| B.A.N.G Gang |

The B.A.N.G. Gang — ACT 4: Scene 1

[Enter MRS. PARKER}: How dare you ring the bell in such an insolent manner?


  1. •ARON, a slow-moving fellow who likes to take life easy
  2. •BORUCH, trying to cope with a big sister who always knows better
  3. •NOSSON, clever and articulate, often talks in italics to make a point
  4. •GERSHON, creative, and quick to think of new ideas 

GERSHON: Do you remember those scary bulls? I still get the chills thinking about them.

NOSSON: You bet! And what about the boating disaster? Good thing it happened in a shallow pond and not a deep lake….

BORUCH: Hah! We’ve had some adventures, alright!

ARON: Hey, nobody mentioned the bike fiasco, when my bike accidentally crashed into the living room.

[the boys chuckle]

GERSHON: [looking thoughtful] I guess life’s a lot more predictable now. But you know, in a way, I miss the fun. Why don’t we make some kinda B.A.N.G. Gang plans for after school?

ARON: Are you kidding? After school? All I want to do after school is sink into my favourite couch.

GERSHON: I didn’t mean right away. We could all go home, have something to eat and chill. Then we could meet up again.

ARON: Count me out. The only thing I want to meet up with after school is a bag of potato chips.

NOSSON: You know, I really think Gershon might be onto something.

BORUCH: Yeah, I agree. And I even have an idea for a mitzvah mission we can do. I have an elderly neighbor called Mrs. Parker who’s housebound — we could help her with her grocery shopping.

NOSSON: Let’s give it a try, huh?


BORUCH: What about you, Aron? You in?

NOSSON: Yeah, c’mon, Aron! After all, we’re the B.A.N.G. Gang — a.k.a. the Boruch Aron Nosson Gershon Gang. We can’t leave you out. What would we call ourselves — the B.N.G. Gang? We need you, ARON.

ARON: I dunno — when am I gonna relax?

GERSHON: After we’re back. Think how much better those potato chips will taste, knowing you carried out a mitzvah mission!

ARON: Well— maybe— perhaps—

[the other boys erupt in cheers]


[The next evening, refuelled and refreshed, the Gang meets on their bikes outside Boruch’s neighbor’s house. They are masked and gloved, as Boruch has warned them she is a stickler for such things. They leave their bikes on the lawn and ring the doorbell, making sure to stand well back and maintain social distancing. There is no reply.]

BORUCH: She probably didn’t hear the bell. Her hearing’s not that great.

[Ding-dong! DING-DONG!]

[The door flies open. A small, slight, but ramrod-straight woman glares at the boys. At her feet, a cat arches its back and hisses at the boys, making them step even further backward.]

[Enter MRS. PARKER}: How dare you ring the bell in such an insolent manner?

BORUCH: Er— sorry, but no one answered, so we kept trying.


GERSHON: We actually came to ask if you need any help with your grocery shopping?

MRS. PARKER: [looking past them in horror] Are those your bikes on my lawn? You’ll ruin the grass!

NOSSON: Oh sorry, we’ll move them right away.

[The boys relocate their bikes, chaining them to the gate.]

MRS. PARKER: [muttering] Now where have those boys disappeared to? I thought they were here to help. Young people are so uncivilized these days…. Oh, there they are. Boys, I need some Alka-Seltzer from the pharmacy. The tablets, not the powder. [she glares] Do you understand?

THE BOYS: The tablets, not the powder. Certainly.

[They hop onto their bikes and ride to the pharmacy. BORUCH gets the Alka-Seltzer while the others wait outside.]

GERSHON: Did you get the right thing?

BORUCH: Yeah, I asked the pharmacist at least three times, just to be sure.

ARON: Let’s go already, I wanna get home.

[The boys cycle back to MRS. PARKER’S house. They park their bikes well away from the lawn. Mrs. Parker’s cat suddenly appears and slinks annoyingly between their legs. Boruch trips over its tail. The Alka-Seltzer sails into the air and crashes to the ground.]

BORUCH: [quickly retrieving the box, and shaking it] Oh, no.

GERSHON: What’s up?

BORUCH: [looking white-faced] The Alka-Seltzer tablets — I’m afraid they’ve turned into powder.

To be continued…


(Originally featured in Mishpacha Jr., Issue 825)


Oops! We could not locate your form.