This week’s article might be a little hard to understand, because I have *cough*cough*cough* a cough. I can’t get through one *cough*cough*COUGH*cough*COUGH* sentence without coughing. Even typing a sentence, apparently.
Though I suppose if I’m typing a sentence and I break into a coughing fit, I don’t actually have to type the words, “*cough*cough*cough*,” *cough*cough*cough* as I do it. You’ll just know that I’m thinking about it. That way, you don’t have to hear the actual coughing. Because as nice as we normally are to people who are sick, nobody has patience for someone who’s coughing within earshot. It’s like they don’t realize that it’s not worse for anybody than it is for the cougher himself. And for every cough that you hear, there were 25 more than he caught before they came out, which is why he’s vibrating violently the entire time, which annoys you as well.
My cough came in with a seasonal fever, as it does every year. The fever usually goes away in a timely manner, but the throat thing could stick around for weeks afterward. My theory is that it’s because I’ve weakened my throat through years and years of going to mesivta and yelling at teenagers to be quiet already so I can yell grammar at them.
I still go in to teach every day.
“Why don’t you stay home?” you ask. That’s what my students ask.
The reason I go in is that I tend to have throat problems for weeks on end, and I can’t take six weeks off from yeshiva.
And before you get worried about my students, I’ll say this:
- I do tell the bochurim up front that I’m not feeling well and that they should not sit up front.
- It’s entirely likely that whatever I have, I caught from them.
- My students are very happy to get whatever I have so they can take days off later.
One thing that I have noticed, though, is that my coughing seems to be largely triggered by being in a quiet room full of people. The entire time I’m alternating between trying not to cough and trying not to think about it, and for every minute I’m successful, I think, “Wow! I haven’t coughed in like a minute!” And that makes it worse. And then I graduate to silently coughing with my mouth closed, over and over, until I’ve ruptured enough blood vessels in my head, and then I quickly pop another Ricola.
This came up a lot at the open houses. I have a son who’s starting mesivta next year, and apparently every yeshiva in existence decided to have open houses on the very same weekend! And if you’re not at their open house, they know you’re at someone else’s. So we have to go to every single one.
So I went to the first open house, which was a very elaborate program with several sessions and speeches, and my wife asked me, “So what did they say?” And I said, “I have no idea. I spent every speech trying not to cough.” But I was there. I signed in, and I’d taken a packet. Most of what these speeches say is in the packet, minus the part where the speaker tied the yeshiva into the parsha.
(If your yeshiva can’t be tied into the parsha, I am not interested in your yeshiva.)
The second open house of the day was in fact for a yeshiva that we’d already been to an open house for a few years ago for a different son, but we had to show our faces because we’d registered already and if we didn’t grab our packets, they would know we didn’t show up. I spent that whole open house thinking that we could have just grabbed the packets and gone home. And coughing with my mouth closed. So I missed the whole speech about how this is the one yeshiva that prepares the boy for life, and how every student has unique qualities and strengths and they need to reach their full potential.
I also missed the video about the same rabbi saying that same thing, intercut with all the boys saying that this is the best mesivta they’ve ever been to in their entire lives and they are still so close to their rebbeim even though they’ve been out of mesivta for several months already, interspersed with various rebbeim talking about things being the cornerstone of the curriculum and how the development and growth of each student is integral, and everything has a personal touch, interspersed with bochurim saying that they really feel like they’re all an extended family, and the rebbeim get to know each and every student on an individual level because each student is unique, although slightly similar to their brother from a couple years ago sometimes.
So the big question now is how I’m going to deal with my brother’s aufruf next Shabbos. I have to stop coughing by then. Though I suppose I could just show up for Shacharis, throw a handful of Ricolas at my brother, and then go back to my host’s house to eat my little guest bag of minty lentils and pistachios.
Speaking of which, that’s enough sentences. I have to launch into a coughing fit or my head will explode.
Maybe I’ll go to the doctor next week. And by “next week,” I just mean “in next week’s article.” I already know what I did.
Mordechai Schmutter is a freelance writer and a humor columnist for Hamodia and other magazines. He has also published eight books and does stand-up comedy. You can contact him at [email protected].
