If You Tickle Us...

Stamford Hill has got itself into a lather once again. We're barely out of the last lather whatever that may have been, skirts have been lengthened by an eighth of an inch, Shabbos candles are being kindled 5 minutes earlier to atone for whatever it was that got us into that lather and to appease God to get us out of it, malicious talk is being avoided with ever greater intensity, psalms are being recited fervently everywhere from the doctors' surgery to the benefits advisor's waiting room, horses are being kept even further at bay and women have taken it upon themselves to recite the Song of Songs on the Sabbath eve. Not, heaven forefend, to get them going for the conjugal relations of the evening; that's what they wear their long flowing robes for. And it is precisely for this reason that Rebetzen Padwa has banned wearing them outdoors lest it incite in others what it's intended to arouse in its wearer's basherte . The Song of Songs rotas may however have b

News arrives of yet another ban. This time it's not the internet, DVDs, tight blouses, short skirts, walking on one or other side of the road but on walking out altogether. For the rabbis in their eternal wisdom have banned yeshive groups from hiring buses or other forms of transportation on Purim. They have cited the excuse of killjoys up and down the country, 'health and safety' and so killed the modicum of fun that is allowed once a year to penetrate our sacred square of the holy mile and have accomplished what even Haman was not capable of. Since they don't follow the news, except insofar as it concerns cuts to housing benefit, it appears that they have yet to hear that the Labour government has been out of power for almost a year and health and safety has been declared by the new government a 'music hall joke' . But then what’s a music hall? It is however hoped that having jumped onto the 'elf and saifty' bus more concern may now be shown for the

Here is an email doing the rounds today: We want FREEDOM! We don't want the Yiddisher Brotherhood to control us! We want the opportunity to carry on shabbos. We want the opportunity to have a selection of kashrus. We want the opportunity to run our shops as we wish. We don't want to pay rocket high prices for our meat. We don't accept the regime being in power so long unelected. We demand change! We need to topple these dominating leaders. We need a Tahrir Square protest. Leave us in peace! Get off our backs! Go, Go, Go. Get lost!! YES! WE MEAN YOU MESSERS PEE - (PADWA/PINTER)

If you live in Stamford Hill please turn away now. You are not supposed to know what I'm about to tell you and please don't quote this site when passing the message on because I don't want to get myself into trouble. I've written once before how some news items are not meant for us proles whose role in this world is to do as we're told, pay up when ordered to and shut up at all other times. Which is why what I'm about to tell you did not appear in the new look Jewish Tribune (more facelifts than Michael Jackson; more padding than a wonderbra) or in that other organ of hallowed trivia, the Hamodia. It did though appear in the goyishe , anti-semitic, chareidi- bashing JC so beloved of the 'rabbi' and our other noble institutions when they have an announcement to make to the Jew-ish community but prefer to leave the paying and kvetching community in blissful ignorance. Well, 2 weeks ago the communal life saver Hatzole held its annual reception . In cas

***Update below*** Yesterday the frum community in Antwerp went to the polls to elect a new rabbi. We, by contrast, were handed our rabbi on a plate in a graveyard. Quite literally. Ok the plate bit I made up but the graveyard is almost true and in fact the announcement was made at the previous rabbi’s funeral. Or as Wiki puts it “The honorary officers of the UOHC announced the appointment of his youngest son, Rabbi Ephraim, as the new rabbinical head of the community.” How we would have cheered had it not been during the summer holidays when we were sunning ourselves in some summer camp rechristened, if that’s the word, Stamford Hill-on-sea for a couple of weeks. Alas we weren’t there and the officers who are honorary in name and name only had the field to themselves. They could have appointed a frog and we would have followed every hop and croak while persuading ourselves that we are the envy of the world. So they chose a dinosaur instead and we should be grateful to them for t