Perot for Premier
By Jeffrey Goldberg
The Jerusalem Post, June 26, 1992
By the time this column is published, the elections will be over and President Herzog will have asked Texas billionaire H. Ross Perot to form a government. Perot, as you know by now, withdrew from the American presidential race earlier this week and immediately declared himself a candidate for prime minister, instantly wowing the tired Israeli populace with his campaign slogan, “After 44 Years Of Short Jews, Isn’t It Time For A Short Goy?”
But more about Perot in a moment; first, I feel compelled to discuss my own, ill-fated campaign. Those who read this magazine last week know that I was in contention for the office of prime minister. Alas, I finished a disappointing 47th in the polling, which is unusual, considering that only about 25 parties actually ran. I must make the appropriate inquiries.
My poor showing is probably due to the fact that some voters had confused my platform with that of Malchut Yisrael, the disqualified party that had called for the restoration of the monarchy and the rebuilding of the Temple on stilts so as not to disturb the mosques currently situated on the desired site.
I have asked for a recount, but in the meantime I have decided to pledge my support for Perot, in the hope that my loyalty will win me a cabinet position—Minister of Shwarma Affairs, perhaps, or Minister for the Development of Incomprehensible Army Acronyms (the ministry will be known as Satznagpash, or Maglishknik).
I have high hopes for Prime Minister Perot. He is a man of great principle—after all, he did have a decent shot at winning the White House, but he clearly felt a moral need to help Israel. The fusion candidate that he is, he will now seek to bring a disparate collection of parties into his coalition—Meretz and Moledet and all the other “M” parties, say, or Al Galgalim, the party of disgruntled cab drivers, and Tora, Tora, Tora, the party of disgruntled Japanese rabbis.
Soon, we may see a government that will come out and tell the public the truth, a government that is willing to address the issues tearing this country apart, such as Arab vs. Jew, capitalism vs. socialism, Achinoam Nini vs. Zehava Ben in a no-holds barred wrestling match in a tub of humous (an event I hope to witness personally).
IT IS refreshing to know that the next prime minister is the type of man who won’t tell the public that he wants to be remembered as a person on whose watch nothing happened, that all was quiet.
And while we’re on the subject of the nearly former prime minister, I think this is an opportune moment for the Knesset to pass a law banning anyone from public office whose eyebrows are bigger than his head.
This would be part of a general campaign against homeliness in government. Frankly, it’s embarrassing to watch the soon-to-be-former prime minister staring at the navels of stud-like heads of state like Brazilian President Collor de Mello. When they’re together, it looks as if Collor de Mello is a suit-buyer and Shamir is there to measure his inseam (“So how does it fit in the crotch, Mr. President?”).
My friend Norman once pointed out that Shamir must have posed as a tailor while serving as European operations chief for the Mossad, because it’s impossible to imagine him masquerading, James Bond-style, as an art dealer or as an international wine collector (“Vat kind vein this is? Tasty. Good maybe mit a piece herring.”)
It is, as Rav Schach might say, a bit unorthodox to have a Texas Christian as prime minister of the world’s only Jewish state, but the voters are finally understanding that it’s not what a candidate says, it’s how he looks that ultimately counts.
Perot, for those of you haven’t seen his face plastered across the pages of every American newsmagazine, is not exactly a looker in the same way that, for instance, Achinoam Nini and Zehava Ben (Humousmania! All bets are off! ) are lookers, but he certainly would beat Shamir in a beauty contest. Rabin too, for that matter.
Rabin used to be a nice-looking fellow—the Zionist womenfolk in my youth movement days ranked him fourth in their Hunkiest Israeli Leaders of 1979 competition, after Moshe Dayan, Ezer Weizman and Levi Eshkol (I belonged to a vision-impaired Zionist youth movement), but ahead of Motta Gur and Avraham Shapira. Bibi, of course, had not yet surfaced.
Something happened though, during those long years of personal exile. Once a peppy bon vivant and raconteur, Rabin withdrew into himself, as did his cheeks. He now reminds me of the old men who sun themselves on the benches lining Brooklyn’s Ocean Parkway, complaining about their kidneys and the price of smoked fish.
“Did you know that too much lox can lead to kidney failure?” I once overheard an old man ask.
“Who can afford lox anyway?” his friend responded.
“True, true. Herring I can afford, but lox …”
“You can afford herring? Where?”
“My brother-in-law. Wholesale.”
“You get a good price?”
“Whattaya think? He’s my brother-in-law. Only the best herring.”
“What about the kidneys? Does it go to the kidneys?”
Naturally, when faced with the dispiriting candidacies of a herring salesman and a tailor, Israel went for the billionaire, even if he isn’t Jewish.
Perot will have some problems, to be sure. Hebrew, for one. But Golda didn’t know much Hebrew, and look at what she accomplished—the Yom Kippur War, for instance. Also, Perot doesn’t seem comfortable wearing a kippa, but then again, neither does Rabin, who doesn’t look comfortable doing anything. It sometimes seemed as if Rabin would have been happier jamming hot pokers into his face than meeting voters.
It will be an uphill struggle for Perot in other ways, too. In order to actually be seated in the Knesset, he’ll probably have to make aliya and convert, though possibly in the reverse order. Then there’s the little matter of circumcision. Is he? Is he not? Who’s going to ask him? Not me.
He’ll figure a way around that issue; of that I am sure. The man has, as they say in Texas, a lot of sechel. That’s Yiddish for herring.