Those Were The Days My Friend
“Mordechai, have you read the article in the New York Times accusing Israeli soldiers of raping Palestinians? Moshe asked. It’s so bad that Bibi is planning on suing the Times for libel, and other Israeli politicians are ordering their staff to cancel their subscriptions.”
“Of course not. I don’t read anti-Israel crap,” Mordechai replied. “That paper is lies camouflaged as news. I wouldn’t even wrap the remains of a gutted pike in its paper edition. The last time their editorial board wrote a favorable article about Israel was in 1948. What a shonda!”
He paused and shook his head.
“Mordechai, did you know that many of the Times’ publishers were and are members of the tribe? Jews! And during World War II, when Jews were being slaughtered in Europe, stories about the Holocaust were buried in the paper. And who do you think is partly responsible for getting those crazy, self-hating New York Jews to vote for Mamdani?”
Mordechai didn’t wait.
“Of course! The New York Times. Who else?”
“But, Mordechai, I do know that you play Wordle and Connections every day.”
“That’s totally different. Those are free. I don’t subscribe. I wouldn’t give a penny to those bastards. Even if they kissed my tuchus, I wouldn’t give them a dime.”
Moshe smiled and shook his head.
“Well, Mordechai, it ain’t all bad. The Times management has told its writers to be careful about using the word ‘genocide’ when writing about Gaza. The Left has accused the Times of being pro-Israel and called for boycotts of the paper. Protesters have even spray-painted its windows.”
“Yeah, that’s the Times doing bubkes for Israel,” Mordechai replied. “They’re just covering their tuches so nobody can accuse them of being biased. They’re trying to be fair and balanced.”
Moshe laughed.
“I can remember when the Times was a powerhouse. In those days, Americans actually read newspapers. Nowadays, comedians make jokes about it. It went from ‘All the News That’s Fit to Print’ to ‘All the Games That Are Fit to Play.’”
Moshe paused, his expression changing.
“But I remember when I was a kid how much I loved the Times.”
Moshe suddenly broke into song:
“Those were the days, my friend.
I thought they’d never end.”
Mordechai clapped.
“What a song!”
Moshe continued.
“All I had to worry about back then was passing those damn New York State Regents exams and the SATs. And I thought reading the Times Magazine and the book reviews would help me. As a teenager, I was addicted to that newspaper.
“I had a four-hour Sunday ritual.
“Growing up in the Catskills, on winter Sunday mornings I’d wake up around eight o’clock, put on my winter coat, black rubber galoshes, dark-blue wool gloves, and a red scarf. All bundled up, I’d walk across the street to Ritner’s Grocery.
“I’d buy a quarter-pound of Nova, a poppy-seed bagel, a four-ounce package of cream cheese, and the Sunday Times.
“Walking home, I realized that the newspaper weighed a ton.
“I’d toast the poppy-seed bagel, smear it with Philly, and sit down with one hand holding a cup of freshly stirred Sanka and the other holding my warm bagel. Then I’d open that enormous newspaper and disappear into it.
“Again,” Moshe sang, “‘Those were the days, my friend.’”
Mordechai smiled.
“I can see you sitting there now.”
“You know,” Moshe continued, “I even remember when I was practicing law and saw that the Times had printed my name in its pages.
“Boy, was I proud!
“So proud that I framed the article and hung it in my office.”
Mordechai laughed.
“So after all these years of complaining about the Times, you’re telling me that newspaper helped make you a lawyer?”
Moshe smiled.
“Well, if I had to thank the Times for anything, it would probably be for helping me with my Regents exams, my SATs, and maybe even becoming a lawyer.”
Before Moshe could say another word, Mordechai suddenly belted out Bob Dylan’s classic:
“‘The Times They Are A-Changin’!”
Moshe burst out laughing.
And perhaps Mordechai was right.
Times change. Newspapers change. People change. And sometimes, even the things we once loved become things we criticize.
But Moshe realized something else.
Almost anything can be used for good or for bad—even the New York Times.
And for one kid growing up in the Catskills, that newspaper once opened up a world far larger than the little town in which he lived.
Maybe that’s what made those Sundays so special.
Those really were the days, my friend.
