And further, by these, my son, be admonished: of making many books there is no end (Ecclesiastes 12:12) A pdf version of this essay can be downloaded here [*] Years in brackets refer to an individual’s or book author’s year of birth Thought experiment for the day: Anyone born 1945 would be pushing towards 80 and mostly past their prime. So name any Charedi sefer written by someone born post war that has or is likely to enter the canon, be it haloche, lomdus, al hatorah or mussar. Single one will do for now — IfYouTickleUs (@ifyoutickleus) July 27, 2022 A tweet in the summer which gained some traction asked for a book by an author born from 1945 onwards that has entered the Torah and rabbinic canon or is heading in that direction. I didn't exactly phrase it this way and some quibbled about 'canonisation'. The word does indeed have a precise meaning though in its popular use it has no narrow definition. Canonisation, or ‘entering the canon’ is generally understood to
Part II
So where were we before we were rudely interrupted by a Beis Din that will/will not take place? A (no) Show Trial where the judges are brought kicking and screaming, the witnesses are nowhere to be seen and the guy in the dock is smirking like a combatant after a prize-winning wrestle. Stalin couldn’t even have thought this one up but they call it justice round here. They even had me fool standing at the door with a hand on the mezuzah returning thinking it was a final curtain call, but which turned out to be a fly-by-night Beis Din stuck on the runway.
Firstly, thanks for all the kind words and sentiments expressed. 'Mertshem by you,' you can see me nodding in all directions. 'Not at all, it was mamesh our pleasure. Ach don't be silly,' I say to those who insist on helping take home the half bottles of cherryade and unopened plonk because the waiters were under orders to hide the corkscrew openers. 'Loz, the goyim will look after it. Mach zich nisht narish.'
And now please excuse me for turning to my little baby, this precious blog of mine. Many of you who have been lapping it up for the last couple of months may not necessarily enjoy my wares once the blog reverts to type. Like the school 'principal' about town prancing around at every other mixed affair while his charges are made to add inches to their skirts and encouraged to form a habit of standing aside for men. Or the Buffoon who frets over the sight of women in a United Synagogue boardroom but will overhear nothing when one of his own is alleged to host them in his bedroom. Or the Chief who's happy to summon us to the stadium but keeps us out of the boudoir. And of course our institutions that are more interested in keeping face than losing clothes.
So turning to these newcomers, I am sorry to disappoint you but it ain't me you're looking for, babes. I am not a crusader and definitely not of the leshem shomayim variety. The only time I have had a positive experience with leshem shomayim was when I dined at a restaurant of that name in Nice in the South of France and that too was rather grubby with bird droppings from overhead trees. I'm afraid this blog adheres to the precepts of Mr JS Mill rather than the teaching of Rabbi YM Kagan/Poupko with no plans to switch sides in the foreseeable future. Truly shocking and I appreciate that, but I'd rather be upfront than fool you with a pile of Shmiras Haloshons stacked high at the entrance and then dish the dirt anyway.
A commenter wrote that apparently according to some rabbinical authorities martyrdom is preferable to a visit to this blog. I'd like to add that this is a view which I wholeheartedly endorse. May I even suggest that you set up a support group called Tickle Anonymous and arrange to meet at that famous bridge on Hornsey Road, conveniently located approximately half-way between Stamford Hill and Golders Green. There you can hold hands, of course each gender on either side of the bridge, and after a voluble Shema Yisroel surpassing even the one at the Royal Festival Hall in August, you can all go for a massive jump. Cheshunt should inter you and may even be willing to drown you for an extra fee but at least you'll be saved from transgressing the Sacred Articles of the Leyton Orient Convention.
I say this because we have reached a situation where on some days the entire Leyton Orient sell out crowd has been exceeded on this blog by 10am, and there they had the kiddies too. This would undoubtedly make it high up in the top 10 Chilul Hashems of all times and I simply cannot take this kind of achrayus on my narrow shoulders.
So to all you out there offended by satire, allergic to mirth or with ulcers that may rupture by an overdose of acerbity I have a simple message: Please abandon me, your Rav don't live here any more, assuming he ever did. (This, by the way, is a paraphrase of a kol isha which once again goes to show the terrible things that can happen by straying even accidentally onto this blog.)
I write for fun and maintain no standards other than my own. My moral compass contains only a south point and the moral high ground I occupy is on an altitude roughly parallel to the Dead Sea. I say this because the reaction to some posts and comments suggests that people may have got the wrong end of the towel. As its very name suggests, this blog is first and foremost about having a laugh and as it is written in the possuk הכי קרא שמו טיקל ויטקלני זה פעמים . (Is not he rightly named Tickle? for he hath tickled me these two times).
I also have an inkling that it is down the hill from Jack's Castle that most offence was taken and so let me make one further point: this is a Stamford Hill blog where we know how to laugh. I covered this story not because I am your Aslan but because besides an innate weakness for mischief making, I was interested in the local angle and not in the happy clappies on Bridge Lane. Of course, being in Stamford Hill I cannot not partake in the schadenfreude felt on this side of Nags Head at seeing your deity come crashing down. It's not nice and not at all kosher, I know, but nor is arm wrestling women with a towel and yet the Amshinovers engage in it with alacrity.
I simply could not have guessed at the contents of the Pandora's box about to be prised open. I did not and still do not understand all the dynamics of this saga. My experience of Golders Greeners is limited to the Normandie Hotel where like Germans on a Spanish resort spreading their towels early, you too grab all the seats and then bury your noses in your sidurim when we turn up after a mikve and coffee. Even shoving aside for us your, oh, so well behaved kinderlech, becomes too much. And now rabbis I'd barely heard of a few short months ago have turned into household names and individuals whose egos had hitherto not reached our retarded shores are suddenly all the rage.
Least of all did I understand the scores being settled and the accounts being balanced in this affair. I too was therefore taken aback at the sight of friend turning on friend and neighbour on neighbour in scenes not experienced since the Spanish Civil War. Though, happily, it wasn't Franco who succeeded this time. And so whether you have benefitted or lost out from all of this it's collateral as far as I'm concerned since Golders Green is not my forte and Hendon is outside my tchum.
So returning to the blog, yes I intend to continue but it's time to move on from this saga. In the last 3 months or so I have touched on no other story. Allowing others off the hook would be a terrible injustice to the scoundrel of the moment and therefore move on I must. I hope to return to the subject as it should be fascinating to examine how a hallowed institution like the UOHC turned itself into a variety show and how its head topped the bill. But to paraphrase those infamous words uttered by Tony Hayward: I just want my blog back.
But before I move on I have a very important message and disclaimer to those out there who've been coming here for their daily fix of Hashkofe. THIS BLOG is not endorsed by gedoilim. It is not checked for worms. It is (or aims to be) 100% chodosh and yoshon is instantly rejected. (Followers of the Chasam Sofer, in particular, you have been warned.) Visiting this site for 40 consecutive days will not cure your dandruff and nor will it clear your acne (and if you are of that age you should watch it because you may come face to face with your Rosh.) We have no facilities for standing orders - though they can be arranged upon request. We cannot check you for genetic diseases unless laughter is your affliction. Leaving a comment with your and your mother's name will not resolve your halitosis but flossing still remains an option. Moreover, publicising your visits may leave you and your spouse unshuled and your kids unschooled and unmatched if not mismatched.
However, if despite the above you still wish to stay on then please mach zich heimish as we stay in Stamford Hill where we do not employ nannies to keep the unwashed on the doorstep.
A note on housekeeping
I will keep on placing source documents and translations as and when they are published and/or leaked. If the UOHC has more acts up its sleeve expect to read about it here. I will also publish comments though without new developments there is not much left to say.
Contrary to what some believe, I do not ‘censor’ comments but nor am I going to turn this into a gladiatorial arena. I like cogent commentary, honest analysis and, more than anything, good writing. Facts, less so. If your comment has not been published please send me an email as otherwise I cannot communicate with you. If you’re still unhappy feel free to set up on your own and I wish you the very best.
So where were we before we were rudely interrupted by a Beis Din that will/will not take place? A (no) Show Trial where the judges are brought kicking and screaming, the witnesses are nowhere to be seen and the guy in the dock is smirking like a combatant after a prize-winning wrestle. Stalin couldn’t even have thought this one up but they call it justice round here. They even had me fool standing at the door with a hand on the mezuzah returning thinking it was a final curtain call, but which turned out to be a fly-by-night Beis Din stuck on the runway.
Firstly, thanks for all the kind words and sentiments expressed. 'Mertshem by you,' you can see me nodding in all directions. 'Not at all, it was mamesh our pleasure. Ach don't be silly,' I say to those who insist on helping take home the half bottles of cherryade and unopened plonk because the waiters were under orders to hide the corkscrew openers. 'Loz, the goyim will look after it. Mach zich nisht narish.'
And now please excuse me for turning to my little baby, this precious blog of mine. Many of you who have been lapping it up for the last couple of months may not necessarily enjoy my wares once the blog reverts to type. Like the school 'principal' about town prancing around at every other mixed affair while his charges are made to add inches to their skirts and encouraged to form a habit of standing aside for men. Or the Buffoon who frets over the sight of women in a United Synagogue boardroom but will overhear nothing when one of his own is alleged to host them in his bedroom. Or the Chief who's happy to summon us to the stadium but keeps us out of the boudoir. And of course our institutions that are more interested in keeping face than losing clothes.
So turning to these newcomers, I am sorry to disappoint you but it ain't me you're looking for, babes. I am not a crusader and definitely not of the leshem shomayim variety. The only time I have had a positive experience with leshem shomayim was when I dined at a restaurant of that name in Nice in the South of France and that too was rather grubby with bird droppings from overhead trees. I'm afraid this blog adheres to the precepts of Mr JS Mill rather than the teaching of Rabbi YM Kagan/Poupko with no plans to switch sides in the foreseeable future. Truly shocking and I appreciate that, but I'd rather be upfront than fool you with a pile of Shmiras Haloshons stacked high at the entrance and then dish the dirt anyway.
A commenter wrote that apparently according to some rabbinical authorities martyrdom is preferable to a visit to this blog. I'd like to add that this is a view which I wholeheartedly endorse. May I even suggest that you set up a support group called Tickle Anonymous and arrange to meet at that famous bridge on Hornsey Road, conveniently located approximately half-way between Stamford Hill and Golders Green. There you can hold hands, of course each gender on either side of the bridge, and after a voluble Shema Yisroel surpassing even the one at the Royal Festival Hall in August, you can all go for a massive jump. Cheshunt should inter you and may even be willing to drown you for an extra fee but at least you'll be saved from transgressing the Sacred Articles of the Leyton Orient Convention.
I say this because we have reached a situation where on some days the entire Leyton Orient sell out crowd has been exceeded on this blog by 10am, and there they had the kiddies too. This would undoubtedly make it high up in the top 10 Chilul Hashems of all times and I simply cannot take this kind of achrayus on my narrow shoulders.
So to all you out there offended by satire, allergic to mirth or with ulcers that may rupture by an overdose of acerbity I have a simple message: Please abandon me, your Rav don't live here any more, assuming he ever did. (This, by the way, is a paraphrase of a kol isha which once again goes to show the terrible things that can happen by straying even accidentally onto this blog.)
I write for fun and maintain no standards other than my own. My moral compass contains only a south point and the moral high ground I occupy is on an altitude roughly parallel to the Dead Sea. I say this because the reaction to some posts and comments suggests that people may have got the wrong end of the towel. As its very name suggests, this blog is first and foremost about having a laugh and as it is written in the possuk הכי קרא שמו טיקל ויטקלני זה פעמים . (Is not he rightly named Tickle? for he hath tickled me these two times).
I also have an inkling that it is down the hill from Jack's Castle that most offence was taken and so let me make one further point: this is a Stamford Hill blog where we know how to laugh. I covered this story not because I am your Aslan but because besides an innate weakness for mischief making, I was interested in the local angle and not in the happy clappies on Bridge Lane. Of course, being in Stamford Hill I cannot not partake in the schadenfreude felt on this side of Nags Head at seeing your deity come crashing down. It's not nice and not at all kosher, I know, but nor is arm wrestling women with a towel and yet the Amshinovers engage in it with alacrity.
I simply could not have guessed at the contents of the Pandora's box about to be prised open. I did not and still do not understand all the dynamics of this saga. My experience of Golders Greeners is limited to the Normandie Hotel where like Germans on a Spanish resort spreading their towels early, you too grab all the seats and then bury your noses in your sidurim when we turn up after a mikve and coffee. Even shoving aside for us your, oh, so well behaved kinderlech, becomes too much. And now rabbis I'd barely heard of a few short months ago have turned into household names and individuals whose egos had hitherto not reached our retarded shores are suddenly all the rage.
Least of all did I understand the scores being settled and the accounts being balanced in this affair. I too was therefore taken aback at the sight of friend turning on friend and neighbour on neighbour in scenes not experienced since the Spanish Civil War. Though, happily, it wasn't Franco who succeeded this time. And so whether you have benefitted or lost out from all of this it's collateral as far as I'm concerned since Golders Green is not my forte and Hendon is outside my tchum.
So returning to the blog, yes I intend to continue but it's time to move on from this saga. In the last 3 months or so I have touched on no other story. Allowing others off the hook would be a terrible injustice to the scoundrel of the moment and therefore move on I must. I hope to return to the subject as it should be fascinating to examine how a hallowed institution like the UOHC turned itself into a variety show and how its head topped the bill. But to paraphrase those infamous words uttered by Tony Hayward: I just want my blog back.
But before I move on I have a very important message and disclaimer to those out there who've been coming here for their daily fix of Hashkofe. THIS BLOG is not endorsed by gedoilim. It is not checked for worms. It is (or aims to be) 100% chodosh and yoshon is instantly rejected. (Followers of the Chasam Sofer, in particular, you have been warned.) Visiting this site for 40 consecutive days will not cure your dandruff and nor will it clear your acne (and if you are of that age you should watch it because you may come face to face with your Rosh.) We have no facilities for standing orders - though they can be arranged upon request. We cannot check you for genetic diseases unless laughter is your affliction. Leaving a comment with your and your mother's name will not resolve your halitosis but flossing still remains an option. Moreover, publicising your visits may leave you and your spouse unshuled and your kids unschooled and unmatched if not mismatched.
However, if despite the above you still wish to stay on then please mach zich heimish as we stay in Stamford Hill where we do not employ nannies to keep the unwashed on the doorstep.
A note on housekeeping
I will keep on placing source documents and translations as and when they are published and/or leaked. If the UOHC has more acts up its sleeve expect to read about it here. I will also publish comments though without new developments there is not much left to say.
Contrary to what some believe, I do not ‘censor’ comments but nor am I going to turn this into a gladiatorial arena. I like cogent commentary, honest analysis and, more than anything, good writing. Facts, less so. If your comment has not been published please send me an email as otherwise I cannot communicate with you. If you’re still unhappy feel free to set up on your own and I wish you the very best.