In the frenzy of organizing and packing to attend a writers workshop in Cape Cod and tying up loose ends, I decided to give myself a week off from writing a new story––that’s the first break I’ve taken in 83 weeks of new essays. I’ll be working on my memoir-in-progress this week and I’m excited!
So, this week, I thought I’d treat you to a story that I wrote for my local Story Slam, an event I participate in as often as possible. The Slam is the origin of my active writing life, the thing that fed my hunger, and challenged me to do more.
The sentence that had to be included in the story to qualify for the competition was “I’m Not Superstitious!” Originally performed for the Woodstock Bookfest Story Slam in June, on Friday the 13th, 2025 at The Maverick Concert Hall. What a blast!
My Great Aunt Paulie lived in a one room efficiency in downtown Miami Beach Florida. AKA “The Promised Land.”
My Great Aunt Paulie’s Primary Mission in life was playing a mean game of Kaluki. You know Kaluki? Me, neither. It involves a deck of cards. She told me it’s like rummy. I don’t know from rummy, either. But her Second Primary Mission? Fighting evil. My Great Aunt Paulie was a self-appointed superhero.
She was a simple soul, not learned in the ways of Talmud or Kabbala. But she knew a shit ton about evil.
My Great Aunt Paulie was from the shtetl, a girl who witnessed pogroms, Cossacks. Murder. And she had a terrible husband who sometimes hit her.
My Great Aunt Paulie learned the secret that would ward off the evil eye. A secret that can be summed up in three little words. Puh. Puh. Puh. That’s right. Puh. Puh. Puh.
She said it when bad things happened. She said it when good things happened. Can never be too safe, right? Of course, right.
Other people know this phrase as well. Even you may be familiar with it, especially if you’re Jewish. There are different ways to perform the ritual. Some people raise two fingers, then utter it, poking at the devil. Well, not the devil. We don’t believe in the “devil.” That’s a gentile thing.
But we sure as hell believe in evil.
Some people say it “poo-poo-poo.” I don’t like that version because it reminds me of, well, Poo.
Most people do a dry puh, puh, puh. It’s polite not to shower the person you’re trying to save with your spit.
My Great Aunt Paulie. She didn’t go for the dry puh, puh, puh. My Great Aunt Paulie; she was a spitter.
It wasn’t the kind of spit that sometimes forms on an old person’s lips. Paulie was an intentional spitter. She’d summon up a gob of the stuff from God knows where, and let it fly.
She did it with verve, she did it with gusto. She did it with a sense of passion and commitment I’ve never seen before or since. She’d say, “that’s the way you gotta do it, for it to voik.” “Voik” is Jewish for work.
Her puh, puh, puh. Wasn’t a sprinkle. Her puh, puh, puh was WET. It was so wet, you had to jump out of the way to avert the possibility of drowning, or, at the very least, being completely drenched in her spit. Her spit. I can tell you, from being the recipient of one of her “blessings” it’s not pretty. We’d all take cover any time she came into the room.
One day, I said to her, Great Aunt Paulie, you’re so superstitious! She said “No, I’m not! Vat is dat?” I explained it. She said, “oh yeah, no kiddink? I got news for you little goil, I’m not superstitious. I know evil. Evil is real.”
Puh, puh, puh.
She was right. And now, I do it, too. But I do it dry.
So, how did it turn out, you ask? Well. I was thrilled to take second place! And my friend, Kathleen McKitty Harris, nabbed first place….again! McKitty’s a rock star. Check her out, she’s a phenomenal storyteller and writes on Substack, too. Her publication is called Always Ask for Matches. She’s a pro at Brooklyn, Queens, and Bronx Irish accents. I do Brooklyn, Queens, and Bronx Jewish. Honestly, it’s to the untrained ear, it’s hard to tell them apart!
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