You Don't Have To Be Irish

Top of the morning to ya!

Shalom and begorra! It's St. Patrick's Day, doncha know! Festive and fun and whiskey-driven, this holiday has absolutely no meaning in my life, on any level. I wouldn't know how to behave at a St. Patrick's Day Parade if you paid me. But if you'd like to pay me, I will attend your parade of choice and behave however you want me to. I will do a jig if necessary. I will perform "Riverdance" for you, or at least a very poor imitation thereof. Yes, that's how easy I am. Hebraically-speaking, not that I can speak Hebraically, but if I could, I'd like to read a passage from the Torah about the meaning of St. Patrick's Day. I'm pretty sure it's in there somewhere, but I don't have time to hire an important Talmudic scholar, or even a semi-important one, to investigate. You see, my friends, today's blog is just about over. Don't cry. I'll be back tomorrow. But now I must go in search of four-leaf clovers. If can't find a four-leaf, I'll settle for a three-leaf, I'm not that picky. Basically, my friends, I'm off to find that elusive pot o' gold. If I can't find it, on account of it being elusive, I'll settle for a little bit o' luck, Irish or otherwise.