Original subtitles

- Synced and corrected by chamallow - - www.addic7ed.com -

Weiter!

Weiter!

Do you hear that, Jews?

It's the music of kings!

Of Wagner! Of the Reich!

Weiter, weiter.

Wonderful.

It's now or never...

One... Two... Three!

Stop the Jew music!

Stop the damned Jew music!

You hear me?

Didn't you hear me?

What did I say?

Stop!

Enough!

Stop it!

What is wrong with you?

Do you all want to die?

Stop!

Enough!

Stop!

* Hava nagila *

* Hava nagila *

- * Hava * - Stop!

- * Nagila * - Stop!

* Hava nagila, hava... *

Well...

What is it?

Go on!

Enough!

March on...

Immediately!

Go on!

Weiter, weiter!

And on the Second Day, God created...

The Hunters.

- Come on, let's go. - Meyer...

- Another sweep of files. - Didn't realize we were

running a kindergarten.

There may be something in Richter's things here,

if we dig.

So let's dive in.

Mr. O, I'm not risking

going to jail 'cause you got a soft spot for Ruth's grandkid.

Now, you're not paying me enough for this shit.

Oh, you're the only one he's paying at all, dearie.

Some of us got responsibilities.

Meyer, Ruthie... zikhronah livrakha...

wanted the boy

- kept from this place. - That's right.

- He is meant to be here. - No, he is not.

- Yes, he is. - You're gonna come at me for my kid?

But she didn't want this.

Trust me. Trust and you'll see.

- Who's "Karl Holstedder"? - What did you say?

- Who's "Karl Holstedder"? - Holstedder.

- Uh... - Yes.

Gene Martin, aka Heinz Richter...

- Yes. - This letter was among his things

in the toy shop.

Every eighth letter: "Send instructions #4...

- Right. - "... to Karl Holstedder.

- 147 Ocean Way... " - Oh, yeah.

"... Port Washington, NY."

- It's a coded message. - Yes.

Encyclopedia Brown-stein over here.

You can't change a creature's nature.

A bear hunts.

A hog shits.

A Nazi plots.

There's no Karl Holstedder on the list.

So we search the Ark. Come on.

Let's do it.

We're all gonna fit in here?

Bringing the kid was a big mistake.

You know what? I-I'm not a kid. Okay?

I was bar mitzvahed seven years ago, Sister.

Chanted a little Leviticus, boogied to Mungo Jerry.

After my haftorah, got an over-the-pants hand job

from Ruchel Rekenstein.

I know you think I'm this undescended testicle,

but I'm old enough to drink, smoke,

enlist in the Army, so... I'm not a kid.

And unless you want to Greyhound over to the Indian casino

and recruit the Navajo Windtalkers,

I think you fucking need me.

One misstep and I will do things to you

so traumatizing, you'll wet your knickers

any time you even see Mary fucking Poppins on the telly.

Are we clear, boy?

You like bar mitzvahs?

Welcome to ours.

You're on, Lonny.

Well, this movie star needs no introduction,

but let's tell the kid who he's m�nage-?�-ocho-ing with, huh?

Take it away, Ruchel.

Shalom, goys and gals.

Former MI6,

now you run logistics and mission-planning fun.

Sister Harriet, come light candle number one.

Hallelujah!

Thank you, thank you.

Amen!

My bedroom's covered with posters

of this dreamy, hunky Jew.

Lonny Flash, master of mimicry and disguise,

come light candle number two.

It's him! It's really him!

Oh, my God, I love your movies!

Like a Jewish Robert Redford, I'm telling you!

A black power activist,

no detail escapes Roxy Jones of NYC.

Will this counterfeiter, forger, and crime scene cleaner

light candle number three?

Power to the people!

Groovy, baby!

This human weapon is home from 'Nam after three long tours.

Joe Mizushima, forever soldier, light candle number four.

God bless America!

Got a nice tochis, that one!

Mindy and Murray, you've survived

the greatest horror in life.

Will you genius, gadget-making weapons experts

light candle number five?

Baruch Hashem!

And finally, my bat mitzvah bash

wouldn't be possible without this titan of design.

Meyer Offerman, millionaire bankroller,

master plotter, and chief vigilante,

come light this sixth candle of mine.

Okay, everybody, say cheese!

Cheese!

Marvelous.

Now that we're all mischpocha,

let's go find this Karl Holstedder motherfucker,

shall we?

Leave no stone unturned.

- No. - Pore over every file.

Look for anything connected to a Karl Holstedder

or 147 Ocean Way.

So this is...

The Ark.

This is the house that Ruth built.

She did this.

Like Noah before her,

Ruth built a vessel

to guard from extinction today's endangered species:

memory, truth.

How?

How did she do all this?

She unearthed all the classified files,

records,

interviewed thousands of survivors.

Wish I knew about all this while she was still around.

She's still around, kindeleh.

The Ark breathes of her.

It beats of her.

Can't you feel it?

She is here.

Where do I start?

Sommers!

Sommers, open up!

Hey, lady, it's 5:00 in the fucking morning!

Sir, if you know what's good for you,

you will go back to watching

your penis pump commercial, okay?

I'm tired, I'm hungry, I'm in fucking Florida.

Don't fuck with me right now, okay? Sommers!

- What the hell are you doing? - Hey.

You...

I went by Gretel's place.

What, you been there all night?

Uh-huh.

I had a hunch.

So... I scoured again.

And I found this.

- But NASA said she was a war refugee. - Mm-hmm.

And yet here she is,

looking as excited as a white girl

at an Engelbert Humperdinck concert.

So you think she was a... Nazi?

I think she was a Nazi chemist.

Zyklon B. Industrial-grade pesticide.

That was the same shit used to gas her.

Like I said, it felt personal.

I think...

Gretel had something to do with the gas chambers.

Jesus.

How'd a Nazi get into the States?

I'm on the first flight back to New York to find out.

Talk to INS, the Bureau, see what they can tell me.

Yeah, I'll do some digging around here. See what comes up.

I'll give you a call if I find something.

She looked so little, didn't she?

She didn't look like no monster.

She looked old and little and ordinary.

Monsters can be little.

Monsters can be old.

Hell, monsters can be us.

This is your captain speaking. We're at 35,000 feet...

- When are we gonna get there? - Stop. Stop, put your foot down.

I want to see Tyler Tiger at Wally World.

- Shh. - Peanuts?

No, he's allergic.

I'll have.

There you are.

Peanuts?

Is it bad?

His allergy. Is it... deadly?

It can be, yes.

Scary. What a way to go.

Well...

there'll be a cure soon.

I won't rest till there is.

Oh, you and me both.

You know...

allergies are a modern invention.

Like depression or schizophrenia.

Because once upon a time, we let nature reign,

and it weeded out the sick and the weak from our gene pool.

It kept us... pure.

These days, well, there is a drug for everything.

Yet suddenly the whole population is now sick,

and the sick have created so much violence and suffering

that a person has to hop on a plane and pay a small fortune

to take pictures with anthropomorphic animals

just to keep himself sane.

All because we tell the nice stewardess

a little boy shouldn't have any Miss Petunia's Peanuts.

Or perhaps he should.

Because he is the poison,

and this is the cure.

So... peanut?

Tonight on First with Frist,

Biff Simpson on the tragic massacre of his family.

It'll be the little things I miss most.

Eating Little Caesars pizza...

watching Six Million Dollar Man,

cuddled on the couch.

Just telling 'em "I love you."

I wish I could have done more.

I wish it'd... it'd been me.

But my Lottie always said...

... love means never having to say you're sorry.

This has been a special presentation

of First with Frist.

And now back to your regular programming,

Me and the Chimp.

You don't remember us, do you?

I don't think so.

My mother always said, "Murray, you have a forgettable face."

Ages five to eight, she reintroduced herself

every time she saw me.

True story.

Oh, well, you-you were

just a yingeleh... f-five or six years old.

Your safta took you to meet us at Art's Deli.

- Yeah, yeah. Mm-hmm. - Remember that, Murray?

Cute as a kugel you were.

You looked just like him.

Hey, got something.

An SS roll from Buchenwald.

Names a Nazi engineer, Karl Holstedder.

Buchenwald. Engineer. 10-4, Eleanor.

Yeah.

Karl Holstedder,

the Pied Piper of Buchenwald.

He was the emcee of the Buchenwald camp.

A brilliant radio engineer,

he ran the camp's control center.

But on Saturday, Shabbos,

he held his horror show, The Star of Buchenwald.

Good Evening, Buchenwald!

Your master of ceremonies,

Hauptsturmfuhrer Holstedder here.

Back for another episode of

It was a singing competition.

A sadistic Gong Show.

Every Shabbos, Holstedder rounded up ten men

and made them sing for their lives.

If you sang out of tune...

It's a D-flat,

Number 218763.

If you forgot the words...

Come on, 217742:

"In the Graceland of our Fathers."

Someone is a quarter step ahead...

Until there was only one left.

Well, Mr. Holstedder...

come on down.

So, how do you like The Hunters?

They scare the shit out of me.

Yes!

How'd you recruit 'em, anyway, Professor X?

No.

Well...

... I went to a matchmaker.

- * Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match... * - But that's not all she is.

* Night after night, in the dark I'm alone... *

Yes, thank you.

* Of my own. *

Oh, my God.

- Shalom, my dear love. - I can't believe this.

- Oh, I can't either. - Mwah.

- My darling. - Come sit, Meyerleh, sit.

Eh, what a neighborhood.

I know. Very fancy.

It is fancy. I'm so glad I dressed.

30 years in our new shtetl of Manhattan,

you don't break fast with me, you don't venture to my sukkah.

What did a little old matchmaker do to deserve such kavod?

Well, I wasn't looking to be matched, Hilda.

So, if that's all right with you...

It's 40 years pining only for Ruth.

This is the oldest "Will They or Won't They"

in the world, since-since Jacob and Rachel.

Oh, God.

You have a lot of security for a little old matchmaker, no?

Well, you know, can you think of a creature more dangerous

than a Jewish mother with an unwed daughter?

Matchmaker in the daylight.

But don't sell yourself short, because you've commodified

the occupation of yenta.

You weaponized the Rolodex.

You are the Jewish world's fixer, no?

Hmm?

So...

if not for a bride, or even a shtup,

you know, one might ponder why the gentleman from Park Avenue

comes all this way to see me.

Hmm? Cut to the liver, darling.

Well... Ruth and I,

we found something.

Two Nazi doctors...

living here among us.

So, we need you, Hilda.

I help you with this, it makes noise.

In my line of work, noise is death.

31 years since liberation.

You know, in that time, I have made 345 matches,

producing 957 new Jewish souls.

And, and seven more imas-to-be are pregnant as we speak.

It should be enough for Hashem, Meyer.

I suppose so, too, comes the responsibility

to make the world better for these 957 lives.

You say there are Nazis among us?

I suppose, then, you are asking me for...

A team.

I need highly skilled. Covert. See?

This is no team, dear.

- No. - No?

This is appointed by God.

This is a, is a congregation. A tribe.

What you need is a group who knows how to bend the rules.

A collective who will take justice into its own hands.

Ragtag, just like, like The Dirty Dozens.

957.

Hilda, if God does not hear that,

then He is deaf.

957.

It's still 5,999,043 short.

Yes.

But we have time yet, yeah?

Yes.

Come on,

let's go find you these rascals.

You went to a matchmaker to put together

a group of Nazi hunters?

That's... the Jewiest shit I've ever heard.

Why'd they say yes?

In time, you'll come to know their stories.

Their secrets.

And perhaps you'll come to tell them yours.

We leave shortly. Time for a hunt.

Just... I said no. I am not sitting

your beached whale of a cousin,

the insufferable Eileen Shekenstein,

anywhere near us, Murray.

It's Amy's wedding. She'll sit where Amy wants her to sit.

You know she's still never apologized to me

for missing Simchas Torah dinner.

Her husband died the night before.

Well, exactly. That gave her a whole day to RSVP.

Get in the car.

Um... Oh.

Okay.

Uh... sorry, man.

Bet you never met a movie star before, huh?

Judah Macca-bro, how's it hanging?

Uh, fine, yeah.

You know, the fear goes away.

What? No, no.

No, I'm-I'm... I'm cool. I'm just, uh...

As scared as an uncircumcised schlong

at a mohel convention? I was, too.

Gets easier, trust me.

You know, I loved Ruth like she was my own bubbe.

Though, if only she was a couple years younger,

I might've loved her a little differently.

Know what I'm saying? Mazel'd her Tov.

Gefilte'd her fish.

- That's fucked up, man. - Hey, she found me at rock bottom.

Okay, she kicked my ass into shape.

Not as good a shape as Kris Kristofferson's ass.

That ass should be in the Louvre.

That's a, that's a thing of miracles,

but she saved me.

- She saved you? - Oh, yeah.

Yeah, she was one special lady, Ruth.

And because I loved her, I love you, brother man.

So if any of these dicks mess with you, I will...

Well, I'm-I'm not gonna fuck with them

'cause they scare the shit out of me,

but I will definitely be like,

"Yeah, they suck" behind their backs with you.

Anything you need, Lonny Flash has got you.

Cheeks and Bootyhole are never gonna believe this shit.

Oh, yeah, who's Bootycall?

Bootyhole and-and Cheeks, they...

They're just some kids on my block.

Yeah. Well, if only they could see you now, right?

A real life fucking Jew-per hero.

Don't be nervous, man. This shit'll be fun.

It's just like the movies, huh.

This summer.

Nazis beware.

This Army of the Night is out for your head.

Reich? Wrong.

Orion Pictures presents

The Hunters.

With newcomer Jonah Heidelbaum

as The Codebreaker.

Jonah?

You good? You were mumbling to yourself.

Oh, yeah, I'm good. I just, uh, had a little...

tickle in my throat, you know?

Little cough.

Time to go,

Codebreaker.

Immigration and Naturalization Services.

Hey, Betty, it's Millie. Uh, my flight was delayed,

but I'll be across town in an hour, so...

Don't bother, Mil. I pulled the file you called about.

- Yeah? - Gretel Fischer. Ain't nothing in it.

What do you mean there ain't nothing in it?

I don't know. It's been cleared out. It's empty.

- Your files are all empty? - No, just hers and one other.

Looks like her brother, a Hans Fischer.

Hans Fischer?

The family's files are just gone.

My mom made me work out with her this morning.

She made me do the rhythm method with her.

Bro, you think the rhythm method is something

it definitely ain't.

Fucking stairs.

Yo, J-Money.

He's not gonna answer. He's mad at us.

You're gonna have to talk to us, bro.

Yeah, we shouldn't have left you. We should...

Look, we're-we're sorry, okay?

We should... We shouldn't have chickened out.

He ain't home.

I haven't seen him in two days.

Two fucking days?

I was actually starting to get worried.

Shit's fishier than a mermaid's cooch at a dolphin orgy.

Where the fuck did he go?

Yeah, Hans and Gretel

hadn't spoken for years.

- You know how siblings can drift apart. - Mm.

But when her son called about the accident,

I-I was beside myself.

She was such a sweet woman, Gretel.

- Oh, thank you, Ms. Fischer. - There you go.

- Um, if I may... - Mm-hmm?

... why is the FBI involved?

Well, uh, she worked for NASA. Just standard procedure.

Oh.

Actually, Frannie, I was hoping I could speak with your husband.

Uh, well,

that won't be possible, unfortunately.

Uh, Hans died in a car accident six months ago.

I'm sorry.

Yes, he... he drove home late.

A chicken pox outbreak in town

that kept him at work.

He never let a single child

go untreated.

Police said it looked like

his engine exploded.

The force

ripped his teeth right out of his mouth.

Did you notice anything strange before your husband died?

Was he on edge?

Anyone bothering him?

No. What do you mean?

Oh, I'm just turning over every stone.

He was very handsome.

I read that Hans

was a German war refugee like his sister.

What did he do during the war?

Hans was a doctor.

Red Cross.

- Did he have to help any Jews? - Yes.

How did he feel about them?

Well, how does anyone feel about them, dear?

They're Jews.

I'm s... Do you have a bathroom I can use?

What are you doing in here?

Thank you. Thank you for your time.

Oh, shiz, oh, shiz, Captain!

Kirk, Captain Kirk! Say it!

Oh, God, Captain Kirk!

Ah, fuck me, Spock.

Fuck my photon torpedo bay,

you half-Vulcan fuck.

- Good morning, Senator O'Heir. - What the fuck? Y...

I'll have you arrested. I'll have you killed!

No, no, no, no, dear, you won't.

You're a fan of role-play, so let's partake.

Here's what will happen, Mr. O'Heir.

You will end your filibuster against lifting sanctions

for South American goods, and if you don't,

these photos will be on the front cover of every newspaper

from here to planet Vulcan.

Who the fuck are you?

We're the good guys, Captain Kirk.

We're trying to save the world.

Let's drop the needle on Karl Holstedder, shall we?

Hmm. I'll ring us on in.

Roxy will draw the curtains.

Joe will admire the view.

Murray and Mindy will set the mood.

Lonny...

will do whatever the bloody fuck you do.

Um...

What do I do?

The adults will make their grand entrances

here, here,

and here at the illustrious

147 Ocean Way.

The sodding fat cat music producer

is in his recording studio.

We'll take our seats,

and then Meyer can do a little dance,

make a little love,

and get down tonight.

So let's get to tickling the ivories

of this torturous twat, shall we, loves?

Looks like a 247B switch.

No, moron, that is a 247A.

All right.

- Wait. - I'm waiting.

Go.

Wow. It's like the entire guest list

of Freddie Mercury's annual Vaseline party.

That's where I got that accidental hand job

from Peter, Paul and Mary.

Classic P, P and M.

Erik Folsom.

Almost as shitty of a stage name as Lonny Flash.

Hey, you can call me Leonard Flazenstein

any d�a of the semana, baby.

Come on.

Shalom, Karl.

For far too many winks,

you were our nightmare.

Now let us be yours.

Oh, my God. I'll have you arrested.

- Rounded up and... - And shot?

Gassed? Buried alive?

I never liked your music.

It, uh...

For your kind, it was...

music was always for violence,

vanity,

death.

But for us,

music is remembrance,

it's rebellion,

it's life.

In the music our people survive.

Wha-What is he doing?

He's giving him the thing our people never received:

a trial.

Oh, you are my judge,

jury,

executioner, Juden?

No, I am nobody.

I am but the stenographer here.

They... the millions... are the judge and jury.

The millions who call out from the grave...

for justice.

We are holding you on a charge

of a thousand counts of murder

of Jews at Buchenwald.

And also on a charge of the murder of millions

as accessory to the Nazi regime.

So, how do you plead?

I plead that you go to hell.

We shall present the evidence now.

Testimonies from survivors.

Nazi SS rolls declaring Karl Holstedder

as Hauptsturmfuhrer of the SS.

Finally, a photograph from Nazi records

identifying this man as Karl Holstedder.

Can you verify that this is you, sir?

That is me, yes.

But I did not do the things you accuse me of.

We have testimonies.

- Yeah. - Firsthand accounts from survivors.

From Hiram Flaustein...

he's from Brooklyn, New York.

Survivor of Buchenwald. And...

from Ralphie Schneider, a survivor of Buchenwald.

From Jerome Putnitsky.

From... from Mordecai Klinger.

From Alexander Cohen.

From Lloyd Evan and from Ludwig Platz.

From Samuel Cantel.

Shlomo Waxman.

From... I...

It's propaganda.

It's lies.

Rox?

Karl Holstedder,

on the thousand counts of murder,

you have been found guilty.

Go To Hell!

Hell is not so bad

as the way to it.

What the fuck?

- Want to sit down? All right. - Sure. Sure, of course.

- What is it? - It's a homegrown radio station.

They're broadcasting something.

Well, they're communicating with each other,

- that's what they're doing. - Yeah. -Communicating what?

What? Uh, here, let's see what's going out live.

"Two little boats at night on the sea.

Ten ducklings in the barn."

- "Six mothers moved east." - Yeah?

"And a little child was born."

Third Reich Sesame Street's creepy as shit.

Remind me never to play it for my future kids.

I'll first remind you never to procreate.

What if it's those "instructions #4"?

What if they're sending out some heavy-ass hidden message?

Well, then we bloody will shut these twats up.

Wait, wait, wait. Wait.

Hold the horses now.

If you stop it, then they'll know, right?

- They'll know that we're onto them. - Yes, they will. Yes, yes.

Where is this broadcasting to?

How far? To how many?

Well-well-well-well, we don't know.

We would have to reroute the sync.

Okay, well, find out, find out quickly.

In the meantime...

I'm gonna make the piano man sing us a song.

I have to take off the whole back.

Well, then do it.

Hello, Karl.

Now, we can make this interrogation painless

or painful.

Depends on you.

What do you think?

Let me ask you:

who are you communicating with?

What are you broadcasting?

Lullabies for the children.

- Ah. - Broadcast symphonies, too.

Operas.

Even ABBA when it tickles me.

I give away freebies sometimes to the first caller.

Okay, Joe.

I think we're ready.

The ears are the most sensitive part of the body.

They control balance and bodily function.

Now, Karl,

last chance.

Okay, Joe, let's do it.

* Gonna tell Aunt Mary *

* About Uncle John, he claims he has the misery *

* But he has a lot of fun, oh, baby *

* Yeah, baby *

* Whoo-ooh-ooh, baby *

* Havin' me some fun tonight *

* Yeah, well, long tall Sally *

* She's built for speed... *

What are you broadcasting?

I don't know what you are talking about!

* Baby, whoo-ooh-ooh, baby *

Oh, my God.

- Fuck. - * I saw Uncle John with bald-head Sally *

* He saw Aunt Mary comin' and he jumped back *

* In the alley, oh, baby *

Stop, stop, stop. Stop.

Please.

Fucking Christ, come on, man.

You're gonna burst his fucking eardrums, stop.

What the fuck are you doing?

Oh, my God!

- It's all right. - His fucking ear's bleeding. Stop it, man!

We know it.

My God, I just...

I just...

They mail me tapes.

I p... I broadcast them, that's all I do!

Who? Who-who tells you to play them?

There's a man, a man...

One man, I don't...

He's the only one I've ever seen.

Richter?

I don't know any Richter!

I swear, I don't,

I don't know his name.

We don't use our real names.

Oh, my God.

He's a man like me.

A man who was brought here.

Brought here? Brought here by whom?

By you!

By you.

Meyerleh, we need you now.

Broadcasting to the whole tristate area.

Watch him.

Water. Water.

Water. Please.

Oh, God.

- I didn't do what they say. - Shut the fuck up, man.

But I was your age when I first heard him.

I don't want to hear your Hitler fan fiction.

Not Hitler. Wagner.

My father was a cruel man.

He believed music was weak.

If you even dared hum, he beat you senseless.

But when I was 17, I heard it.

Coming from the halls of the Berliner Philharmonie.

I never wanted to hurt anyone.

I was just a boy...

following orders.

Perhaps like you.

Shut the fuck up.

- Shut the fuck up. - If you keep on this path,

you will hear it, too.

Forever.

The ringing in your ears.

That is why...

I made them sing.

To drown it out.

The ringing.

S-So I could hear the music again.

I need water.

- All right, all right. - I need the water, please.

- Fuck, okay. Okay. - Please.

Thank you. Oh...

Just tilt your head back.

Fuck.

Hey. Take it easy.

If you want the boy to live...

you will let me out of this fucking...

No!

What?

What the fuck did you do?

He was our only fucking lead.

- You fucking child! - All right, all right, all right, all right.

- You did this! I'm gonna fucking kill you! - Come on!

- I didn't mean to. - Piece of shit child.

- You're okay. - Kid fucked up, got Holstedder killed.

It blew the broadcast.

We got to go.

We got to go. Come.

Get, uh, whatever you can.

Take it, take it.

Jonah!

Hey.

Yeah. Jonah, Jonah.

Yeah.

Here, come here.

- Jonah. - I got him killed. I got him killed.

No, no. A Nazi, yes.

And he would have killed you if it weren't for Joe.

- He would've killed you. - No. Were you still gonna kill him?

Were you still gonna kill him

if you got everything that you needed?

Were you still gonna kill him? Were you still gonna kill him?

I would have delivered justice, yes.

- Yes. - No. No, no.

Fucking shit. We should've brought him in.

- What? - We should've brought him in.

- To whom? - We could've brought him in. We could've brought him in.

Who do we bring him in to?

The fucking... the police. The fucking police, the Feds.

Oh, no. Jonah, Jonah, I told you this.

The fucking... the people who take care of this fucking shit.

I told you this before, didn't I?

In this country, Lady Justice may be blind to all,

but to many of us,

she is also deaf.

Do you know how many Nazis the U.S. executed at Nuremberg?

Twelve.

12 perpetrators out of eight million.

And they're on the march again, these forever soldiers.

These monsters.

No wonder they thought they could come here.

So we are left... us... to do God's work.

Ruth's work, Jonah.

Ruth's.

Come.

We are missing maariv.

What the fuck is maariv?

It's evening services.

To say Mourner's Kaddish for Ruth.

- No, I don't believe in that. - Oh, Jonah,

it doesn't matter if you believe or not believe.

I don't care if you believe in Santa Claus.

It doesn't matter. It's about Ruth, not about you.

It is the duty of Ruth's family to pray for her soul.

And if ever a soul deserved it, it would be hers. No?

Come, Jonah. Come.

You didn't get me a souvenir?

No Mickey ears or some shit?

How much did you miss me?

What's wrong, mama?

You know, people think flamingos are pink.

It's a common misconception.

They are white.

Pure white.

It's the red blood of what they eat, their prey,

that gives them their color.

Why were you looking into Gretel Fischer, Detective?

What did you find?

Shh, shh, shh. It's okay.

It's okay.

Hey, hey, hey. Listen.

Shh. Shh.

I know undue stress can be bad for the baby.

So how about we play a little game instead, hmm?

Fowl-inspired, of course.

Duck.

Hey.

Duck.

Goose.

Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hey, hey.

Hey! Hey!

No! No!

There was a photograph.

Of Gretel and Hitler.

She was a Nazi.

- Who else knows about this? - No one but me.

Fun. Another round.

No. No. No! No!

Hey.

Spaghetti.

Spaghetti.

- Meatball. - No.

No, no, no!

She was an FBI agent.

She's... her name's Millie.

Millie Morris.

Hansel and Gretel... do you know that story?

Two German children... blond-haired, blue-eyed...

find this rich old witch living in the woods.

The... the kids claim that the witch wants to eat them alive.

You know, use their good Christian blood for food.

And so the German children push her into an oven,

watch her burn alive, and steal her fortune.

And that's the happy ending.

I think... the witch was a Jew.

You know, I think they called her a witch, but...

but they really meant Jew.

This old Jewish woman, living in the woods,

banished from town, not doing anything to anyone.

And then Hitler Youth just burned her alive.

Yeah.

Fairy tales aren't written for us,

but we're the ones that are meant to fight the monsters.

You know?

I'll write you a fairy tale.

A new one.

For you and me.

- Hello? - You catch me on First with Frist?

The Post called me braver than

a stewardess on a Palestinian-hijacked 747.

Get her for me, would you, champ?

What is this regarding?

Uh, what?

Uh, we've got Carter, the ports,

- the sanctions... - We'll be in touch.

If there's something to be in touch about.

- Amen. - Amen.

All those saying the Mourner's Kaddish,

please remain standing, as we honor those who have passed.

You will hear it, too.

A ringing in your ears.

- Amen. - Amen.

Can I say it for him, too?

For who?

No, I can't do this.

- Uh... No. - I can't do this.

No, Mindyleh.

Jonah.

Jonah!

- Synced and corrected by chamallow - - www.addic7ed.com -