The Rabbi Works His Magic

   - I'll make a deal with you. You let me keep my books here and you can wrap your strings around my arm.
- O.K.
- What do you get out of this?
- Good will come.
- Magically.
- Yes. You don't believe?
- That God likes my arm wrapped up in strings while I repeat words in a language I don't understand?
- Yes.
- The magic is supposed to be for you anyway, not me. It was like you sending me to stay with the Beverly Hills kid. God rewarded you for it, but not me.
- How was it?
- That kid! He and his medical marijuana sleepover friend. Every night they say they have no money, they're hungry, they haven't eaten all day, would I buy them food? This in their fourteen hundred dollars a month apartment.
- His mother pays.
- Yeah, and when finally I'd had enough and wouldn't pay he told me to go, and next thing I know he's coming back from the store with a bag full of groceries.
- What does he do with the money his mother gives him?
- What else? Buys drugs.
- I feel bad for him.
- Why do you care?  He's the usual drug addict.
- His father died, his mother was sick. It's not his fault.
- Nothing is anyone's fault. Anyway the magic you want to work on him is supposed to do you good, not him. The strings go from you to me to him.
- I would like to help him.
- He's just someone in trouble you can work your magic on when he comes for a free meal. Are we through? The stings are very tight.
- All done.