By Yakov Nayerman
SAN DIEGO — In a small pet store in New York City lived a large cockatoo. The owner placed him right at the entrance to attract customers. And to be honest, he did a fine job — squawking rhymes and phrases at passersby all day long.
What most people didn’t know was that, before ending up in that shop, the parrot — whose name was Yasha — had grown up in a little shtetl in Ukraine. He belonged to a very old, very Orthodox Jew. The old man had no children, and being quite lonely, he poured all his love and care into raising Yasha — as a proper Jew, in the full spirit of tradition. He even taught Yasha to speak Yiddish.
After the old man passed away, his relatives, who were preparing to emigrate to America, took the parrot along, thinking they might sell him once they got there. But when they realized how much it would cost to quarantine him and handle all the paperwork, they simply abandoned him. The owner of the pet store bought Yasha from customs and gave him a place of honor by the entrance.
One day, a man walked by, talking loudly on his phone, spouting all kinds of antisemitic nonsense. Yasha, who couldn’t take it anymore, shouted:
— What an idiot!
The man turned around in surprise, but assuming it was his imagination, he walked on. But parrots — they don’t forget. So when the same man passed by again, Yasha called out:
— Hey you! Idiot!
This time the man was sure he heard it. To be certain, he came back 15 minutes later. And once again, behind his back:
— Idiot!
Furious, the man stormed into the shop to complain. The owner was shocked — he didn’t believe for a second that Yasha could say something like that. The man suggested they test it. So, they watched.
Sure enough, as the man passed again, Yasha hollered:
— Hey you! Idiot!
The owner, mortified, apologized profusely and promised it would never happen again. He took Yasha aside and gave him a talking-to.
— You need to cool off a little, he said.
And with that, he popped Yasha into the freezer for a few minutes. When he finally took him out, the poor bird was shivering, clicking his beak, and trembling all over.
— I swear! I won’t say another rude word to anyone ever again!
But then Yasha tilted his head, thought for a moment, and said:
— Tell me, boss… if I got five minutes in the freezer just for that, what on earth did that chicken next to me in the freezer do?
Anyway, they put Yasha back at his usual post by the door. The next day, the same man walked by again. Yasha’s feathers ruffled, but the memory of the freezer was too fresh. He held back and only muttered:
— Hey, Mister!
The man turned around warily.
- Yes?!?
Yasha sighed:
— You know what I mean…
Apparently, the man eventually filed a proper complaint, because soon after, the pet store owner decided it was time to let Yasha go. He hung a sign on the cage: “For Sale.”
The next day, an elderly man walked by — clearly a Jewish tailor: hat, beard, white tzitzis fluttering under his jacket. His name was Moshe.
And then, Yasha pleaded to him in Yiddish:
— Bist a Yid? — Are you a Jew?
Moshe stared in amazement at the parrot speaking Yiddish, then replied:
— Yo, ikh bin takke a Yid! — Yes, I’m indeed a Jew!
— Listen, — said Yasha. — Do a big mitzvah and redeem me from this place! I live here surrounded by guinea pigs, rats, and all kinds of unkosher creatures. And now they want to sell me — who knows where?
Moshe’s heart softened. And even though the store owner asked for a hefty price, he paid it and brought Yasha home.
Moshe was very lonely, and soon he and Yasha became close friends. Yasha told him Jewish stories, shared jokes, even reminisced about life in the shtetl.
At Yasha’s request, Moshe sewed him a tiny woolen tallis and a kippah. From then on, the parrot joined him every morning for davening.
Then came Rosh Hashanah — the Jewish New Year. Moshe was getting ready to go to shul when Yasha asked:
— Where are you going?
— It’s Rosh Hashanah, — said Moshe. — I’m going to synagogue.
— Wait, Moshe! You’re going to leave me all alone on such a holy day?
— I’m sorry, Yasha, but I can’t bring a bird to shul. They’ll laugh me out of the place!
— Laugh? Just wait till I say something in Yiddish. They’ll stop laughing and start listening. In fact, once they hear there’s a Jewish parrot, the news will spread across all of New York! People will be lining up to see us!
Moshe thought for a moment… and gave in. He carefully picked up Yasha and brought him along to his little synagogue.
When the congregants saw him walk in with a parrot — dressed like a Jew, — they were horrified:
— Moshe, have you lost your mind?! Why would you bring a bird into the synagogue? And dressed up, no less!
— But he’s a Jew! — Moshe said. — He speaks Yiddish!
— Oh come on, stop making things up.
— Want to bet? — Moshe offered.
— I’ll bet a hundred dollars he doesn’t say a single word! — one said.
Two others chimed in. Altogether, the wager was five hundred dollars.
Moshe turned to Yasha:
— Nu, Yasha, say hello to the fine people.
But instead of Yiddish… came whistling, clicking, chirping, cooing, and all sorts of strange scratchy sounds. Not one word. Not even a shalom.
Moshe, red with embarrassment, paid the five hundred dollars, grabbed Yasha, and ran out of the synagogue.
Outside, Yasha turned his head, looked at him with one eye, and said:
— You know, Moshe… I really liked your shul. And the people? Very nice indeed.
— Shut up! How could you? You humiliated me! Cost me five hundred bucks! This is your gratitude?
— Oy vey… You’re a good man, Moshe. A true Yid. But a businessman? Eh, not so much. Just imagine the betting next week — when we show up for Yom Kippur.
*
Yakov Nayerman in his retirement is a freelance writer based in San Diego.