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Review: Locust Walk Sukkah Far Jewier Than Expected


Photo by zeevveez / CC BY 2.0

So, last week I saw a sign for free matzah ball soup, the national past time of my people, outside the Locust Walk Sukkah and decided to indulge myself. It’d been years since I had a good ladle of the stuff. Free soup, and all I had to do was walk into some rickety tree shack? Count me in.

Like any self-hating Jew, I love me a good sukkah. Who wouldn’t want to spend the holidays in a cubic hut? All well and good. But who the fuck decided to make it so Jewy this year?

I didn’t realize that by entering this holy shanty, I was subjecting myself to a hellish flashback to every Sunday of my life until the age of fourteen.

For your enjoyment, here is a dramatized version of the exchange I had with the rabbi in the sukkah.

Me: Hey Mr. Rabbi Man. I am Jewish as you can tell from my isosceles nose, nasally voice, and general demeanor. I would therefore like a cup of your most lukewarm matzah ball soup please.

Rabbi:   So soup is your quest?

Well how bout a test?

Of your jewish knowledge

Is it the best?

Me: Um Sir Rabbi Guy I’m really not that kinda Jew. Like I know the ten plagues but I’m not painting lamb’s blood on my door or anything, you know what I’m saying?

Rabbi:   If you really do care

Then you’d do for me a prayer

Bless this soup you!

Or are you not really Jew?

Me: Look man, just give me the goddamn soup. I got class.

Rabbi:   Will you shake my lulav?

Or are you a fake jew mon?

Your synagogue from home?

Beth Judah? Rodef Shalom?

This soup is not free

The fee is talking to me

Just a little more banter

Kid, who was your cantor?

At that moment, I lost my will to fight the holy man. Ben from ZBT had already poured me my cup during my interrogation so I figured I’d grab it and go.

But oh no, hold the phone! He’s insisting I do the prayer. Okay, I kinda remember the hamotzi from sheer rote memorization. (I'm probably missing good childhood memories because my brain decided it’d rather me remember that blessing.)

I start doing it: “baruch...atah...etc,” my palms are sweaty already, I’m turning red. Except then Mr. Rabbi Guy decides to fucking swerve me after “ha’olam” and starts doing some whole new blessing. Sick flex, I guess?

After thoroughly embarrassing me in his cult shack, I turned around and left, matzah ball soup in hand. Overall, I give this Sukkah 4 out of 5 stars. The service is mean, but tbh that soup kinda slaps.