See, the Jews have this thing.
Yahweh, or whatever they call their Sky God,
keeps a list like Santa Claus.
You know, who’s been naughty and nice.
But before He puts it in your Permanent Record
and doles out the lumps of coal
He gives you one more chance
to set things straight.
So to get ready for this one day each—
they call it Yom Kippur
but it’s hard to pin down because
it wanders around the fall calendar
like an orphan pup looking for its ma—
the Jews run around saying they are sorry
to every one they fucked over last year
and even to those whose toes
they stepped on by accident.
The trick is, they gotta really mean it,
None of this “I’m sorry if my words offended” crap,
that won’t cut no ice the Great Jehovah.
And they gotta, you know, make amends,
do something, anything, to make things right
even if it's kind of a pain in the ass.
Then the Jews all go to Temple—
even the ones who never set foot in it
the whole rest of the year
and those who think that,
when you get right down to it,
that this Yahweh business is pretty iffy—
and they tell Him all about it.
First they blow some kind old goat horn
to get His attention.
And they pray, man do they ever pray,
for hours in a language that sounds
like gargling nails
that most of ‘em don’t even savvy.
When it’s all over, they get up and go home
feeling kind of fresh and new.
If they did it right that old list
was run through the celestial shredder.
Then next week, they can go out
and start fucking up again.
It sounds like a sweet deal to me.
Look, I’m not much of one for hours in the Temple,
an hour on Sunday morning
when the choir sings sweet
is more than enough for me, thank you.
And I have my serious doubts about this
Old Man in the Sky crap.
But this idea of being sorry and meaning it,
of fixing things up that I broke
and starting fresh
I think I’ll swipe it.
I’ll start right now.
To my wife Kathy—
I’m sorry for being such
a crabby dickhead most of the time…
Anybody got a horn?