2/3/99
The
comic
rabbi
of
Holy-wood
You
have
to
go
to
haredi
Har
Nof
to
catch
the
best
show
in
town.
It's
free,
there's
no
minimum,
and
no
cover
(except
for
the
one
you
have
to
put
on
your
head).
It's
Rabbi
Dovid
Orlofsky's
shiur
(lecture),
and
it's
Torah
talk
with
a
twist:
it's
the
best
stand-up
comedy
east
of
the
Borscht
Belt.
"You
ever
see
the
typical
rabbi?"
Orlofsky
says
in
an
impromptu
interview.
He
affixes
a
puckish
expression
and
intones
monotonously:
"I'd
like
to
begiiiiiin.
With
a
humorous
storrrrry.
I'm
sure
everybody
will
enjoooooy.
There
was
a
ma--"
he
snaps
back
to
Orlofskiness:
"Sometimes
I'll
do
a
really,
really
funny
shiur,
people
will
be
on
the
floor,
and
they'll
say
to
me
later,
'what
a
powerful
message.'
And
I'll
say,
I
didn't
think
anyone
got
it."
He's
a
brilliant
performer:
the
timing,
the
body
language,
the
facial
expressions,
the
pregnant
pauses,
the
stage
presence
--
not
to
mention
great
material:
the
Torah...
"Moshe
Rabbenu,
from
the
time
he's
born
until
Parshas
Tetzaveh
(last
week's
Torah
portion),
is
in
every
single
parsha,
with
one
exception
--
Tetzaveh.
What
happened
to
him?
Why
is
he
left
out?"
And
so
Moshe
tries
to
strongarm
God.
"If
you
don't
forgive
the
Jewish
people,
erase
me
from
the
Book,
I'm
not
going
to
be
part
of
it.
And
God
says,
OK.
You
got
it.
I'll
erase
you
from
the
book.
"At
that
moment
it
was
decided
that
Moshe
is
going
to
be
left
out
of
one
portion
of
the
Bible.
But
if
you
had
to
pick
one
parsha
to
be
left
out
of,
you'd
also
pick
Tetzaveh.
"God
speaks
to
him,
and
he
says
Moshe,
I
want
you
to
go
tell
Pharaoh
to
let
my
people
go.
So
he
says
fine,
I'm
going.
But
--
I
have
a
few
questions.
And
he
argues,
and
discusses,
for
a
week!
For
a
week
Moshe
Rabbenu
is
arguing
with
God.
If
God
told
you
to
go
down
to
Egypt,
would
you
argue?
"So
Moshe
is
finishing
up
the
Torah,
and
he
comes
to
Tetzaveh,
and
he
realizes,
hey,
I'm
left
out.
My
name's
not
here.
He's
forgotten.
But
we
all
remember
...
that
he's
forgotten."
Orlofsky
is
wending
towards
the
subject
of
his
shiur.
He
weaves
through
a
cascading
litany
of
wit
and
wisdom
from
the
Torah
and
everyday
life.
Saturday
night,
this
included
the
Torah
portion,
a
comparison
of
the
kohen
and
the
Catholic
priest
("He
acts
as
a
buffer
between
people
and
God.
It's
not
very
different
from
your
average
Israeli
bureaucrat"),
anecdotes
of
bureaucratic
insanity,
the
challenges
of
aliya
("You're
called
an
oleh
because
the
ola
was
the
only
sacrifice
that
was
completely
consumed
--
the
burnt
offering"),
the
darndest
things
his
kids
say,
and
of
course
Purim.
And
somehow,
he
links
it
all
together
into
one
riveting
message
as
advertised
on
neighborhood
posters,
the
subject
of
his
shiur:
"The
Legacy
of
Al
Flosso."
Al
Flosso?
"When
my
father
passed
away,
I
had
to
decide
what
to
put
on
the
gravestone.
I
was
taking
a
very
long
time.
Y'know
I
always
say,
if
I
make
a
mistake,
it
doesn't
matter,
it's
not
etched
in
stone,
but
<IT>
this
<RO>
is
etched
in
stone.
And
they
said,
how
long
does
it
take
to
write
a
gravestone?
I
said
it
takes
a
long
time.
What's
his
legacy?
"That
brings
me
to
Al
Flosso.
"I
have
to
admit,
I
don't
think
a
shiur
ever
had
a
title
that
elicited
the
reaction
of
'The
Legacy
of
Al
Flosso.'
People
have
stopped
me
in
the
street
all
Shabbos.
They
don't
say
'Good
Shabbos,'
but
that's
normal.
They
just
come
to
me
and
say,
who's
Al
Flosso?
"Al
Flosso
was
a
vaudeville
magician.
When
I
was
a
kid,
my
father
took
me
to
his
store.
And
Al
Flosso
wanted
me
to
know
he
was
very
important.
He
showed
me
a
trick.
One
of
the
things
he
used
to
do
was
produce
a
feather
bouquet
[from
his
sleeve.]
He
says:
that's
my
move.
Blackstone
took
that
move
from
me.
That's
MY
move.
I
invented
that
move!
I
want
you
to
remember,
he
says
to
me,
kid
--
that's
my
move.
"A
few
years
later
he
passed
away
and
I
read
his
obituary
in
the
paper.
And
no
one
mentioned
..."
Orlofsky's
crowd
bursts
into
laughter.
"And
I'm
sure
he
was
looking
down
saying,
you
left
out
my
move!
"Now,
he
was
a
Jewish
man.
I
don't
know
if
he
left
behind
anyone
to
say
kaddish
for
him.
I
don't
know
if
he
gave
to
charity.
But
perhaps
I
should
mention
in
public,
that
it
was
really
Al
Flosso
who
invented
the
backhanded
feather
bouquet
move."
He
looks
heavenward.
"I
remember,
Al."
Grins
and
chuckles.
"That
was
Al's
move.
And
that
is
Al
Flosso's
legacy.
"What's
going
to
be
our
legacy,
what
are
they
going
to
write
on
our
gravestone?
Will
we
be
remembered
as
the
king
of
scrap
iron?
I
saw
that
once
in
an
obituary.
'The
king
of
scrap
iron.'
I
don't
remember
his
name,
forgive
me
(he
glances
heavenward).
What
a
legacy.
And
that's
what
we
all
read
in
shul
this
morning.
Three
psukim
[verses]."
"There's
going
to
come
a
time
when
Amalek
will
be
forgotten,
when
Moshiach
comes.
They
will
be
less
remembered
...
than
Al
Flosso."
ORLOFSKY
GIVES
his
age
as
"F-f-f-forty,"
and
shakes
his
head.
"It's
frightening.
I
used
to
picture
43
as
being
as
old
as
I
could
possibly
be."
He
says
he's
from
"Lon
gIsland,
the
Catholic
part."
He's
been
in
Israel
11
years
and
"I
can
just
make
myself
understood
in
Hebrew,
y'know,
by
yelling."
He's
big
and
beefy,
suggesting
that
perhaps
there's
more
than
borscht
behind
is
belt.
He's
been
"playing"
Zichron
Yosef
Synagogue
for
three
years,
and
word
has
gotten
around.
On
Saturday,
there
were
about
70
men
--
almost
all
