Rabi's Diary from Long Ago

Taken from the Jerusalem Gazette many years ago... We have uncovered the private diary of Rabi Abbe Goldstein. Below are the entries fer the week before passover.

There is a parade scheduled fer Sunday. The rebel Rabi Jesus and his gang of twelve are comin' to town fer Passover. The fellas at the House of David are gonna bring their Kazoo band. The folks from the local Shrine are bringin' their little red Shetland ponies. They even have their little fez hats cleaned and pressed. Don't miss the bake sale by the House of Rebbecca. Proceeds will help the abused women syndicate.

Uncle Abbe has a new wagon filled with palm fronds we kin sell fer a mint. Aunt Freida has made a wagon load of lamb shish kabobs that will perfume the area when we start cookin' 'em, makin' sellin' them extra easy. I know where we kin score a batch of fresh figs and some cheese. All we need now is some decent cheap red wine and the store will be ready fer the buyers.

Later that week...

The parade was a complete success. Uncle Abbe sold all his palm fronds, the shish kabobs were gone before the parade was over. We almost ran outta wine till the rebel Rabi stopped to kiss a few babies in front of our wagon. He saw our predicament and blessed the water jugs. I couldn't figure out how that would help until I went fer a drink of water.... WOW best wine I've ever tasted. I know this dude was a carpenter but I didn't know He could make wine. The House of Rebbecca's bake sale was a huge success. The new Hot Cross Buns sold out the first ten minuets.

Final entry...

Passover has come and gone. The blessings of this day will be ferever in our hearts. Today those crazy Italians have crucified the rebel Rabi. His gang was so full of wine they denied even knowin' Him. His wife, mother and sister, all named Mary, were at his side when he passed. The loss of this special man will haunt all of us fer generations, the temple will be disgraced beyond any man's imagination. I don't know if God will ever fergive us our trespasses. Mizpah my friends.

The next mornin' Abbe was found dead. Clutched in his hands was a iron symbol of the fish. There was a expression of peace on his face and this diary on his writtin' table.