If you agree with my theory that Spongebob Squarepants is the devil, or at the very least, a dumbass idea drummed up by some cartoon network exec jacked up on high fructose corn syrup, then you’ll love Hamas’ version of the Mickey Mouse Club. It’s chilling, but only half as much as the comments.

Thankfully, Palestinian American comedian Ray Hanania provides a sane voice in response to this truly disturbing clip. Surely Disney has grounds for a lawsuit, though it’s unlikely Hamas and Gaza’s people could be bankrupted any further.

When kids are served up paranoia, hate and murderous suggestions with their entertainment, it makes the corporate America drive to brainwash our children into becoming mindless, obese consumers seem rather tame, don’t it?

Still, pretty much all kids’ programming not on PBS frightens me, AK-47s or no. In California, we had no TV reception; the kids didn’t even know you could just turn the thing on and not have to feed it a DVD. Here at the new Yenta central, we’ve made the executive decision to go back to our TV-less ways and not subscribe to any cable, which means we get two major networks, the all-day all-Jesus channel and a Spanish station that alternates between soccer and boxing. Videos are rented or checked out from the library, which keeps the kidlets away from the commercials advertising plastic chozzerai and toxic blue juice boxes. I do miss Jon Stewart and Bill Maher, I admit. But it’s a worthy sacrifice if that evil sponge’s face never enters my livingroom.

Yikes. As I sit here in my favorite (and the only) free trade coffeeshop in Savannah, I’m listening to a man with a big belly talk Jesus and sin to a young man whom I don’t know well but has a distinctively Jewish last name. In spite of my seasoned eavesdropping skills, I can’t be positive that he’s trying to convert him, but it’s certainly what it sounds like. Either that, or he’s trying to enroll him in multi-level marketing. Excuse me…

So of course being the crazy obnoxious yenta I am, I had to go over to the young guy after his companion bailed and find out what the what was goin’ on. Turns out the dude didn’t need saving from being saved — he was raised in an Orthodox home in Nashville, Tennesee and has his Jewish identity firmly in place. He’d accidentally invited the man’s Christian commentary by wearing a Jesusy t-shirt — in a totally ironic way — and was being polite while the man ranted. He was with an adorable girl, who giggled “Anyway, Jesus doesn’t play klezmer and we do.” The two of them have been hanging around Savannah since their bus broke down a few months ago (eep, sounds familiar. Careful, kids, 12 years might slide by…) They’ve been absorbed into the local hipster scene and play music for tourists when they’re not trying to fix their vehicle.

The kid’s a real mensch — he was just as polite with me while I apologized for thinking I was Ms. Jewish Intervention Specialist Superhero. I explained that I feel rather protective of Judaism’s young people, those who didn’t grow up in homes that practice traditions, teach Torah and tell stories. I know there’s a Jews for Jesus chapter somewhere around these parts, and I couldn’t sit by and let a wandering Jew fall into the bogus trap that salvation comes by giving up one’s birthright of a 5760-odd year ongoing story.

I’m particularly senstive about keeping our kids in the fold since I taught Sunday school for the first time a few days ago. I was subbing for the regular teacher, so maybe my first grade charges (all girls, except for my son) were shy, but they didn’t seem to understand why they were there. First thing I tried to start off with how I remember Hebrew school, with a big loud round of “Hinei Ma Tov,” but my kid and I were the only ones singing. I finally got a whispery verse out of them, only after I told them to pretend they were on “American Idol” and I was Paula Abdul.

After a brief but enthusiastic cheer on how great it is to be Jewish, I stuck to the lesson plan. We went over the Hebrew letter of the day (“yud,” as in “Shalom, yeladim) and the upcoming holiday of Shavuot, commemorating when God gave Moses the tablets and the Torah, which led to a semi-lively discussion of the Ten Commandments, though none of the girls had heard that there are another 603. It’s not like I learned that in Hebrew school either — in fact, I don’t remember much except the prayers themselves, even though I attended every Sunday from the age of six until my bat mitzvah. But I had to work not to let my frusturation show when I asked the name of the queen from the Purim shpiel and got blank stares. Throughout the day, I did everything I could to bring life to the story of Moses on the mountain, to keep repeating the names of Aaron and Miriam, to praise God and the Torah and the laws given to us so that our world could be a more civil place. I can only hope they retained something.

This is definitely not a critique of the teacher or the school itself — it’s a beautiful place with an enthusiastic, intelligent staff made up of respected community members and is run by a progressive, kind gentleman who is open to my zany ways. There was a fabulous Israeli dance session (I haven’t pranced “Mayim” for ages!) with another teacher and the older kids know their aleph-bet through and through. I’m very honored to be a part of the school and I’m so excited to get my own classroom in the fall (if I still have the job after this post.)

But something seems to be missing from Reform/Conservative Jewish education, and it was missing from my own Reform “religious” school — it just doesn’t seem that spiritual. It’s wonderful to teach history and culture and make cool crafts like havdalah spice boxes out of milk cartons, but where is the love? The joy of being Jewish? It’s almost like the Chassids have the monopoly on the “praise God, let’s dance” practice, leaving the rest of us to contend with the historical and social complexities of being Jewish in America, a struggle that many kids understandably become bored with and wander away from as they become adults. There’s got to be a spiritual or some other meaningful context to touch the hearts — not just the intellect — of Jewish little ones.

I’m just kinda ranting here, and it could be that those blank faces mean that I’m just a crappy teacher. But I worry about the future of these kids — why should being Jewish matter to them? How can I make it matter? Why does it matter to me, why does it matter to you? As I’ve said before, I’ve learned more about Judaism in the past three years writing this blog than what I learned at Hebrew school and summer camp combined. If I weren’t doing this, would my son know all the lyrics to Matisyahu’s “King Without A Crown” and know that Moses stuttered?

Rabbi Shmuely had a piece in yesterday’s JPost that says maybe the Jews ought to start go against our traditional view of proselytizing — I say we need to put a whole lot more focus into keeping the ones we got.

In the meantime, I’m thinking about getting a cape and a mask and stalking the guy with the big belly should he decide to talk anymore Jesus to any Jewish kids.

According to Undercover.com, rumors that Sacha Baron Cohen will be starring as the similarly-moustachioed Freddie Mercury in an upcoming biopic about legendary rock band Queen are “pure hokum.” Yet, still the idea persists…

Supposedly SBC was first passed over by, then snagged the role from Johnny Depp, who would undoubtably infuse Freddie’s Spandexified strut with the same signature weirdness he brought to Willy Wonka and Captain Jack Sparrow. But can SBC do the man who waxed bohemian rhapsodic justice without putting in too much Borat?

And speaking of too much Borat, apparently the glorious nation of Kazakstan has forgiven him for his less-than lovely portrayal of ts citizens, or at least won’t drown his family members in gypsy tears: The West Kazakhstan Philharmonic Orchestra chose his real-life blood brother, Erran Baron Cohen, to compose a 16-minute orchestral piece titled “Zere.” Check it out — the reporter says the professional musician resembles his brother, only with “the hyperactivity turned down a bit.”

Yo, Yenta!

What’s a nice Jewish girl to do?

Yo, NJG!

I shall answer your first question first: Yes. At 23, you couldn’t possibly understand what it means to be bitter and cynical. At 43, when you’re living in a studio with eight cats you might, but honey, you’re barely legal from my vantage point. Plenty of time to find the Jewish prince of your dreams — and that’s what it’s going to take: Time.

See, at 23, most males, Jewish or not, should still be classified as children. (I have met all of two exceptions; one is gay, the other already married.) Even if you’re able to stick a toe into the pool of over-25rs, you’d be hard-pressed to find someone unscathed by childhood with a great job and an endless bag of jokes that don’t make you cringe. And most of us are immature and dull at least some of the time, not matter how old we get.

The thing about this beshert thing is that it’s in God’s hands — ya can’t speed up the process, you can only have faith. Maybe he (and you!) need more time to mellow, to have experiences that will shape you into better people, to sow the wild oats of one’s 20’s. So cultivate patience, acceptance and a friendly relationship with the moment happening to you right now. Not only will these qualities help you with frusturation of being single, they will aid you in once that relationship once it comes along. Which I can almost guarantee won’t be quite as idealistic as you might imagine. When you’ve been married for ten years and are picking up his wet towels off the wood floor for the fifitieth time this week, that studio with the giant litter box might seem quite attractive.

The good news is that you’re only 23! Go to Bali with just a backpack, work on your thesis at 3am, keep dating but take your own car, explore your Jewish identity and practice. All these things will lead you to wherever and with whomever you’re supposed to be — stop kvetching and enjoy yourself.

My son came home from school last week asking a question that I’ve been dreading: “Can I join the Cub Scouts? Can I can I can I? There’s a meeting at 6:30 tonight!” El Yenta Man and I exchanged a look, and my husband told the boy that we’d talk about it later. Fortunately, he hadn’t brought home any information about where the meeting was to take place, so we conveniently missed it.

It’s not that I have anything against organized activites or nerdy blue uniforms, but I have a real problem with the Boy Scouts of America’s policy of banning gay people from their organization. As socially-sensitive Jew, I feel a a duty to oppose discrimination where I can, which means my kid is not going to participate in a group that excludes certain parts of the population based on prejudice. (Of course, plenty of Jewish scouts feel differently.)

“But he doesn’t need to know about all the politics. He’d learn to make a lanyard. And his friends are already in it,” El Yenta Man pointed out, playing Devil’s advocate.

“Yeah, but how would [our dear friends] Christopher and Daniel feel? Not to mention Hannah and Emily? We’d be hypocrites. We’re from San Francisco, for Pete’s sake! He can learn how to be prepared on his own. We provide plenty of time in nature for our kids, and I don’t it’s right for him to learn ‘leadership’ from people who preach intolerance. Big. Fat. No F*ckin’ Way.”

My husband agreed wholeheartedly, and we went into the other room to deliver the news to our son that he’d be skipping this activity. “You mean, like I can do it next year?” Skipping it indefinitely, kid. “But whhhhyyyyyy?” came the whine.

“Because it just doesn’t fit into our family’s values,” I said, expecting to have to go uncomfortably far into the regions of sexuality. He knows that Christopher and Daniel are boyfriend and boyfriend and that’s totally cool, and that little Abe has two mommies and how rad is that, but he hasn’t put body parts together and I’d like to keep it that way as long as I can.

Surprisingly, he took this without any need for further explanation, with a nod and an uncharacteristically simple “Okay.”

With it already settled, El Yenta Man asked him why he wanted to join the Scouts so badly in the first place. His eyes kind of brightened up and he said “Oh, you can earn all kinds of little patches that you can sew onto stuff!”

Forget soapbox derby, it’s the accessories he likes? I have nothing to say to that excepts that we stand by our decision, all the way.

*Photo from Tom Shepard’s award-winning documentary Scout’s Honor, about BSA’s anti-gay policies.