Frequent readers of this column are aware that about once a year, I get out of the house head off to Kosherfest, which is the biggest kosher food industry trade show within a seven-mile radius from my house.  For two days, everyone in the kosher food industry gets together – manufacturers, kashrus organizations, Israelis selling face cream, and security guards, and apparently one security dog, who was there to sniff for dangerous items but ended up spending a lot of time near the sausages – to either shake hands or pretend that they’d really like to, but they’re holding too many food samples.

It’s cold.  That’s all I can think about right now, as I sit in my drafty 80+ year old Passaic house, five feet from my front door. 

As I’m writing this, it is 7 degrees outside, and according to my device, it feels like it’s negative six. 

As frequent readers of my columns may have figured, I don’t really speak a lot of Yiddish.  Or at least I try not to use it as a crutch in my writing.  Like there are some humor writers out there – particularly in the general public – that think that if you pepper in an “Oy vey!” here and there, it’s just as funny as an actual punch line.