Sukkot is here again, and I thought it would be fun to tell a few Jewish ghost stories during those cold nights in the sukkah, when everyone is just about ready to go back inside because Jews seem to have a moratorium on the outdoors. Come to think of it, perhaps Moses beat a rock so many times because he had to live with a bunch of Jews in the wilderness for 40 years.
Come to think of it, perhaps Moses beat a rock so many times because he had to live with a bunch of Jews in the wilderness for 40 years.
I never went to Jewish sleepaway camp, unless you count summer nights spent as a kid in the ’90s watching classic TV sitcoms on “Nick at Nite” while stuffing four dozen grape leaves as camp.
No, I never sat around a toasty fire and heard eerie stories, though my family often tried to put me to bed by warning that if I didn’t fall asleep within a few minutes, the Ayatollah would pay me a visit. So much for sweet dreams.
A cursory Google search for “Jewish Ghost Stories” reveals spooky tales, many derived from the Talmud. But since I am compensating for the years I never spent attending sleepaway camp (or going camping, because high-maintenance Persians and camping are a bad mix), I have created a new tale book of Jewish ghost stories for readers to share with friends, family, and a few neighbors who are concerned that the hut on your front yard will lower property values in the neighborhood.
These stories focus less on The Golem or dybukkim (wandering spirits that won’t leave bodies until exorcized), and more on, well, you’ll see. Readers beware: The following is not for the faint of heart, and is especially not suitable for anyone who is prone to hallucinations, vivid imaginations, or threatening to move to Canada if one candidate wins over another next month.
The Tale of the Five Persian Brides
Once upon a time, a group of five Persian Jewish brides sat together in a beautiful sukkah adorned with colorful fabrics made of organza and satin, with sequins and, for some reason, a big, crystal chandelier hanging from the fragile palm fronds. As the young women sipped their delicate jasmine tea and spoke exuberantly about their respective wedding plans, a strange, low fog settled over the sukkah and rattled the women into silence.
Something felt wrong. It was Sukkot, a holiday known as “Z’man simchateinu” (“a time of our happiness”), and they were all going to be married soon in lovely wedding ceremonies. And yet, something triggered in the young, radiant women an inescapable sense of discomfort.
Was it the ominous fog? Or the piercing silence? Something felt like a disturbing omen.
And then, one of the brides gasped and dropped her glass teacup, shattering the stillness. Eyes wide and hands trembling, she offered a terrifying utterance that none of the women can bear to recall to this day: “Friends,” she spoke in a quiet, shaky voice, “in a few months, each one of us will marry a wonderful Ashkenazi man. And we will never, ever be able to touch rice during Passover again.”
No one knows how many brides fainted that night. Legend has it some of them even returned to Iran out of desperate fear of having to find a replacement for rice one week out of the year.
The Curse of Daylight Savings
Years ago, after Daylight Savings Time was introduced in this country, a middle-aged Jewish man with shaky nerves and a fear of crowded spaces attempted to prepare a Shabbat meal for himself. He thought he had secured all the ingredients for non-Sephardic roast chicken: chicken, water and salt. Suddenly, he was struck with a bolt of inspiration to elevate his chicken dish with “a kick”— something exotic and tangy, something that would help him feel as though this chicken was made with the flavorful tastes of a whole other part of the world. “I’m going to buy some black pepper!” the man cried excitedly.
He glanced at the grandfather clock in the living room. The clock read 2 p.m. “Good, I still have time,” he reassured himself as he prepared to stroll into a local kosher supermarket around the corner. But the man failed to remember that Daylight Savings Time had begun the previous weekend. Legend has it that this poor soul actually entered a crowded kosher market at 3 p.m. on a Friday afternoon.
And to this day, no one has seen or heard from him. Though some people believe that his ghost haunts the overpriced spice aisle of the kosher market, where black pepper has a markup of 50-to-70%.
The Monkey’s Paw (and Lesson on Power)
One scorching hot summer’s day, a Jewish American millennial was strolling through a crowded bazaar in Marrakech when he spied a curious sight: a shriveled monkey’s paw tucked behind various Moroccan knick-knacks often beloved by tourists. “How much for that monkey’s paw?” he asked the stall keeper. The toothless old man grimaced and warned, “That is not for sale. It will bring curses on the head of he who approaches it with a wish.” But the undeterred young tourist responded, “I am a millennial.My tolerance for long work hours is historically low and my parents told me I am entitled to pretty much everything. So take this money and give me that paw.”
He asked the elderly man for his Venmo QR code, picked up the paw and proceeded to walk away. “Beware!” shouted the stall keeper. “Do not abuse the magic of the monkey’s paw! Be careful what you wish for!” The young man was intrigued. “Magic, huh?” he said as he examined the paw. “Alright, you wrinkled prune of a tchotchke, I wish to be the richest and most powerful man in the world.”
As soon as he uttered those words, the paw seemed to move in the man’s hand. Startled, he threw it aside toward the dusty ground, but before he could attempt a Venmo refund, he was transported into a multi-million-dollar mansion, where his new personal assistant informed him that he was the richest and most powerful man in the world.
The young man was thrilled, until his assistant informed him that an angry mob had gathered outside his property. Perplexed, he wondered what he could have done to arouse so much fury and hatred. And then, he realized the terrifying truth: He was the most powerful man in the world, wielding untold power and influence. And he happened to be Jewish.
Beware the Chef
Emily had waited for years for a kosher restaurant to open in her small town. When one finally opened, it was a sushi restaurant with a head chef who was an Israeli ex-commando named Moti.
The food was so intolerable that the sushi tasted like an imitation of imitation crab. One day, Emily worked up the nerve to complain to Chef Moti about his terrible sushi.
She was never seen again.
Well, maybe that’s a myth. But her mother didn’t hear from her for four hours. And it was incredibly stressful.
The Day After
Note: This tale is more effective when told over a flashlight under one’s chin, in the dark.
On a chilly night in early November, 71% of Jewish Americans fell asleep having learned that Donald J. Trump was reelected president.
On an entirely unrelated note, 95% of the Iranian Revolutionary Guard Corps, including the replacement (for the replacement) of former IRGC head Qassem Soleimani, went into hiding that same evening. The remaining 5% of IRGC members demanded a recount of votes in the U.S. presidential election.
The Bitter Truth
One year, a terrible, terrible thing happened to Israel and the Jewish people worldwide. We tried to show disturbing evidence of the crimes, but few believed us. We pleaded for our right to also exist as human beings, but we were dehumanized at every turn.
This horror story, however, has a meaningful outcome: Jews became more loving of each other, their heritage, their identities, and their allies, than ever before.
And years later, we finally found the man who attempted to shop for Shabbat late one Friday afternoon. He had voluntarily hidden himself in a giant freezer at the market, hoping to be discovered and thawed at a time when the world was finally ready to embrace Jews and the Jewish state.
He was thawed and reintroduced to the world in the year 2239.
Chag Ha’Sukkot Sameach.
Tabby Refael is an award-winning writer, speaker and weekly columnist for The Jewish Journal of Greater Los Angeles. Follow her on X and Instagram @TabbyRefael.
More news and opinions than at a Shabbat dinner, right in your inbox.