From: Marcy Goldstone <marcy_goldstone@...>
YIDDISH CURSES FOR REPUBLICAN JEWS
May your insurance company decide constipation is a pre-existing condition.
May you live to a hundred and twenty without Social Security or Medicare.
May you be reunited in the world to come with your ancestors, who were all socialist garment workers.
May you find yourself lost and stranded in a village of Palestinian Muslims, and may you be treated only with dignity, kindness and respect.
May you grow like an onion with your head in the ground, and then may the ground be fracked.
May you grow so rich that your widow’s second husband is thrilled they repealed the estate tax.
May God give you a daughter-in-law who is as kind as she is beautiful, as patient as she is rich, as wise as she is devoted, a virtuous woman in every way. And then may a ballot initiative invalidate her marriage to your fat lump Rebecca.
May the secretary your husband is schtupping depend on Planned Parenthood for her birth control.
May you feast every day on chopped liver with onions, chicken soup with dumplings, baked carp with horseradish, braised meat with vegetable stew, latkes, and may every bite of it be contaminated with E. Coli, because the government gutted the FDA.
May your state outlaw the morning-after pill the day before your daughter comes home from the NFTY convention.
May your child give his Bar Mitzvah speech on the genius of Ayn Rand.
May you spend your whole life supporting and voting for and sending money to Israel, and may you one day be actually forced to move there.
May you have a rare disease and need an operation that only one surgeon in the world, the winner of the Nobel Prize for Medicine, is able to perform. And may he be unable to perform it because he doesn’t take your insurance. And may that Nobel Laureate be your son.
May your son be elected President, and may you have no idea what you did with his g-ddamn birth certificate.
May you find yourself insisting to a roomful of skeptics that your great-grandmother was "legitimately" raped by Cossacks.
May you have a large store, and have it all dismantled by vulture capitalists.
May you have a hundred houses, and in every house a hundred rooms, and in every room twenty beds, and then may you fall behind on just one of your mortgage payments and have the bank repossess everything.
May you live to a ripe old age, and may the only people who come visit you be Mormon missionaries.
May you make a fortune, and lose it all in one of Sheldon Adelson's casinos.
May your grandchildren baptize you after you’re dead.
May the state of Arizona expand their definition of "suspected illegal immigrants" to "anyone who doesn't hunt."
May your son the doctor introduce you to his fiancée, Bristol Palin.
May you sell everything and retire to Florida just as global warming makes it uninhabitable.