“Sit,” Donald Trump ordered as he motioned to a chair opposite his impressive desk in his even more impressive office. “Do you know why you’re here?”
I shook my head.
“I heard that you once wanted to be me.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You were in the 11th grade and it was in Spanish class and the teacher asked everyone to name someone they wanted to be like and you said ‘Donald Trump’.”
I had a sudden flashback to the spring of 1989 at Gunn High School in Palo Alto, California. Our 11th grade Spanish teacher, Señora Stroessner asked each student to name someone they wanted to be like. At the time I was the only guy in a class full of girls and to impress them I debated between superstar quarterback Joe Montana or multimillionaire Donald Trump. For some reason I answered ‘Trump’.
“How did you know that?” I asked Trump.
“Oh, I know everything about everyone,” Trump laughed. “I’m like God, only with better hair.”
I was speechless.
“That was a joke, Yonatan. You posted that story on your Facebook wall,” he smiled. “Be careful what you post on social media, even if it’s something that happened years ago. I ought to know.”
He was right. For a few minutes back in 1988 I did want to be like Donald Trump, but the moment passed immediately and I had forgotten all about it.
“Don’t worry about it, I won’t hold you to it,” Trump said. “Anyway, that’s not why I invited you here. I hear you’re a damn good writer.”
I nodded slowly, not wanting to disagree with him on anything.
“Good, so I want you to write something for me.”
“Sure, what?”
“So you know that my daughter Ivanka had a Jewish orthodox conversion and married a great Jewish guy, Jared.”
“Yes, Mr. Trump. Mazal tov!”
Trump smiled. “So they have these wonderful kids. I have real Jewish grandkids, can you believe it? Anyway, they are getting all excited about this Jewish holiday coming up that falls right in the middle of my presidential campaign. You know, it’s that Jewish Halloween, where they get all dressed up in costumes.”
“You mean, Purim?”
“Yes, Purim. So I asked Ivanka what this holiday was all about and she gave me this book to read.”
Trump slid over a book to my side of the desk.
I recognized it immediately.
“This is the Book of Esther, the scroll from which Jews read on Purim. It tells the whole story. What about it?”
“What about it?!” Trump raised his voice. “Have you read this story? They ripped me off!”
“Come again, Mr. Trump?”
“This story is exactly like my life. I’d like sue the bastards who wrote it!”
“Well, according to Jewish tradition Queen Esther and Mordechai wrote it themselves, but they’ve been dead for thousands of years.”
“I know that!” Trump said angrily, snatching the book back from me. “But just humor me for a minute. Do you remember how the story begins?”
“Well,” I said, “the wealthy and powerful king holds a huge feast and invites everyone in the kingdom to attend so he can show off his vast wealth.”
“Sounds like me. Go on.”
“The king orders that his wife, the queen, appear at the party but she refuses, so he deposes her.”
“Now that could describe my first wife Ivana or my second wife Marla, take your pick. Then what happens?”
“Well, the king holds a beauty pageant to choose a new wife.”
“There you go. My current wife Melania is a famous fashion model.”
“Ok, Mr. Trump. But what about the rest of the story, the parts with Mordechai, Esther, and Haman.
“Look, I’m not saying it’s an exact copy of my life, but it’s pretty darn close. You’ve got some old Jewish guy wearing old clothes named Mordechai, who if you asked me probably looked a lot like Bernie Sanders, always poking his nose in the king’s business. Then you’ve got Esther, a self-righteous character that Hillary Clinton could play with her hands tied behind her back.
“Well, I don’t know about that.”
“And then this Haman guy comes to the President, I mean king, and says that he’s got a bunch of illegal people he wants to get rid off and the king says ‘great, get rid of them’. And his capital city Shushan just happens to have a giant wall to keep ‘em out. Did you get that? ‘A wall’ – that’s my idea!”
“Wait a minute, Mr. Trump – “
“Oh, and that’s not all – just take a look at the name of the holiday.”
“Purim?”
“Exactly. Replace the ‘I’ in Purim with a ‘T’ and rearrange the rest of the letters and what do you get?
“ ‘Trump’”, I offered sheepishly.
“Exactly! I tell you, this whole megilla is one big set-up to paint me in a bad light. That’s why I want you to rewrite it.
“Me?”
“Yes, you. I want you to make the king the hero of the story. Substitute Rubio & Cruz for Bigtan & Teresh, the two guys who tried unsuccessfully to plot against the king - and see if you can give Chris Christie a cameo too.
“Chris Christie?”
“Yeah, a small one-line part. Maybe he can play the guy who ratted out Haman. What was his name? Charbonah!”
“You mean the guy who gets to tell Haman, ‘You’re fired!”
“Touché. Now get out of here and start writing.”
I reached for the door but The Donald called out behind me.
“You know something, Yonatan. You really should have gone with Montana.”
The writer has an MA in Creative Writing from Bar-Ilan University