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"Chaverim, una palabra, min fadlak." The ship rocks gently in the waves at this night anchorage in the North Sea. The full moon shines down brightly on frigid water, blessing their endeavors. The white-bearded man in the turban continues in his Arabic-accented Spanish.
"I know we are all hungry, and we are anxious to move on to the meal, but the Chachamim, the brilliant sages in whose footsteps we follow, decreed in their wisdom that before we eat, we must retell the story." Ironic chattering greets this pronouncement.
"And so, gentlemen, I present to you... King Achashverosh, patsy to the Duke of Lerma... may his confusion be prolonged!" Mild cheers and jeers erupt.
"You mock? Ah, but save the mocking for our next guest, Achashverosh's evil vizier Haman, with his Autos da Fe and his holy, cleansing fires. He is the one we are commanded to blot out." The crew happily obliges, booing and stomping and clashing swords in a merry cacophony.
"Well done, men. And next we have our heroine, the delightful Queen, my dear wife back in Amsterdam. I do it all for her." Applause breaks out, interrupted with an occasional cry of "Malca!" or "Reina!"
A hefty, middled aged man who has been seated next to the speaker stands up now and claps his arm around the man's shoulders. "And last but not least, we have Mordechai, the Ish Yehudi, our own Chacham, Rabbi Palache. Without him we would be ruined." The white-haired man acknowledges this curtly, but does not allow much applause.
"Well, then, we have met our cast. Let us tell their story now." The Rabbi unfurls a scroll of parchment and begins to chant. "Vayehi bimei Achashverosh, hu Achashverosh..." Forty minutes later, he is finished reading.
"Mis Amigos... It is time to break our fast, at last. But before we eat, one last thing. The Chachamim, in their wisdom, commanded us to retell that story every year. Not because it is a good story, though it is. But because just like Passover, we relive the story in every generation. Tomorrow, we will go out there, and we will tell the Spanish mamzrim the story. Now where's the wine got to?" A goblet finds its way into his hand and the Pirate Rabbi says the blessing that every generation of Jew has said.
"Baruch atah adonai, elohenu melech ha'olam, borei p'ri hagafen!"
His crew choruses, "Amen!"
Ok, it's a stupid picture, but seriously, it makes me happy that it exists.