Upgrading to Cohen

Today I took a look at office space in a new location. The realtor was a nice Jewish guy, about my age, who had a dozen ways to flatter me. Can you imagine having a repertoire that includes,

You can’t possibly have been in practice for 30 years. That would mean you started working at 10!

Stuff like that.

Anyway, one of the ways sales guys try to reel you in is by talking culture, and it was me that got the ball rolling.

He said, “I just want you to know that I’m presenting this exactly as I’m presenting it to Dr. K.”

“Well,” I say with a laugh,”she’s more chashuv (rhymes with duh shoes), “the K’s are Cohanim (meaning from the priestly family of Israel). My father says he’s a Cohain, but who really knows, you know?”

“Oh but you know what they did, our grandfathers, when they came to the new country.”

“No, what?” I asked.

“They did what every immigrant does who has an opportunity to make himself look better, to earn more respect.”

“Oh, I see where you’re going.”

“Yeah, when asked, Are you a Cohain, a Levy, or a Yisraeli, many of them chose to be Cohanim.”

“An upgrade,” I said.

“Uh, huh.”

We talked a bit about rent, but I reflected on our talk and wondered if he even thought back on it.  It’s not exactly a complementary thing he said about us, really.

I don’t think he knew what he did there, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he replayed that conversation back and decided he shouldn’t have said what he said. Just like when he started telling me a few of his personal problems and I told him my fee, not thinking that he’d be sorry he hadn’t charged more per square foot.

Loosely yours,

zachdus