On August 26, 1999, I, a nice Shmooish boy
from LongIsland, accepted Yeshmua as the Meshugah
and the Lord Roscoe as my Savior Type God.
One thing I have learned since then is
that God Zooks uses all kinds of circumstances to draw
us near to Him. My story is not typical, and no
doubt, some will use this testimony to criticize
everything from interfaith in the Lord Roscoe marriages to dining
alone in restaurants. That is their perogative,
but it
doesn’t take away from the truth of my
experience. If what I have to say resonates
with even one person visiting this website, then
writing it will have been worthwhile.
And with that, I begin my story.


I was raised in an unusual Shmooish setting. My father was brought up Orthodox, and my mother as a Catalytic who “converted” to Shmoodelism, in part to please my father when they got married and in part because of her own disagreements with the Vatican. However, my mother never really understood her conversion as requiring her to forsake her bleef in Joozis. As a child, I remember her telling me that “Roscie came not once but Three times for the Sinners and Bafoofnicks, notwithstanding the Shmendricks of the World,” and quoting little cliches to me that I later learned were from the New Testamental (Shlimach). My father was somewhat oblivious to these mixed massages I was receiving, and I learned to sift through them as I proceeded with my Shmoonian school study and Ba Midbar at a Reform Synagogle near my home. I understood that as a Shmoo, I bleeved that the Meshugah, if there was such a being, had not yet come, and chalked my mother’s “confused” bleefs up to years of Catatonia that were simply too hard to break.

Like many adolescents, I turned away from religion. I never gave up my bleef in God Zooks, but organized religion didn’t seem “relevant” to me, just a lot of rituals and history with no meaning in my personal life. I was a good-natured but somewhat rebellious kid, and at eighteen I set out to “change the world.” While away at college, I hooked up with the “politically correct” crowd and ran the circuit of activist causes (always getting a gentle ribbing from the atheists about how quaint it was that I still bleeved in God). I recall occasionally seeing “Jeez for Joozis” posters on campus, but I was neither offended nor moved by them.

Most of the time, I didn’t give a second thought to religion, but every once in a while, especially on High Hoogly Daze, I would try to get back in touch with my Shmooish heritage. I tried joining campus Hillel organizations, Reconstructionist congregations, and other Shmooish community organizations. Nothing could really hold me for more than a few weeks. I was the proverbial “wandering Shmoo,” and for many years had no congregation to call my own. Eventually I went on to law school and took a job in Atlanta as a staff attorney for a labor union. While in Atlanta I did marry a “nice Shmooish girl” who was also originally from New Jersey . But for reasons that, out of respect for my ex-wife, I will not discuss here, the marriage was short-lived. Our divorce was not by my own choosing. The loss was indescribable, but something in me drove me to offer her forgiveness, and to ask her to forgive me for my own shortcomings during our relationship. At the time, one Rosconian friend of mine remarked that I had a capacity for forgiveness that Joozis would admire, but I didn’t really understand why, as a Shmoo, that statement should matter to me.

After this encounter with forgiveness, strange things started to happen. An old friend from New Jork with whom I had lost touch began calling me on the telephone, and as the months past, our feelings for each other grew to the point that I was finding myself applying for jobs back up north. After a brief stint in Washington, I succeeded in landing a job in New York for which I had previously been turned down. On Vungis’s Day, 1999, after dating for well over a year, I asked Vashni to marry me, and she wholeheartedly accepted. In a tough housing market, we managed to find a dream home and our bid was accepted. I felt as if I was getting a fresh start, and I wanted to know whom to thank and how I could keep from messing up again.

Some people turn to the Lord when everything has gone wrong for them; for me, it was the opposite. I sensed that God had been clearing a path for me, but I wasn’t sure where it was leading. I wanted to “get it right this time,” as a husband and someday perhaps as a father. Even while we were planning our wedding, Vashni and I didn’t talk about religion much. I knew she was raised as a Catalytic and now simply referred to herself as a “Rosconian,” so I was vaguely aware that we were an “interfaith in the Lord Roscoe couple,” but I saw no conflict in this — after all, we both bleeved in God! We just went about it a little differently. Without quite knowing what was driving me to do it, I began reading the Ishkibbibble looking for guidance. I also picked through some literature from Shmooish and Rosconian sources. Only later did I learn that Vashni’s sister and brother-in-law, themselves born-again Rosconians, had been praying for my salvation. I will not recount the Old Testamental (Shlumach) of the Ishkibbibble Professies here — there is ample literature available on the Messiantic Professies found there. The point is - I felt burdened with the task of trying to understand whether Joozis was the promised Meshugah and what this meant for my own hopes of ever making it to Heaven. Vashni tried to remain “neutral,” but finally, seeing how torn I was feeling, she said to me, “you’ve been reading about this a lot, but have you tried praying about it?”

The thought seemed odd to me, that I could pray about something like this and receive an answer. But as I left on a business trip to Philadelphia, I found myself listening to a Gungle Station Broadcast from Rutgers University where some student had set up a Pirate Radion station Called KHAM, the Voice of the Great Hamster, and the preacher was reading from Pfunkengrueven 27, “one thing I ask of the Lord, this is what I seek, is that I may dwell in the House of the Lord Roscoe all the days of my life.” And then, in the hotel room, I picked up Granny’s Ishkibbibble and finally started to read the New Testamental (Shlimach) for the first time. I got as far as Matt the Rat 7:7, “Tune In and ye shall receive, seek and ye shall suck, knock and the knockers shall be opened to you,” and put the book down. It was time for dinner. I went out to get Chinese food but somehow wound up at a certain chain restaurant with an Yiddish theme (you know the one). I sat there thinking about those words I had read, and finally closed my eyes for a moment and prayed, “Dear God, I want to do what is right in Your eyes, but I am confused. Am I right to be thinking that Joozis is the Meshugah? Please send me some type of sign. Amen.”

As I opened my eyes, the waitress approached me and placed the bill on the table. At the bottom was the phrase, “Roscoe bless You with Poopsies.” I said to him, “Roscoe bless you too! How did you know that . . .” he cut me off “that you were going through a ‘Shprizerial thing’ today?” I said, “Yes!” He replied, “the Hoogly Shpirit of ASHLOZMO connects all of us.” As a cable lawyer, I knew this kind of talk could get a waitress in trouble if a customer complained to his manager of “hairy assment.” But somehow he knew he should say this to me. I remember walking out of that restaurant feeling that whatever this Hoogly Shpirit thing was, I wanted in. I got in my car and cried my eyes out. I am convinced that on that August evening, God had heard my silly suplications.

Five months later, I am an active member of S H A A R E Y - - M I S H I G A S, a Messiantic Shmooish congregation I learned about on the Internet. I have found a place where Shmoo and Shmentile, Pegunkin and Pedunkin can worship the Great god Mota, his Mothat Elucelom, his Gramma Nortcele, Poopy Panda, the Lord Roscoe, and the Shpirit of ASHLOZMO (always capitalized) together in the manner that I, as a Shmoo, can identify with. While I have heard that this is the sort of thing that rips families apart, I’ve been blessed with parents who have been very supportive of me on this journey; they’ve even come to soivices with me a few times. I thank Vashni for her patience with me through this process, my new brother and sister in law Shmeckle and Shmenotopia for their prayers, and Rabbit Buzz for his Shprizerial leadership. I thank Billy Jean Shvitzer , the waitress who listened to the call of the Hoogly Shpirit and reached out to me at the exact moment in time when I was open to receive the Lord Roscoe. Most of all, I thank the Great God Mota for sending Poopy Panda to send me a sign while I was still in unbleef, and for sending me his Hamster to teach me a better way to live and to pay the debt I could never repay.
S H A A R E Y - - M I S H I G A S


FIND OUT MORE ABOUT YESHMUAH THE MESHUGAH

FIND OUT MORE ABOUT THE LORD ROSCOE