How Rosh Hashanah Gave Us Boris The Terrible

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A few years ago,¹ Isha Yiras Hashem introduced a fictional character named Boris the Terrible, who ran a monopoly on grocery stores in the small, predominantly Jewish town of Chelm. Chelm, for reasons no one has ever bothered to explain, is nestled among active volcanoes—which occasionally rumble, adding a bit of drama to your weekly grocery shopping. Boris, a direct descendant of Nebuchadnezzar and Haman, naturally inherited a flair for sabotaging Jewish holidays.²

Boris the Terrible reminds me of the chaos in my own home during the pandemic. Long before Boris was busy sabotaging Jewish holidays in Chelm, Seth and Abel³ were constantly digging in the front yard. They were supervised, of course, which often meant leaving the front door open for hours while they uncovered 'treasures' (or just dirt).

That’s how we got mice.

Anyway.

My kids are extremely friendly, and they love talking to our saintly neighbors. They also happily talked to random passersby, people with things in their ears who didn't even notice that they existed, and, of course, each other. Naturally, this required a lot of supervision—not necessarily to prevent kidnappings, although The Ransom of Red Chief did cross my mind once or twice, but more as an escape fantasy.⁴

The conversations went something like this:

Neighbor: “Good morning, Seth!”

Seth: “The centipede and the ants are having a war!”

Abel: “We found a millipede. I didn’t want to feed it to the chickens, but Seth did. I didn’t want it to die, but Seth put it in the ant colony. The ants ate it, and then I cried.”

(I always hoped the neighbors didn’t catch all of that. Fortunately, my kids usually mumbled just enough.)

Neighbor, turning to me: “They’re always talking about bugs.”

Me, relieved we weren’t being reported to PETA or CPS: “Such great weather, isn’t it?”

Honestly, I loved this phase. It was incredibly entertaining to watch. After all, how many other houses could people walk by and get drawn into an in-depth conversation about ants if they wanted to?

I figured it’s a mitzvah to spread some joy, so I taught Seth and Abel to greet everyone with a cheerful “Good morning!” Internally, I gave myself a well-earned parenting pat on the back. For a few months, they happily wished everyone a “Good morning”—and most people responded, unless they had those funny things in their ears.

Then Abel had an awesomely terrible idea: what if they started wishing people a bad morning? My pride in raising polite children evaporated like the morning dew. I feared offending the whole neighborhood.

Surprisingly, no one complained.

Not even when a huge man with an angry expression walked by, on the other side of the street. I hoped the kids wouldn’t notice him. No such luck. Before I could say anything, the kids yelled, “BAD morning!” He crossed the street, and I began apologizing profusely, but then he smiled and stopped to chat.

After witnessing a few of these encounters, I made a profound realization: Many people would rather be wished a bad morning or hear about ants than be ignored.

Then, Rosh Hashanah rolled around, bringing with it the Jewish New Year. In Hebrew, you wish people a “Shana Tova,” meaning a good year.

Abel, eyes sparkling with mischief, asked, "How do you say 'bad' in Hebrew?"

“Ra’ah,” I replied, always glad to see some interest in learning Hebrew.

Seth and Abel: “Shana Ra’ah! Shana Ra’ah!!”

I was at a loss for how to make them stop. So I said, “You can't say that in synagogue—people will be really upset.”

That’s when my best friend stepped in with a brilliant idea. She suggested I tell them about Boris the Terrible. Apparently, her father invented Boris thirty years ago, and every year the tale gets more dramatic. The story worked like a charm. Anytime Seth would shout, “Have a bad year!” I’d smile and calmly respond, “Yes! That’s exactly what Boris the Terrible would say.” Crisis averted.⁵

And that's how the legendary villain, Boris the Terrible, became the unlikely hero who saved us from endless 'bad mornings' and taught my kids a thing or two about proper greetings—just in time for Rosh Hashanah.

1. As always, thanks to Rebbetzin Devorah Fastag, without whom this would be an empty shell, and to Debbie Rubinstein for help with the Spanish translation. Any remaining errors are mine alone and I appreciate criticism and corrections.

Last year's series : https://ishayirashashem.substack.com/p/boris-the-terrible-celebrates-hanukkah

See Boris the Terrible Rosh Hashanah, the very first Boris story, here.

2. Boris the Terrible harbors a deep disdain for Jews and their religion. Since he lives in Chelm, a predominantly Jewish, English-speaking town encircled by active volcanoes, Boris finds himself compelled to acquaint himself with these customs to maintain his grocery monopoly. His reluctant efforts to accommodate - and sabotage - the holiday needs of the community have previously lead to humorous and disastrous misadventures involving other Jewish holidays. There are also a lot of puns. Like Boris, they are terrible.

3. Seth and Abel aren't their real names—they're a composite of my kids.

4. The Ransom of Red Chief is a short story by O. Henry, in such two petty criminals, Sam and Bill, kidnap Johnny, a wealthy man's son, and demand a ransom of $2,000. However, their plan backfires hilariously when Johnny, an energetic and wild child, thoroughly enjoys being "kidnapped" and terrorizes the kidnappers. Johnny, who calls himself "Red Chief," plays make-believe games where he scalps Bill and shoots arrows at Sam, driving the would-be criminals to their wits' end.

Instead of receiving ransom money, Sam and Bill realize they're in over their heads and offer to return Johnny for free. In a final twist, Johnny's father demands they pay him $250 to take his son back. Exhausted, they agree and flee as quickly as they can.

As Bill puts it, “I'm willing to take a chance at that... rather than spend another night with the kid.”

Read the whole thing here: https://americanliterature.com/author/o-henry/short-story/the-ransom-of-red-chief/

5. So far, my friend and her father prefer to remain unnamed, and that's fine by me—as long as they keep coming up with brilliant, lifesaving ideas like this one!