The Jews of Nascar

This girl and I were driving this morning at a high rate of speed on a cold and almost empty road and I got to thinking, I know almost nothing about Nascar. I made a mental not to come home and learn more about motor sports.

I have yet to do any research whatsoever, but here is the gross generalization I am comfortable with so far, there are no Jews in Nascar. That much is a given. What I found fascinating with this fact that I made up is that Jews are incredibly bad drivers, as witnessed by a recent conversation with my incredibly neurotic and self hating non-Jewish Jewish brother.

“How is Florida,” I asked.

“I hate it here,” he complained in that whiney way that only Jews can get away with. I asked him why and he said because he can not drive fast and again I asked why and he said, and this is key, so pay attention, “all the old Jews in their big cars, driving 15 miles per hour.”

I had one of those Ah-Ha moments and I said ah-ha and he asked me why I said Ah-Ha but I hung up the phone. It’s always important to take a moment in the midst of an Ah-Ha moment and enjoy it alone. I did that and then I took out my little notebook that I take everywhere with me and noted that Jews drive slowly in Florida.

This morning I was driving super fast and probably dangerously so, when I noticed a beautiful cross on the side of the road. I said to the female passenger sitting next to me if she too had noticed the beautiful cross on the side of the road and she said she had not. By that time another one was approaching, this one even nicer than the last. The first one was actually kind of slummy compared to this new one, the first being a couple of pieces of wood and some flowers, this one more permanent looking one, I am guessing it was constructed of cement and adorned with some sort of inlaid memorabilia, but because of my high rate of speed and lack of real interest, I can not attest to the authenticity of the cross other than its existence.

I pointed out the nicer one and my passenger said, “that is a nice cross.” I almost stopped. It had slowly dawned on me with the first one, but the second one, the one made of cement had ironically cemented it for me. “Have you ever seen a Star of David road side memorial?” I asked my passenger

No she had not. Neither had I. I began to wonder. In my life I have probably driven close to a million miles, maybe 17 million in total, who knows these things? Really, at this point I was onto something big and the amount of miles I had accumulated in my lifetime was meaningless. I called my friend Moishe, a Rabbi in Brooklyn who is not allowed to answer his cellphone on Saturdays because he is all seriously a Jew, unlike me, who is a Jew by circumcision and not much else, although when the new Nazi’s come hunting, I am pretty sure my scared penis will be enough for entrance in the new improved camps. He answered on the first ring.

Me; “I thought you did not answer your phone on Saturdays.”

Moishe; “I saw it was you calling, I figured this was important. Lately when you call, it is a tumor, a disease, a dead child, a murder spree, or your cat is having kittens.”

Me; “Important stuff again. Have you ever known of a Jew to create a roadside memorial after a tragic automobile accident?”

Moishe; “What are you talking about? Have you been in such an accident?”

Me; “No, not everything is about me.”

Moishe; “Usually when you call, it is always about you.”

Me; “Not this time, praise Jesus.”

Moishe; “What did you say?”

Me; “Nothing. Accidents. Anyone you know, any Jews you know, fatal accident, do they create roadside memorials?”

Moishe; “Why?”

Me; “What do you mean why?”

Moishe; “Why would we do such a thing?”

Me; “Did you just answer a question with a question?”

Moishe; “Did you?”

Me; “You did it again.”

Moishe; “Are you driving and calling me at the same time?”

Me; “I am.”

Moishe; “When you crash and die, would you like me to create a road side memorial including a Star of David?”

Me; “No, of course not, that would be so crass.”

Moishe; “My point exactly.” And he hung up.

I called back immediately and he answered, strangely enough, without it ringing.

Moishe; “ What?”

Me; “Have you ever heard of a Jewish Nascar driver?”

Moishe; “What is Nascar?”

This time, I hung up.