When Menachem Mendel Weinfeld lost his faith, he also lost his job, his social standing, and several of the more irritating habits his wife Sheyne Sheyndel had found so vexing.
The pharmacist told him, “Not another milligram, you hear? You’ll be having seizures if you take any more.”
Menachem Mendel shrugged his shoulders. Let the doctor and the pharmacist work it out—who cares? Though he had recently begun to question even the most fundamental tenets of Judaism, he was not terribly perturbed. He had never felt better in his life! And he had Dr. Geller and Prozac to thank.
Earlier in the week, his son, Moishe-Hershel, was sent home from school with a note from his teacher. The child could barely look him in the eye, fearing his wrath. But Menachem Mendel surprised him. He lifted Moishe’s chin until he could see the anxious look in his son’s eyes. “Hollering during Hallel?” he asked him, and knipped his cheek.
The boy’s face, a loaded slingshot, lost all its tension as Weinfeld uncharacteristically joked on. “What—did your teacher grow up on an obedience farm?” The son laughed and blocked as Weinfeld fake punched him in the belly. “Just don’t make up any more new words for the Birkat, Moishele. It’s got plenty, already.”
Moishe ran off, relieved to escape punishment. And his father, Dr. Menachem Mendel Weinfeld, a Jew grateful for his new attitude, recounted this little anecdote with pride to Dr. Geller, his psychopharmacologist.
As the doctor was writing out the prescription for the quixotic inventor, he...
Subscribe now to keep reading
Please enter your email to log in or create a new account.