I saw three men last week
Arguing one night
And then the morning came around
They still were in a fight
They did not think
They’re being watched
That they were on a stage
I don’t think it would mitigate
Their anger and their rage
Everyone was yelling
That everyone should see
Why they would be best for it
“Everyone pick me!”
Each said they were better
More suited for the role
As if their arguments were real
To save somebody’s soul
They all ignored the protocol
Of those who should be picked
They pointed fingers at the other
Shouting, “Hey! He tricked!”
I think you are quite certain
Where this big fight took place
Bashevkin is referring
To the presidential race!
And the three men
Who were fighting
I simply can’t confuse
Bashevkin must be talking Trump
Rubio and Cruz
But that was not the argument
Of which I chose to write
Of course I simply do expect
Those three blind mice to fight
The argument I write about
Did not appear on stage
Despite that all contestants
They all seemed to rage
They weren’t simply debating
This was a real fight
It was not about politics
It was for a yahrtzeit!
“I deserve the amud!”
“No! I’m a member here”
“I gave this shul a Kiddush cup!
So I will go up there”
The amud it stood empty
They argued who will lead
Each extolling virtues
Of their every holy deed
I thought about the stooges
Who fight around like kids
And wondered what is different
Than these three fighting Yids
If one would be mevater
And give up his great stage
And with a clarity and focus
Try to act his age
The world would be a calmer place
Tranquility would reign
Neshamos would all elevate
And…
Candidates ‘dbe sane
