I am not sure if it’s my place
To write about a misplaced face
That ended
In a Yated space
I’m not sure what was on that page
That sure evoked a lot of rage
Now I’m no fool
But not a sage
And frumkeit’s surely hard to gauge
I think there’s those
Who like to mope
And carry ‘bout
A microscope
And look for every tiny flaw
And yell and shout
And then guffaw
And throw some people out the door
I tried to find that evil pic
The one that got the writer sick
Somehow I just could not find
Exactly why he lost his mind
And then I hear there was a word
That one reader just found absurd
I guess the crime I must agree
That made him say, “ENOUGH FOR ME!”
Because it was pure heresy
Is why so many kids are off
They must read the Yated and scoff!
But lo I fear the case is not
For when they scream at every dot
And just find flaws
(More than a lot)
The problem’s really what they got
A paper filled with Torah lore
With Torah, chessed and much more
And maybe there’s a tiny slip!
On what shoulder is your chip?
With so much tzarah in this place
All you scream’s about a face
Or a quote we disparage
Is that worthy of your barrage?
And though faced with a predator
Comes courage from an editor
Who fears not to disseminate
Letters that seem filled with hate
And I know why he does not fear
And lets his readers read and hear
The silly rants that do appear
It’s not because he does not care
For he fears not to write the truth
And print some letters though uncouth
As emes always will prevail
And rants of anger always fail
