Give us a break from running the world

I’d like to make a request on behalf of the Jewish people. Could someone else please take over for a week? 

We’re exhausted. 

Running absolutely everything might sound glamorous, but it isn’t. It’s mostly meetings. 

According to the internet, somewhere beneath an entirely unremarkable office block sits The Mervyn and Cecilia Goldberg Centre for Global Affairs, home to the legendary Jewish Operations Centre. 

People imagine a sleek underground command centre. Think NASA. Except with better catering, a kosher coffee shop with a chalav option, a padel court that’s always booked, a cold plunge, three shuls (because nobody could agree on nusach), and a lift that’s permanently out of order because apparently nobody controls Otis. 

Inside, enormous screens monitor world events. A digital map tracks every election, war, financial market, and weather system. There are clocks showing Jerusalem, New York, London, and Johannesburg, all running slightly late because someone forgot daylight saving. 

The day’s briefing begins. “Morning everyone. Quick updates. Before lunch we need to manipulate the media, move the stock market, control Hollywood, choose the next Pope, organise a protest in South Africa, invade Spain, assassinate Charlie Kirk, rig Eurovision, decide who wins the World Cup, and if someone has five minutes, could they please sort out the weather over Gauteng? Also, Motti, your mother called. Again.” 

A hand goes up. “Sorry, I can’t do the invasion. I’ve got my grandson’s school play.” 

Another voice from the back. “I swapped weather with Shlomo because I’ve got cheder pickup.” 

Someone else asks whether the meeting could have been an email. The invasion is moved to Thursday. After Mincha. Assuming the catering arrives. 

Honestly, it’s becoming impossible. 

Then there are the KPIs. Not only must we orchestrate every geopolitical event on earth, we’re also expected to win a wildly disproportionate number of Nobel Prizes; invent revolutionary technology, write bestselling books; produce world-class economists, scientists, and doctors; discover life-saving medicines; cure diseases; collect a few Olympic medals; and somehow still remember Auntie Sylvia’s birthday. 

Meanwhile, back in the real world, we’re already arguing about Rosh Hashanah synagogue seating and the kiddush committee has split into two factions over sushi. The family WhatsApp group has spent three days trying to decide whether Friday night’s dinner should start at 18:15 or 18:30. Half the cousins haven’t replied. One uncle has responded only with a thumbs-up emoji. Another insists he never got the message. 

And we’re expected to coordinate world domination? Please. 

So here’s my proposal. We need to outsource and let the Swiss take banking. The Canadians can handle diplomacy. The Japanese can take punctuality. The Italians can organise the catering because, frankly, ours is becoming repetitive. 

As for us, we’ll keep the Nobel Prizes. That seems to be one thing we genuinely do rather well. A people who make up around 0.2% of the world’s population have produced an extraordinary number of Nobel laureates, along with remarkable contributions to medicine, science, economics, literature, and technology. That’s not a conspiracy. It’s just statistics. 

Everything else? We’re tapping out. 

Because the next time I hear that the Jews are secretly behind the latest war, election, economic crisis, celebrity scandal, sporting result, or unusual weather pattern, I’ll know exactly what’s happened. 

Some poor intern at the Jewish Operations Centre forgot to update the shared calendar. 

Now Hollywood has been booked over the same time slot as Spain, someone accidentally scheduled a coup during a Nobel Prize ceremony, the weather committee has mistaken Johannesburg for Johannesburg, California, and Motti still hasn’t called his mother. 

Honestly. 

The real miracle isn’t that Jews supposedly run the world. It’s that we apparently do it despite being unable to reach consensus on sushi.