israel I could segregate those that hated me for who I was, and why I was with a certain level of impunity. I was after all so full of hate that going somewhere that I was hated by the obvious was better than staying here and being hated by the obvious only to me.

This was where things had gotten rather interesting again, but in a different direction. I had a family there that was related to one of the families that I had been very close to back in upstate New York. They had alerted the proper authorities that I was coming for a “pilgrimage” and that I would submit to the usual entry processes. Israeli intelligence is quite a bit different than what anyone in America could understand. I had a waiting party at the airport, as most of my history was vague at best, and my honesty didn’t help matters at all. Well actually to be honest with you my honesty had helped out quite a bit. The Mossad agent who was put in charge of getting to the bottom of who I actually was, and put together all of the pieces of whether or not I belonged there or could be trusted happened to be a breathtakingly beautiful woman. To be blunt, she actually looked a bit evil, and treated me rather poorly to begin with, but in time became quite fascinated with my inner knowledge of the New York/New Jersey Mafia, that she started spending more and more of her free time checking in with me to talk about it all. Long after I had been deemed a person in need of Israeli protection she was still coming around to talk. Then do more than talk. ... To Be continued

Other Crap This Weirdo Publishes... Mental Notes & Random Musings {Daily Blog} The Crow's Nest {The Homepage of Jeremy Crow} Jeremy Crow on Multiply {For Community Types} Blogaholics Anonymous {E-Mail Blogging Group} Itching For Coffee {Community Blog}

Nothing that was printed here was intended to offend anyone, and if it did, screw ya, you begged for it. If you believe that there are some measures that can be taken to change me, then please feel free to pray for me, and while you are at it yourself, because you read this far, and if you hated every minute of it, then you are an idiot, not me, or the other people who like what I have to say! .. Jeremy

All writings Copyright © 2008

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