C.G. called me.
I was out in the back talking to Shorty who’ll be leaving tomorrow.
He’d only come for about two weeks and I’m grateful to have seen
him Thursday with Dov, then at the Havdahal service on the
previous Shabbat.

I was out in the back because the veranda had two trashy girls
the Hippo had rented to who spread themselves all over the place.

We were talking about the Shul and the wars, and stuff that is
in this blog that he’s never read, and when he left I noticed two
missed calls.

One was from C.G. who had left a message.

Shorty had spoken with just about everyone.  Handpuppet
complained, C.G. had complained, Ratty had complained,
everyone had complained about everyone else.

This is the handiwork of C.G.

I knew who and what he was from the first day.
My voice went unheard.
I watched him destroy and disrupt and now…now that
he realises there is no longer a congregation he can
talk to Dov, he can try to talk to me.

I have nothing to say.

Oh, two years ago….one year…I had something to say.
It might have made a difference.

Now it is over.
The congregation has been destroyed.

Oh, I’m sure on Friday Old Dawg and Buddah and Actress
arrive in Buddah’s car and stride as if there are a thousand
spectators.

I’m sure Ratty enters wrapped in his tallis as if he’s really
the President.

Few seats are filled; maybe observers from a church, maybe
some whack job whose looking for whatever, but few Jews
enter that place.

And C.G. wants to talk to me as if I can help…