It Couldn't Hurt

A Rabbi delivers the eulogy at a man's funeral.  
Old lady in the back row:  "Give him some chicken soup! Give him some chicken soup!"
Rabbi:  "Madame, it wouldn't help."  
Old lady:  "It couldn't hurt." 

This is one of my favorite jokes from "You Don't Have To Be Jewish."  I've loved it ever since I was a shy little knish, growing up in a humble village called Westwood. The idea that a sip of chicken soup might help the dearly departed sums up the eternal optimism (based on God-only-knows-what) that has kept Jews going, despite everything. Of course, I'd like to tell you that chicken soup has cured me of my lingering bronchitis, but sadly, it hasn't.  So at this stage, I need more than Jewish penicillin and Prednisone to get me over the hump.  But what? 

Things rarely said about the SJG:
"She's so holistic."
"She's all about natural remedies."
"She's Little Miss Homeopathic."
"She just had her chakras realigned." 

Oh, don't judge me, people.  I've been there, I've done that.  I've traveled that road.  I've tried it, I swear.  Acupuncture.  Potions.  Droplets under the tongue.  Yes, I even went through a brief-yet-ineffective acai berry phase.  That's right.  You heard me.  I drank the Monavie.  It did bupkis, I tell ya!  And yet, despite my crappy track record with this alternative stuff, yesterday, I slipped on my Toms and schlepped to Whole Foods, where I consulted a dude named Brett.

"Help me, Brett, help me.  Get me well, holistically and homeopathically.  Oh, please,  Brett.  It's up to you now."
"Elderberry."
"Again with the berries?"
"Elderberry helps boost your immune system."
"Does it, now?"
"It does."
"Oh, look, Elderberry gummy bears!  Me likey."
"I'd go with the syrup."
"Okay, Brett.  Let's do this, man. I mean it's probably a big waste -- "
"Uh, you might dial down the negativity.  This is Whole Foods."
"Oops, sorry.  I forgot where I was."
"It's cool."
"Gimme a bottle of your finest Elderberry."
"There you go.  Hope it helps."
"It couldn't hurt."