I began reading
Shalom Auslander’s latest foray into the literary sphere about fifty feet
underneath Boston in a dark tunnel. I was taking the subway, and it was not
until I knew I was safe from the prying eyes of the Massachusetts Gestapo that
I felt comfortable enough to crack a book written by a Jew. Given that Germany
invaded the United States when my grandparents were teenagers, I have very
little experience reading the works of Jewish writers. J.D. Salinger, Albert
Camus, Larry the Cable Guy: all of these have been read secretly by me on the
Internet (which I am also using to issue this secret review without fear of
being put into the Vermont concentration camps).

I must say, I was
quite taken aback by the syntax and vocabulary of Mr. Auslander. Certainly,
I’ve taken with a grain of salt all I’ve been taught in school about the common
Jew (he is stupid, he is hideous, he feasts upon the blood of our newborn
infants). However, I wasn’t prepared for the beautiful, lyrical style of Mr.
Auslander’s tale. Because if you think it’s bad living in the United States
German Protectorate of America, you should read The Foreskin’s Lament. I
mean, it must be pretty awful to be Jewish.

Right away, I was
fascinated by the notion of not having a foreskin. I imagine dimly that in some
alternate world where America remained independent from Germany, I might not
have my foreskin. I might understand what such a loss is like. But that is not
the case. This brutal form of torture and coercion may have propagated the
Jewish people for millennia, but it certainly could not withstand the brutal
measures Grand Chancellor Adolf Hitler imposed on this continent.

However, Auslander
does not completely negate the beauty of the Jewish religion. Besides pointing
out numerous times that if it wasn’t for the Germans, we’d all be speaking
English right now, he spends multiple chapters discussing his upbringing and
subsequent fear of a wrathful god. I think I know what that’s like. When I was
ten years old, my fourth grade teacher kept trying to convince me that der
Fuhrer Hitler’s son and heir, Luftwig was a deity and that I should worship
him. I did it for a couple years, but I soon became disenchanted when I found
out that he wasn’t actually human. As we all know now (at least, as we radical
underground resistance fighters know now), Hitler was sterile and therefore
created an android son named Luftwig to carry on his work.

I never had the
pleasure of seeing der Fuhrer speak, but I was always under the impression that
he was a magnificent speaker and a captivating MC. However, Auslander paints a
picture of a short, sweaty man, driven anxious and paranoid by pills and
anti-Semitism. I mean, I have my criticisms of der Fuhrer, but I never would
have believed he was anything less than the glowing, seven-foot Adonis who
graces the front of every elementary school classroom throughout these great
Protectorates. I guess I can be naïve sometimes.

If you are ready to
have your mind blown (literally!) wide open with revisionist history, read The
Foreskin’s Lament. If you are a junky for well-written prose with a lyrical
bent, read The Foreskin’s Lament. Should you ever find yourself being a
little less than empathetic to the Jewish people on the whole, read The
Foreskin’s Lament. If you are a member of the Secret Underground
Super-Duper No-Holds-Barred Resistance (S.U.S.D.N.H.B.R.) and you are
apprehended by the New England S.S. with a copy of The Foreskin’s Lament on you, simply say that you are doing research for Grand Luftwafte Commandant
Mel Gibson’s latest movie.