What Are These Jews About? How'd They Get So Darn Hot?

This blog began life as an idea for a book, which in turn arose out of a desire to present an honest, uncompromising portrait of contemporary Jewish life, with all its attendant paradoxes.

But then we realized that writing such a book would be too hard, so instead we drank a pitcher of raspberry margaritas (seriously – you’ll never go back to the strawberry) and set to work on what we briefly intended to call “1001 Hitler Jokes.”

Well, it turned out we knew a lot of Hitler jokes, but we started to get hung up at 416 or so. The original idea began to look attractive again.

Then it hit us: How about a not-very-honest, utterly compromised portrait of our Jewish lives, with as many Hitler jokes as we could think of thrown in? It sounded like a winning formula, or at least something that would make a halfway convincing book proposal that just might – depending on the wine list at the Ivy – land us a tasty advance.

Well, no advance was forthcoming. Is it because the book agents we attempted to romance were humorless automatons, antisemites and — in one notable case — a glue-huffing kleptomaniac who stuffed half of the Barney's men's department in his slacks? That's not for us to say. Rather, let us celebrate the democratizing medium that is the Internet.

And the title? Let's face it: the blogosphere is not necessarily where the most attractive people dwell. And we are sensationally, fabulously fine. The kind of sizzlin' hot Jews who make even the most stalwart Gentiles squirm with Kabbalistic yearning. Hot, hot Jews. We're not going to make a big deal about it, but Jesus Fuck, are we hot.

Our work is in many ways a reflection of its time, an era marked by warfare, terrorism, government corruption, global warming, an incessant and soul-deadening barrage of trivial information and a worsening economic climate. With so much bad news on so many fronts, it’s tempting to fall back on the old dictum that laughter is the best medicine. Well, it’s not. Laughter ain’t shit compared to, say, Cipro. But sometimes it can provide non-irritating symptomatic relief.

What does it mean to be a Jew in these trying times? Fuck if we know. We’re winging it here. But it’s our hope that by excavating the cardboard boxes crammed onto the out-of-the-way shelves of our psyches, we can find a few clues. That is, if our parents didn’t throw them out when we went to college.

We’d rather look within, because it’s easier than doing research. We’re not proud to admit we’d rather read a book review than a book, especially when it’s, say, The New Yorker’s pithy summary of Günter Grass' agonizingly in-depth new tome. “History, or, to be more precise, the history we Germans have repeatedly mucked up, is a clogged toilet,” reads a quote from Grass that opens the piece. “We flush and flush, but the shit keeps rising.” It’s a bracingly scatological metaphor that confronts the impossibility of banishing past sins. But at the same time, it offers another reason the Germans hated us so much: Most Jews can’t fix a toilet.

Look, if you’re Günter Grass, we probably can’t help you (though for a very modest price we can punch up your next remorseful Bildungsroman with some primo Hitler jokes). But perhaps some among you will find the Very Hot Jews blog to be a handy spiritual plunger – a way to unclog your embittered spirit without having to put your hand right in the disgusting bowl. If we can accomplish that, we’ll feel a lot better about being so full of shit.