From: jacobw@phoenix.Princeton.EDU (Jacob Solomon Weinstein)
Subject: Re: use the tunes
Originator: news@nimaster
Organization: Princeton University
Date: Sun, 3 Jan 1993 04:16:23 GMT

I know this is a bit late, but I just got back from my winter vacation
and saw the Jewish lyrics to Jingle Bells. I though you-all might find
the following poem amusing...

"Santa Up The Flue," 
by Jacob Weinstein
The outlook wasn't brilliant for Tim Smith that late December;
with hours left till Christmas, he knew Dad would not remember
to buy for him a choo-choo train, or even a lump of coal.
In fact, to be quite blunt, his dad was stupid as a pole,
and every time that Christmas came, he made Tim feel glum
by giving him a twig, or else some pre-chewed chewing gum.
And Santa, too, had never come, but Timmy knew that that
Was just because for all his life he'd been a rotten brat.
This year things were different, though, and Timmy had been swell.
He had listened to his parents, he had done his homework well.
He had helped old ladies cross the street, or put on their coats and hats.
And he hadn't stolen very much, or tortured helpless cats.
So when midnight, Christmas eve, rolled round, he waited by the tree.
And he waited, and he waited, and soon the clock struck three.
Suddenly, he heard a sound that speeded his heartbeat:
Atop the roof, a jingling bell, the tread of reindeer feet; 
And then, from up the chimney, he heard a loud "Achoo!"
He knew he'd get a present now, with Santa up the flue.

There was grace in Santa's manner as he crashed down to the floor,
and a sack across his shoulder that Tim knew held toys galore.
There was fat across his belly, and grey throughout his beard.
Then Timmy noticed something else that struck him as quite weird.
In addition to his costume, which was colored white and red,
Old Santa had a skullcap perched upon his saintly head.
But Timmy soon forgot that, for Santa pinched his cheek,
and said, "To find that special present I've been shopping for a week.
I hope you're not the kind of boy who new things throw off kilter,
for my first gift is a special treat-- a whole jar of gefilte!"
Then little Timmy clapped his hands, and Timmy laughed as well,
And Timmy opened up the jar, and Timmy took a smell.
And Timmy coughed and Timmy choked, and gagged like he would puke.
Santa shrugged and looked at him, and said in mild rebuke,
"So, my cooking isn't good enough? Here's gift two. Take a look:
Portnoy's Complaint, by Philip Roth. Oy, such a funny book!"
So Timmy snatched the book as if it were some  new elixir,
And Timmy turned a page and read, and Tim said, "What's a shiksa?"
Santa sighed, and said, "Nu, kid, you're not so bright, by me.
Perhaps you won't kvetch quite so much for present number three.
The number of my darling niece, a pre-med now at Brown.
And such a personality-- you'll never see her frown!
So don't just stand there looking lost, go call her for a date."
Timmy said, "Aw, Santa Claus, you know I'm only eight.
I don't like girls. Well, what's gift four?" sighed Timmy with a pout.
Santa shook his head and said, "That's three gifts, kid. I'm out
Of presents for this holiday. But next year, if God's willin',
I'll bring a gift I know you'll likea tallis and tefellin."
As he rose up through the chimney, he murmered with a smile,
"It wouldn't kill you, bubbelach, to call once in a while."
Then he yelled out to his deer and gave his whip a swish,
"On Kreplach and Knedlach ! On Blintz and on Knish!
On, Shnook, Shlemiel, Shnorrer, Shmuck! On Kutz and Gesundheit!"
And, with one last wave to Timmy, he vanished in the night.

Now, somewhere men and women laugh, beneath the mistletoe,
And eat their mothers' fruitcake, then go frolic in the snow.
And somewhere there are children who each Christmas get their true wish,
But there's no goy in the North Pole-- mighty Santa has gone Jewish.

(Copyright 1992 by Jacob Weinstein. Permission is hereby granted for
non-profit distribution as long as this copyright notice remains
intact.)
Newsgroups: soc.culture.jewish