The Golem of Mar-a-Lago
Moshe sat in the deli, slowly chewing a hot pastrami on rye. The sandwich was perfect—briny, tender, with just enough mustard to sting. As he took another bite, his eyes landed on a black moth resting on the screen door. Its angular shape and dark hue reminded him of something.
That moth looks exactly like a B-2 Stealth Bomber, he thought. What a strange coincidence.
He returned his attention to the sandwich. His taste buds flared like cherry bombs with each bite. A swig of Dr. Brown’s cream soda washed it down in one clean gulp. That’s when he felt a pat on the back.
“Howdy, partner!” came the familiar voice of Mordechai. “You look like you’re really enjoying that POR.”
Moshe chuckled. “This pastrami melts in your mouth. You should order one before they run out.”
Mordechai slid into the seat across from him, but there was a different energy in his eyes—focused, almost solemn.
“I made a decision today,” Mordechai said. “After years of thinking it over… I’ve become a Trumper.”
Moshe blinked. “Wait, what? You switched sides? You’re supporting Donald J. Trump?”
“Yup.” Mordechai folded his arms. “The Twelve-Day War changed everything. Trump ordered the B-2s to drop thirty-thousand-pound bunker busters on Fordo and the other Iranian nuclear sites. No hesitation. No stalling. He proved he’s got brass ones. A real risk-taker.”
He leaned in, his voice more intense now. “He’s the terminator of existential threats. The Golem of Mar-a-Lago. A protector of the Jewish people. He didn’t just talk—he acted. Obama wouldn’t have. Biden couldn’t. And Harris? Please.”
Moshe frowned. “Yeah, but the man’s tearing America apart. The economy’s on a rollercoaster, civil liberties are eroding, our alliances are fraying. We’ve lost the moral high ground.”
Mordechai shrugged. “True. But here’s the question—maybe the only one that matters if you’re a Zionist American: Would you rather see Israel wiped off the map… or see America take a few hits under Trump?”
Moshe sat silently, processing. He turned back toward the moth still resting on the screen door. Its wings were motionless, poised like a bomber in waiting.
He gave a slow, quiet nod.
