Not all Jews are schleppers and not all schleppers are Jews, but when it comes to schlepping, nobody does it better than Bnei Yisroel. If schlepping was an Olympic sport, Jews would win the gold every time. Then again, Jews also would be gold medalists if the Olympics featured cross-country pacheching and Greco-Roman noshing.
The term “schlepp” is Yiddish and is commonly translated as a verb, meaning drag or haul. Colloquially, schlepp also is used as a noun to describe a relatively unpleasant journey that is relatively long and/or and inconvenient. If you schlepped from Point A to Point B, then the trip itself was a schlepp.
Biblically speaking, Jews have been schlepping since Torah times. They schlepped in the desert for forty years, which might still be the world record for longest schlepp. As an aside, and speaking of world records, Philip Santoro holds the world record for eating a jelly doughnut without using his hands or licking his lips. He achieved this miraculous feat in 11.41 seconds and it wasn’t even on Chanukah! (True story.)
Not every trip or excursion is a schlepp. In fact, if Jews are going somewhere that is for enjoyment, an honor or an uplifting experience, then by definition Jews are not schlepping. For example, when Jews awake in the morning at a hotel, they do not schlepp to the buffet breakfast. (They often sprint or dance to the buffet.) When Jews visit Israel, they do not schlepp to the Kotel. (They also do not schlepp to Moshiko Falafel or Marzipan Bakery.) When a bride walks down the aisle, she does not schlepp to the chuppah. (If the bride looks like she is schlepping, then perhaps the shidach is not such a great idea.)
There are many instances in life wherein Jews schlepp and, on the schlepping spectrum, some schlepps are worse than others. If Jews begrudgingly visit their nightmare out-of-town in-laws purely or mostly out of guilt, then such Jews certainly are schlepping. (Such an excursion would literally and figuratively be a guilt-trip.) If Jews are traveling halfway around the world based on the possibility that their grandchild will perform in a play, and then it turns out that the grandchild is merely a second-string understudy who never sets foot on stage, then such Jews absolutely are schlepping.
Sometimes schlepping occurs only in hindsight. A trip can begin as a non-schlepp but in retrospect it can fall into the schlepping category. For instance, when hungry Jews eagerly drive two hours in traffic to dine at their favorite restaurant, only to find that it has been recently shuttered by the Department of Health for serving angel hair pasta with real hair in it, such disappointed Jews have officially schlepped for nothing. (As an aside, the phrase “hungry Jews” is arguably redundant because when is a Jew not hungry? In other words, referring to “hungry Jews” is like referring to “dishonest liars,” “tired insomniacs” or “gossipy yentas.”) When proud parents rush to witness their child’s graduation, only to find that the child will not be receiving a diploma because he or she received a “incomplete” in gym, such parents have officially schlepped for nothing. (Receiving an “incomplete” in gym is almost as bad as failing recess.) If desperate Jews with an unmarried child board a slow-boat to Outer Mongolia to set up an arranged marriage and then it turns out that the candidate speaks zero English, is totally uninterested in marriage and, as a hobby, collects foul-smelling odors, then such Jews were tragically schlepping for nothing.
Sometimes Jews endure such epic schlepping that they wind up emotionally traumatized for the rest of their lives. This condition is known as PTSD, Post-Traumatic Schlepp Disorder. Here is a classic example:
“You gotta hear this. We rushed like meshuganas to the airport to fly to my friend’s wedding but we missed our flight because my son Yehuda, nebach, had a major bathroom emergency after eating some sketchy leftover cholent. There were no other flights available so we drove seven hours straight without a bathroom break, which meant no more sketchy cholent for Yehuda. Immediately following the chuppah, we had to drive back to pay a shiva call and then to my in-laws for a birthday party. We then raced to get Yehuda home in time for his bar mitzvah lesson. Yehuda, however, left his study materials at my in-laws so we had to double back to collect his things. But the worst part is that when we finally got home, we realized that we were out of milk, so we had to schlepp to the supermarket. What a schlepp!”
Final thought: It’s better to be a schlepp than a schlump.
By Jon Kranz
