"I just wanna melt away in all Its grace, drift away to that sacred place where there's no more you and me, no more they and we, just unity." - From "Unity," written by Trevor Hall and Matisyahu

Does Matisyahu dislike Jewish musicians?  That was my suspicion recently when I saw an ad for the singer's Festival of Light performances in New York City, which started on December 10 and continue (with breaks for Shabbos) until December 20. Inventively, Matisyahu has a different opening act on each of the eight performances: Glitch Mob, John Brown's Body, Dub Trio, Brothers Past, Rana, Kid Koala, Travis McCoy, and Kevin Devine, a mixture of reggae bands, rappers, and earnest singer/songwriters.

All of these acts--with the exception of McCoy, who is the singer in Gym Class Heroes and also works with Fall Out Boy, Cobra Starship and Pink, and dated Katy Perry--are relative outsiders in the music business, lacking the headliner's major-label support or platinum sales. And also, none of these acts is Jewish, as far as can be easily ascertained.   Matisyahu is in a unique position: He's not the biggest Jewish musician in the world, but he is certainly the biggest Jewish-identified musician in the last 50 years. We might divine Jewish sentiments or perspectives in Paul Simon's music, or recognize the Jewish references in Leonard Cohen's songs, but those are only facets of the performers' fully-assimilated identities. Matisyahu's musical identity begins with his Jewishness: He performs using a Hebrew name (a variation on his birth name, Matthew Miller) and both lives and performs as a Hasid, wearing traditional garb and declining to perform on Friday nights, when many musicians can command their largest fees. Financially, being in a band and not performing on Friday nights is kind of like owning a bar and closing it on Friday nights.

As recently as ten years ago, "Jewish music" usually meant ancient prayers set to homespun melodies and sung earnestly, accompanied by finger-picked guitar. It was about as fun as Hebrew school. Then came our current Jewish Musical Renaissance, with bands mixing klezmer, rock, jazz, punk, and cabaret, and adding witty or provocative lyrics in the tongue of the diaspora. (Some of this music is recorded and released by JDub Records, the label that issued Matisyahu's first three albums; JDub also now owns Jewcy.) Anyone who has been paying attention could have recommended some of these bands to Matisyahu, who would have found excellent, well-suited opening acts among them.

Let's not forget the specific circumstances here: This is the most commercially preeminent Jewish artist of our era celebrating a Jewish holiday in the very-Jewish Manhattan and Brooklyn, without any Jewish opening acts. Maybe an analogy will help illustrate my dismay: It's as if Stevie Wonder or Marvin Gaye, at the height of black consciousness in, say, 1969, had gone on tour with Simon & Garfunkel opening the shows.

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I've got this band called Good For the Jews - we make Jewish music for people who hate Jewish music. I'll get to the free ticket thing in a minute.

Do you like to laugh? NPR called us "hilarious," the Village Voice called us "wickedly hilarious," the New Jersey Standard called us "hilariously boorish," and the Philadelphia Weekly admitted that our music "has been called ‘hilarious' from coast to coast."

Do you like to drink? Do you live in New York City? Because we're doing a show on Thursday night, September 24, at City Winery - which has many other kinds of beverages in addition to the excellent wines we'll be drinking backstage. We will use comedy and music to celebrate the start of 5770, which certainly has a futuristic air about it. Take that, Andre 3000.

Do you like Jon Stewart? Because the Washington Post said we're "part of the sharp, new and often politically incorrect take on the culture presented by such talents as Jon Stewart, Sacha Baron Cohen and Sarah Silverman," and the Chicago Jewish News said our music "appeals to the same young-adult audience that eats up performers like Jon Stewart and Sarah Silverman." We agree, "young-adult audience" is a skin-crawling

Do you have mixed feelings about Adam Sandler? Because phrase. The Onion described us thus: "Imagine Adam Sandler with a few additional IQ points," and the Kansas City Pitch called us "better than Adam Sandler." (You'd be shocked how many Jews there are in Kansas City. Seriously. It's like a shtetl, but affluent.)

Even if you hate us, we have great guest stars for this show: Jessi Klein, whom you've seen on VH1's "Best Week Ever"; Dan Naturman, who's been on David Letterman and Conan O'Brien; and Shanya Ferm, a regular at Upright Citizens Brigade and Invite Them Up!

We also know that you're probably unemployed and those $430 weekly UI checks barely cover the cost of your double lattes. So we've arranged for Jewcy readers to get a special discount: Buy one ticket, get one free. Call City Winery at (212) 608-0555 ex 714, and ask for the 2-for-1 deal using the password "HA for Rosh Hashanah." Then you'll have extra money to spend on a Good For the Jews t-shirt. Or wine.

Come see us. We'll give you something to atone about.

The forehead can't rank higher than seventh on the list of most popular body parts for rock bands to autograph (assuming that breasts count as two separate parDreams Do Come True: 15 year-old Andy got his forehead signed by authorts). But for Jews, the keppe is sacred, the font only of education and wisdom, but also the sexuality that never quite emanates from the hips. So we were honored when Andy, a 15 year old at the first of our two D.C. concerts, asked us to sign his forehead. "Good luck with the tumor," I wrote with a black Sharpie, as his boho parents happily stood nearby. Andy will be 18 by the time that note wears off.

The Birchmere in D.C. was the penultimate stop on the Good For The Jews thirteen city "Putting The Ha! In Hanukkah" tour of major metropolises with substantial Jewish populations. The tour ends Sunday night, December 23, at the HighLine Ballroom in New York, with a hometown bash that also includes sets by Dave Attell, the LeeVees, Todd Barry, and Rachel Feinstein. Not since the Sickle Cell Anemia Telethon of 1975 have this many funny Jews gathered on one stage.

We sold 675 tickets at the Birchmere for our two weekend shows. Yes, we perform on Shabbos. Which means it isn't only Nazis who criticize us:

"Just curious," someone named Rochelle wrote to us this week. "How do you guys rationalize/explain performing/working on Friday nights?" A classic Jewish question— feigned innocence, stuffed with judgment and condescension. I explained that we are Jews who choose not to keep Shabbos, and that we offer other Jews the choice of whether or not to see our show on a Friday night. We are pro-choice. That's an explanation, Rochelle; the notion of rationalization presupposes that there are unacceptable ways to practice religion, and that is a description of fundamentalism. Sit on a dreidel and rotate.

The Jews' biggest critics are other Jews. It's a syndrome I call "Jew-on-Jew violence." Orthodox Jews look down on Conservative Jews, for not being observant enough. Conservative Jews look down on Reform Jews, for not being pious enough. And Reform Jews look down on Orthodox Jews, for not showering enough. I think that's unique to our tribe. Does one Presbyterian feel superior to another Presbyterian? Is there infighting among Methodists? Probably not.

Here's another recent email, from Stan Meyer, who makes a point of quickly establishing his religion: "Of all the bigoted hate-filled songs coming out of a fellow Jew's mouth." Stan is objecting to our song "Jews For Jesus," a small piece of mockery conceived around this couplet: "Jews For Jesus, the phrase is pure deceit/It's like being a vegetarian for meat." Although David Fagin and I are not observant Jews, at least we don't worship Jesus. So there are Jews even we can look down on. And Stan Meyer objects to the way we mock Jews For Jesus. "This religiously inspired hate-filled language is as bad as the rhetoric of Al Queda," he tells us.

Admittedly, I don't spend a lot of time on the Al-Jazeera site. But I'm guessing that whatever propaganda they compose about Jews and the decadent west is a lot less satirical than what we say about Jews For Jesus: "You offer me a pamphlet, I decline/I'd rather jam a broom up your behind." Likening a cheap song to Al Queda solicitations of martyrdom is pretty facile hyperbole. If Stan Meyer isn't a Jew For Jesus, then he's a synagogue hall monitor writing detention citations for Jews whose blue Stars of David aren't affixed straight.

Look, Good For The Jews gets plenty of adoration, too. The word hilarious comes up a lot in newspaper articles as we go from town to town. You can read about the show we played in Portland, Oregon, by going to the fantastic chick-on-chick blog Girl Gone Child, and I hope I'm not linking from this blog to that one only because the writer kvells about my wit and charm, and one commenter declares "OMG Rob is hawt and Good For The Jews' little ditty 'It's Good To Be A Jew At Christmas' made my panties explode."

Even better than the rave reviews, even better than being called hawt, better even than signing Andy's forehead was an email we got the morning after our first concert in D.C. It came from Camille, whose last name I'll omit for obvious reasons: "I saw your show at the Birchmere last night and it was HILARIOUS. It was an amazing show. [Additional compliments deleted for the sake of brevity.] Unfortunately, my friend's mom made us leave. I am a twelve year old Christian, and if you can make me laugh when your main target is Jews in their twenties and thirties, you're hitting a pretty wide audience."

Teaching twelve year old Christians how to say shvantz and fehrkakt and Shabbos goy, and how to think differently from parents, seems like a pretty worthy use of a Friday night. Spin that dreidel, Rochelle.

Apollo Creed wants his hat back: San Franciscan nutjob Joe WebbWell, the Nazis have noticed us. Okay, not lots of Nazis, just one. We were finishing a soundcheck for our San Francisco show at the Great American Music Hall, the sixth of thirteen cities on the Good For The Jews national tour, when the lighting guy shouted, "Well boys, you've made the big time. You have a protester outside." We're two guys who sing funny and profane songs about being Jewish. Who would protest that? My family's not impressed, but I don't think they'd follow me to San Francisco and picket.

So we went outside to find a surly, nervous man holding a sign that said "I WANT YOU TO DIE FOR ISRAEL." He'd spelled the S with a swastika. I asked him if he was affiliated with any group. "Yeah," he growled. "I'm a Nazi. And you can publish that." Sure, I knew Nazis existed, but I never expected to see one up close. It was like standing in front of the Great Wall of China, or the Mona Lisa – it's startling, no matter how many times you've seen the image, to confront the real thing, in three dimensions. His sign had small plastic skulls dangling from the top, and he was dressed as Uncle Sam, in a red, white and blue hat, though in truth he looked more like Apollo Creed. He cooperatively posed for pictures, even when I asked him to raise his arm a little higher.

The Nazi identified himself as Joe Webb, a retired corrections officer in his 60s, and he told us he'd been looking for movie listings in the newspaper—he wanted to see No Country For Old Men—when he read an article about Good For The Jews. Since the film would still be playing after we'd left town, he put on his best patriotic costume, Xeroxed some pamphlets and came down to the Tenderloin to protest the worldwide Jewish conspiracy. If there is one, how do I join? I'd like to be staying in nicer hotels. "I bet you'd like to punch me in the face," he said to me. "Yeah, that sounds pretty good," I agreed.

Soon, a squad car pulled up outside the club – summoned by Mr. Webb himself, who insisted the police a) protect his First Amendment right to protest, and b) arrest me for threatening to assault him. The two officers—a woman of color and a man I'm pretty certain was gay—were not sympathetic to his cause.

My friend who grew up in San Francisco, and is the daughter of two Auschwitz survivors, says that when her family went to Jewish events in the early 1970s, there was often a small group of Nazis outside, jeering at the Jews. San Francisco is famous for its permissiveness, so I guess it's a good place for a Nazi to live. The weather's better than Idaho or Montana, and there are lots of freelance Web designers to help you build your white-pride web site.

The Tenderloin is home to every group Nazis revile, and pretty soon, Mr. Webb was being heckled and jeered by blacks, gays, Asians and even a few trannies. Another police car arrived, then a few more, until there were five cruisers with their red lights running. One of the club's security men, a half-black guy in cargo shorts, tossed his cigarette butt into Mr. Webb's burlap bag. By the way, the San Francisco Weekly reported this story on their blog, adding, "Nazis give the best PR."

Not terribly sympathetic: The cops Our Nazi's pamphlet listed sixteen things he'd dubbed "NOT GOOD FOR THE JEWS," beginning with "Jewish behavior" and "Shiksas who figure it out" and moving on to "5 million Palestinians who want their land back" and "Jewish ownership and/or domination of almost all the media." The name of our band, he wrote, typified "the Jewish categorical imperative," as well as Jewish racism. "How is that old Jewish sense of humor doing?" he asked at the end. "Are you laughing yet?"

And no, I wasn't laughing. Any Jew, when confronted with a Nazi, is going to feel a mixture of fear and rage. I was wondering how many other people also thought six million dead Jews wasn't enough. The police insisted he remove the plastic skulls, which kept hitting pedestrians as he marched in front of the building. He tried to pull off the string that attached the skulls to the sign, but couldn't do it. "Officer, can I borrow a knife?" he asked. "Unfortunately, sir, I'm not allowed to hand a weapon to a civilian," the cop said. "Especially not a civilian who's a Nazi," I added.

Right about then, the cigarette butt did its work, and his burlap bag began to smoke. He complained to the officers, emptied his bag onto the cement and began beating the bag to put out the spark. The Jews who'd come outside to gape at him laughed, and then, en massed, we went back inside the club, relieved that this particular Nazi posed no imminent danger. In fact, he'd kind of unified everyone there: As comedians say, our show killed.

Tour scorecard

Cities we've played: Cleveland, Milwaukee, Chicago, Seattle, Portland, Los Angeles, San Francisco

Cities still to come: Denver (The Soiled Dove), Orlando (The Social), Boca Raton (NY Comedy Club), Baltimore (Recher Theater), Washington, D.C. (Birchmere) and New York (Highline Ballroom).

[Read the entire Good for the Jews Tour Diary here.]

Right next to Crackpipe National Park: Richard Bong's namesakeYou might assume that the 454.7 mile drive from Cleveland to Milwaukee is boring. And if, as a result of that assumption, you failed to pay attention, then you would not notice the world’s largest fireworks warehouse in Fremont, Indiana, or the Recreational Vehicle Hall of Fame in nearby Elkhart. And you would completely overlook my favorite Wisconsin landmark, the Bong Recreation Area on Route 94W. We’d like to tour the RV displays, and the Bong seems like a great spot to unwind for a few hours. But David Fagin and I need to move along and make it to Milwaukee for the second night of our thirteen-city Good For The Jews “Putting The Ha! In Hanukkah” tour.

Bill Stace, who runs the Miramar Theatre, a former silent-movie house, tells us the Milwaukee weather has turned “unseasonably cold” today, which sucks, because “seasonably cold” is fucking freezing. Golda Meir grew up in Milwaukee, but at least she had the common sense to leave for somewhere warmer. We draw an even larger crowd here than we did last year, and the Young Jewish Milwaukee Federation has planned their annual “Latke Vodka” event around our show. It’s perfect: The more vodka they drink, the better we sound.

David won’t eat within four hours of a show, which means he always needs a midnight snack. Tonight, after we cruise a downtown that’s overloaded with drunk college kids in t-shirts, he grabs a drive-through McDonald’s feast: two cheeseburgers, small fries, six-piece chicken nuggets.

Then it’s back to our Best Western hotel. Next door, in room 708, there’s a party going on. “What kind of a party is so loud it even keeps a rock band awake?” David grumbles, perhaps dizzy from all the sodium and cow eyelids. Around 2 a.m., through the thin walls, we hear a screech: “I am so drunk!” When we wake up in the morning, I dial room 708. “Urlloh?” a groggy voice stumbles. “Oh! Sorry!” I say. “I must’ve dialed the wrong number!” On our way to the lobby, we pass 708, and I flip their DO NOT DISTURB sign to the PLEASE CLEAN THIS ROOM side. While we’re still at the elevator, a maid uses her pass key to walk in, and we hear confused yelling as the elevator door closes.

Santa's favorite: Sushi on the roadIn Chicago, our car keeps slipping around on black ice, and the weather forecast is for “black fog,” a plague unknown even in the Old Testament. Why can’t Hannukah happen in June? Every station in town is playing Styx songs: Annoying. David knows every word to the Styx songs: Even more annoying.

We’re playing the Double Door, in the Wicker Park area, and our opening act is a local comic, Hannibal Buress, who’s been on the Craig Ferguson Show. Hannibal does a joke about seeing Orthodox Jews for the first time: “I couldn’t believe they weren’t even stopping to say hi to one another. If I saw somebody dressed exactly like me, I’d at least be like, yo, nice hat.” And he talks about a Jewish girl he knows, whose parents disapprove of her being a comedian. “I told her, ‘I know one way you could distract them from that,’” he says. “’Date me.’” Hannibal’s black.

You know what smells really nice? Every place except New York City. Seattle seems like paradise to us: the Triple Door, a gleaming dinner theater, is sold out and we’re fed wonderfully at their Wild Ginger restaurant next door. “I don’t ever want to play in any other club,” David says through a mouthful of sashimi. Fed Ex has misplaced two boxes of merchandise which we’d shipped ahead to Chicago, which means that for four nights we don’t have CDs or t-shirts to sell. But a night like this makes every tour obstacle and boredom seem minor: our improvised bits with the audience work perfectly, my Christian Scientist shtick causes roars and 270 people adore even the stuff we don’t think is so funny. Afterward, a slurry Jewish girl celebrating her birthday makes it clear she’d like to continue to party with us in more intimate circumstances. I give her a chaste kiss and wish her a happy birthday. “Oh,” she frowns. “You’re gay?”

[Read the entire Good for the Jews Tour Diary here.]