Rabbi Putin with his shirt offis the talk of the mikvehas soon as he leaves. Such muscles
unseen since the days of the golemand Barney Ross. He doesn’t wear tzitzisto remind himself but his congregants
belief is for the lazy and the uncertain.He knows there is G-d, knows there is judgementknows he is safe from it. At maariv
one night he switches Our L-rd for his nameto see how it feels. It feels right. On Yom Kippurhe gets the biggest crowd the shul has seen
stands before them, tallis flying like a capewhen they open their mouthsthe prayers hit him with such force
he’s thrown off his feet, soars backward,the Torahs stand aside,leaving a Rabbi Putin-shaped hole in the aron.
He splashes straight into the Moskva Rivernever to surface, drowned by the weightof his own gaiva. Next Yom Kippur the people will
gather again, pray again, remember Rabbi Putinand their own faith, and their own prayers,carried alight, will be all the stronger for it.