Dear Belieber

                               Photo of Bieber's angelic silver jacket courtesy of Wikipedia.org

When a modern teen icon interfaces with a teen icon whose posthumous "fame" awakens humanity to the injustice of genocide, one must seize upon the opportunity.

Friends, it is not every day that Justin Bieber visits the Anne Frank House nor does he frequently sign Ms. Frank's guest book so eloquently, wishing intimately that Anne would have been a "Belieber." Note that this term is, in fact, forever etched into said guest book, begging commentary in every social media arena. Comedians have found new fodder. Jeff Ross tweets that Anne would likely have not been a Belieber, but rather a Ke$ha girl. Amy Schumer tweets "Dear Kitty, I know I should focus on the certain genocide we are all facing, but Joey from New Kids is too dreamy #belieber." Well played, Ms. Schumer, well played. I wonder: would Ms. Frank have had her own hash tag?

Regardless, after a day of contemplation and soul-searching, I beg to differ with Mr. Ross; I beliebe Anne would have been a Belieber. And perhaps, if we may beliebe in this, we may also beliebe that Justin's allure might have been potent enough, even in war, to penetrate Adolf's ears so that he might have hummed an occasional Bieber hymnal to himself. And, perhaps, even in war, such emotion flowing from Justin's lips might have softened the hardest of white supremacists and appealed to Adolf's better sensibilities, thereby giving him pause before initiating his Final Solution. Friends, indeed, if our celebrity idols could have such impact, if North Korea and the United States may potentially find common ground in Dennis Rodman, might not have Ms. Frank and her kin and the six million Jews of Europe been spared? Could Bieber have deliebered victims of the Holocaust to safety had he been born multiple generations earlier?

Oh, sweet Bieber, I beliebe.

Telly Celebrates Hanukkah.

Sesame Street, let's call a spade a spade. I love and have always loved you but we must acknowledge your hesitation in a certain matter regarding the puppet shown above. Friends, this is Telly Monster.

Telly has a tragic flaw: he's an addict... To television.

Yes, friends, Sesame Street and "addiction" may exist in the same sentence. Telly's dark past, his likely hidden struggles through rehab, his reconciliation with friends and family lost due to his obsession mar Sesame Street's sober and clear-headed reputation.

Addiction, Mr. Henson? Perhaps... But I'm not so sure.

Perhaps, this obsessive-compulsive engagement with the idiot box led to Telly's current neurosis, but I've got a feeling he keeps a copy of The Diary of Anne Frank on his nightstand. I've got a feeling he rushes home on Rosh Hashannah and fasts over Yom Kippur. I've got a feeling he's eats kosher and can recite the kaddish. I've got a feeling he knows how to eat some good old homemade matzoh ball soup.

This isn't just a hunch. His frantic and worried anxiety attacks, frequently calmed by Elmo's Gentile reassurance, somewhat deviated septum, and eccentric extra-curricular participation in triangle tossing and pogo sticking all too easily remind me of Woody Allen.

I have many fond memories of Sesame Street, like the day it was brought to us by the letter. Or, how about when we learned that C was -and always is- for "cookie?" But, the more I think about this, the more I wonder if there are others whose ethnicity may have been kept secret. Grover's nose is large, as well. Big Bird is certainly a bit of a yenta. Even Bert and Ernie could pass off as observers of shabbos. After all, the show isn't aired on Saturdays. Had Henson been trying to hide this all along?

But, I'm not criticizing. Sesame Street has always celebrated an urban ethnic (and puppetian) diversity. From Caucasian to Latino, Asian to African American, people of all races live on Sesame Street, and quite peacefully at that. And, although Telly's people are considered white, they are just as often considered not white and quite possibly own a couple brownstones next to Oscar's trash can.

It wasn't until recently, when my oldest daughter began watching PBS programming, that I remembered Telly from my younger days. He has evolved. He is no longer the ironic monster designed as a scare tactic to prevent children from watching too much TV. He is now like me: a child disconnected from his Yid.

Embrace it, Telly! Be proud that bagels are, in fact, our people's cuisine. Do not deny who you are when who you are is too often the butt of a priest and rabbi joke. I've got a feeling you own a yarmulke. I've got a feeling you might rest on Saturdays. I've got a feeling, Telly, that you and I have much in common. I've got a feeling you celebrate Hanukkah.