Three weeks ago we announced our New Yorker fiction parody contest , inspired by a short story in The New Yorker. Our parody contest asked writers to recast other historical events in the New Yorker mode of reversing sympathy. Several writers submitted more than one story; we chose the one we thought was best.
We supplied many of the titles. Gone were the sour playground days of his youth when jolly apes would snicker and make fun of him and his name. Dershowitz said out loud with a great deal of satisfaction. Dershowitz smiled as he reflected on how far he had travelled, how high he had climbed: a Harvard chair, a made-for-hollywood profile on the legal defense team of a black football star, and invitations to the White House.
The White House visits were the best of it, and Mr. Dershowitz prided himself in always remembering why he was there. He was there to remind the President, Mr. President whatever-your-name-is, that it is Mr.
Alan Dershowitz who speaks for the Jewish people. Dershowitz was intent on making this point clear this afternoon when he travelled to the White House to meet with President Bush. He brought a signed copy of his book, The Case For Israel, with the intension of personally presenting it to the President. Dershowitz on the back. It was out of character for Mr. Dershowitz to feel nervous, even in the presence of the Commander in Chief, but when the time came Mr.
His book felt heavy and Mr. It was written for powerful lawmakers who need to be reminded constantly of the exalted role that the Chosen People play in in our own universe and beyond. Dershowitz presented his book with both hands. His eyes were moist. A White House staffer snatched the book out of Mr.
