So back to me fatha.

That's me dad in a faisty temper.

So ez I told ye in an earlier post, Rebbe Weinstock, the mohel fer witch me pater was tha Shabbos goy fer, was barren a male heirs. Now accordion to me fatha, Weinstock hae bilt oop p'raps th' most successful moheling biznaiss in olde New York. To hoom, it moost be arsked by Weinstock, should me moheling biznaiss be passed to--it bein' the duly duty to continue the legacy of moheling--it taint lika barber shop wair when ye shutter hit hit's dune and goon.

An' that's whair me pater cooms in.

An' that's whair I stoop fer today.

I moostiv forgottin.

Ai! I moost be gettin' on in yairs, I moost. I hae not yit hae tha courteasy t' tell ye whut it ais a mohel do and why he do it.

A mohel be a man that caircumscizes a Joosh bairn on th' eighth day after he is bairn. A ritchual tha' hearkens baick to tha daiz of Moses an' seals tha Joos holy covennot wi' thair lord. Tha's right, d'ya see. Tha' mohel snips wha accordion to tha Joosh naids snippin', with a large dossa sweet wine so as t' minniemize th' bawlin' a th' babe.

It make no difference if yair rich o' poor o' in betwain, whain yer eight daiz old, if'n yair a bairn, a mohel deeposits he'self on yer porty-co and makes wi' tha blessin'.

Tha's all fer na. I havva flight to cach.

Gittin' stahrted in the mohel game.

This harh are pahrt too of me staree.

Waal, it were lahk this, d’ya see. Me fatha grew oop, he did, in Olde New York, witcher East Side, West Side, ahl aroon tha toon. He wuz, he wuz what were known in tha bygone era as a Shabbos goy. Shabbos, fer those a you who dunna know, is tha Joosh Sabbath, meanin’ tha holiest of thar days, whan they go ter thar churches, witch they call shool or more formally Sinny-gog and oon which they kin doo know work a’tall even things as minner as turning ahn tha light switch er the ooven er narly ennything else yoo can thinka, tha they call werk witch is moost prohibited oon tha Sabbath. And goy is thar slightly perjorative term, d’ya see, for a non Jew. So tha combernation, Shabbos goy wood mean tha Gentile who do ahl that dairty werk for ‘em, tendin’ to tha fahrs whan fahrs were lit, stoking tha fairnace wi’ coal, lahtin’ tha cendles, an sooch, as it warre, d’ya see.

So eza Shabbos goy, me fatha, Gahd rest his soul, becahm, afta menny yahrs, potta tha’ Weinstock fam’lee, as it warre, an’ tha Weinstock’s fer thossa ya who dunna ken, warra fruma loong lahn of mohels, presteejus an’ esteemed frum tha’ ol’ coontree to tha new, d’ya see, mohel-hood as it warre, bein’ possed on from genny-ration to genny-ration frum fatha to soon frum tahm immoral.

Waal, that warre tha big inning of mee tale. Mahre t'coom, mahre t'coom.

Who I yam and from whence I come.

“Tip” of the morning to you, as we says in tha Irish mohel business. Waal, hectually, thar’s not so mooch we says in tha Irish mohel business. D’ya see, I tis the warld’s only Irish mohel, I tis. How did it huppen? From whence did I spring, fully formed and cuttin’ mighty lak a rose?

Waal, that's whut I propose to tellya in this bloomin' blog. Becuz affer me, thair ain't no more Irish mohels. D'ya see, it dies, tha snippin', tha clippin', tha 'take a little oof tha top,' d'ya see, it stoops wi me.

So stay tuned right hair. And me whole story, I will reveal. Piece by piece. One installment a day. Without faille, me friends. Without faille.

That's all fer now.

"Doyle, the Irish Mohel."