On the way, we make lots of stops, eat lots of snacks, and listen to lots and lots of Uncle Moishy
In our house, we know all the songs: the famous ones like “One Is Hashem,” the obscure ones like “Silly Zoo,” the old ones like “I Have a Mezuzah,” and the new ones like “Make a Bracha.” Sometimes, my daughter insists on hearing one song over and over and over again.
We sing Shabbos songs all week and plenty of songs about Yamim Tovim, sometimes even in the right season. When someone plays the original tune of an Uncle Moishy song, all I hear is The Famous Uncle Moishy, who teaches Jewish boys and girls all about Torah and mitzvos. I grumble about it, mostly good-naturedly, and then go back to humming along.
My in-laws live in Toronto, and it’s a long, long drive. On the way, we make lots of stops, eat lots of snacks, and listen to lots and lots of Uncle Moishy. It is my husband’s and my entertainment in the car, too. With apologies to Uncle Moishy, we nitpick the rhymes and analyze the lyrics with fervor.
Shloimy Shpader, for example, was “the world’s worst procrastinator.” We debate whether “worst” is the right word. If he was so adept at putting things off, wouldn’t it be more accurate to say “best?” Gedalia Goomber sparks critique, too: We admire his refrain of “ain’t gonna work on Saturday,” but we can’t ignore his poor time management skills, landing him in Erev Shabbos predicaments week after week. We wonder about Cousin Nachum. Is he Uncle Moishy’s cousin, making him our first cousin once removed? Or, if Uncle Moishy is the universal uncle, is the universal cousin his son?
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