8/5/98

If All the Haredim DID Join the Army

Well, it's what we want, isn't it?

    General Nimrod was in a bad mood. That was not unusual. He was born in a bad mood, and it never improved. But today, General Nimrod was badder'n bad, he was ugly.  
    Supreme commanders of the IDF aren't supposed to be nice, because nice guys don't win wars, and that was Nimrod's job. The only reason we have a peace process going -- so they say 'round the water cooler in the War Room -- is the Arabs don't want to get this guy mad.
    So you can imagine how eager the other generals were when Nimrod summoned them for an emergency meeting at half-past three that morning. (Nimrod sleeps only 20 minutes a day, and one of those minutes happens to be half-past three.)
    "War," whispered General Shabtai Shtut to General Bombo "Nero" Neromanchik as they sprinted to HQ. "It's gotta be."
    "Iraq," muttered General Moti "Monty" Gomeri, and a general debate ensued.
    "Syria."
    "Iran."
    "The bastards. Nimrod'll show 'em."
    Six men took their places at the cast-iron table, and the door was locked. Six men swallowed hard.
    From where they knew Nimrod must be -- you were asking for trouble if you looked at him -- a presence arose and snapped the stillness.
    "Shut up!" he thundered. (He was addressing his clattering medals.)
    Oh God, we've been invaded, thought Gomeri. Nimrod heard.
    The supreme commander paused for effect -- the effect he usually got, if he paused long enough, was whimpering -- and finally, finally, he spoke as only Nimrod can.
    "Never!
    "Have I!
    "Faced!
    "The danger!
    "I face!
    "Today!"
    It was a charming pecadillo: when Nimrod said "I" he meant the Jewish State.
    "I!
    "Am!
    "Under!
    "Siege!"
    Nimrod spoke deliberately. It was now five-fifteen.
    Shtut could take no more. His beloved nation was being annihilated and the army was sitting on its duff while this palooka waxed his oratorio. He lurched upward. "Then we must do something and fast!" he shouted, then threw up.
    Nimrod glowered at all six generals simultaneously. "It is too late," he said, sounding frighteningly normal. "The entire army has been captured."
    "The Arabs have --"
    Nimrod cut Shtut off. "No," he said hoarsely. "The haredim have."
    Nimrod glanced to a corner of the room, where, heretofore unnoticed, a stooped, scruffy old man sat, looking suspiciously civilian. He wore strange black clothes, a funny black hat, and ... a beard.
    A beard in the War Room!
    The old man jumped to his feet and approached the generals. "Sholem aleichem," he said, real friendly.
    "Gentlemen," Nimrod said, "my replacement."
    Well! A more turbulent silence you've never heard. Neromanchik thought he felt a giggle coming on, but he'd never seen one before so he couldn't be sure.
    The old man checked his watch. "Oy. Let's get on with this. It's soon time to daven.
    "My name is Reb Yerach--" he chuckled "-- I keep forgetting: General Reb Yerachmiel Katzenellenboigen. Please call me Rebbe.
    "I know this may be a bit of a surprise for you, but why I don't know: for 50 years you've been khakking a tchainik for the haredim to join the army, and last Shabbos we decided, nu, we'll join the army. Every last one of us.
    "Like the Plonsk Rebbe said, if we can put a few men in the Zionist government and run things there, we can put a few men in the Zionist army and run things there too."
    "Haredim in the army, yes," Gomeri shouted, "a little here and there. But what you're saying -- God help us!"
    "Precisely. As of now, you're in God's hands. You can relax: all the hard work you generals do, all the worry, from now on, The Holy One Blessed Be He will take care of everything. Can that be a bad thing?"
    "Are we being relieved of our duties?"
    "No, of course not! Just -- how do you call it? -- reassigned a little. Mr., uh, what's your name?"
    "General Bombo Neromanchik OC Northern Command, sir."
    "Good. You're in charge of redeployment. Send all the girls home, where they can make more soldiers. You have until mincha. You with the nice buttons --"
    "General Shabtai Shtut, OC Southern Command, sir."
    "The south is safe, we have synagogues down there, you can stay here and get a good price for new uniforms."
    "Uh, new uniforms, sir?"
    "You want to tell me you like green? Every goyish army has green. If we want a Jewish army, it's going to look Jewish. Like me. From tomorrow, every soldier will wear black."
    "But sir!"
    "I know, it's a little different, but you'll get used to it. Black clothes are very good for night fighting. So we won't fight during the day."  
    "Yes sir. Anything else, sir?"
    "Yes: effective immediately, the entire army goes home for Shabbos."
    "But that's unthinkable!"
    "You can win a war against the whole Arab world in six days, no? From now on, if we have to make a war, we start on Sunday morning, and that's an order.
    "Next: food. Throw everything out. Before anyone eats breakfast this morning, every army utensil will be koshered, every cup of botz will be inspected by my army of rabbinical supervisors. You, with the bare head, you'll be in charge.
    "This will be some army. All these years our brightest minds have been preparing for this, learning military analysis from the greatest warriors, from Samson to Joshua. Go to any yeshiva, they'll be happy to give you advice.
    "You've got all these tough soldiers doing pushups and situps, but they don't know anything. What's a man with muscles going to do if the Amalek sends us missiles? The strongest Jew in the world is going to stop the puniest Syrian tank? Gentlemen, we have the Yiddishe kop, our greatest weapon!
    "Which is why from now on every soldier will stop running around in the hot sun, and will report to the nearest yeshiva."
    "Will there be anything else sir?"
    The General Rebbe looked at his watch. "Yes. We're short a minyan. Get me two more generals, on the double. I assume no one here has davened yet?"
    No one had.
    "Uh, sir?"
    It was General Nimrod.
    "I -- I don't know how to pray."
    "That's OK," smiled the new supreme commander. "I don't know how to fight."