By Michael Kelman Portney

When I wrote my blog post declaring, with tongue firmly in cheek, that Jewish people are now forbidden to drive Teslas, I thought I was being clever—just a little cultural kvetching with some satirical flair. Then I sent it to a certain Tesla-owning family member.

The response?

"I test drove the Rivian 2 this morning. I’ve had the T logo off for about a month now, and I’ve got [insert name of other fancy yet practical electric vehicle] on pre-order."

What can I say? He’s not just a mensch—he’s the Mensch of the Centch.

The Day the T Came Off: A Quiet Mitzvah

First, let me say this: the move to scrape the “T” off the Tesla? That’s some next-level Jewish ingenuity. It’s like building a sukkah that’s also a solar panel. By taking the T off, my family member pulled off the perfect balance of subtle resistance and understated class.

It’s not about making a big tzimmes. It’s not about yelling, “Look at me, I’m boycotting Tesla!” It’s about quietly saying, “This car doesn’t define me. And neither does Elon.” Can you imagine him out there in the driveway prying it off with all of the care and patience of mounting a muzzuzah?

It’s a shtick of quiet dignity—a mitzvah in its own right, and frankly, without the T, the car looks just like any other car.

The Rivian Test Drive: A Schlep Toward Progress

So, the very day after the Tesla inauguration—the moment we all realized that driving one might feel like a shanda—he’s out there test-driving the Rivian 2. It’s not just a car; it’s a statement.

If Tesla is the flashy macher trying too hard to get your attention, Rivian is the mensch in the corner, modestly offering you a sustainable ride without the meshugas. My family member’s pivot to Rivian wasn’t just a car upgrade—it was a moral upgrade, a balabos-level move that would make any Jewish mother proud.

Peeling Off the T: A Talmudic-Level Move

Removing the Tesla branding? That’s the kind of Jewish nuance that belongs in a midrash. It’s like taking the chametz out of your house before Passover—it’s not just symbolic; it’s a statement of values.

And here’s the kicker: this wasn’t new. He’d already done it a month ago. While the rest of us were kvetching about Musk’s latest chazerai, he was ahead of the game, quietly un-Tesla-ing his car. If Moses were alive today, he’d have a chisel in one hand for the Ten Commandments and a scraper in the other for the Tesla T.

The Hyundai Ioniq Debacle: Dead on Arrival

Now, I’ll admit, I suggested the Hyundai Ioniq. Was it practical? Yes. Was it affordable? Also yes. Was it an immediate oy vey? Absolutely.

Suggesting the Ioniq was like offering a nosh of gefilte fish to someone who’s already got wagyu brisket on the stove. My well-meaning advice was dead on arrival—not because it wasn’t a good car, but because it didn’t fit the moment. He wasn’t looking solely for practical; he was looking for a car with a little bit of shaynkeit, a little chutzpah.

Why He’s the Mensch of the Centch

What makes this family member such a mensch isn’t just the way he handled the Tesla situation—it’s how he did it. Quietly, thoughtfully, without a single nu-nu-nu.

He didn’t sit me down and give me a schpiel about ethics. He didn’t lecture or guilt me into anything. He just said, “Here’s what I’m doing.” And what he’s doing is navigating a tricky moment in Jewish and cultural identity with the kind of grace that deserves a standing ovation—or at least a slice of kugel.

Why This Story Matters

We’re living in a world where every decision feels loaded, where even what you drive can spark a gevalt-level debate. For Jewish people, the Tesla moment feels especially fraught. It’s not just about the car—it’s about what it represents.

What my family member has done—removing the T, test-driving the Rivian, making quiet but meaningful changes—is a lesson for all of us. It’s about aligning your actions with your values, without making a balagan out of it.

A Final Kvell

This isn’t just a story about Teslas or Rivians. It’s a story about navigating modern life with a little bit of seichel, a dash of chutzpah, and a whole lot of menschlichkeit. My family member didn’t just do it right—he did it the Jewish way: thoughtfully, subtly, and with just the right amount of flair.

So here’s to the Mensch of the Centch. May his Rivian ride be smooth, his decisions be ethical, and his Hyundai suggestions stay respectfully ignored. L’chaim to doing it right.