The Game’s Aftoot

The line outside the Las Vegas Chabad House snaked around the building, with Morty bringing up the rear. He mopped his forehead, feeling the sweat darken his armpits. Despite the heat, he smiled.
Every two minutes, the door would open and someone would come flying out with a shoeprint on his buttocks, a happy grin on his face. “Next!”
A curious passerby got Morty’s attention. “What’s going on?”
“You know that Kabbalah racket? Load of crap. This here’s the real deal, worth every penny they charge.”
“You mean…?”
“Yeah. Can’t make it in this town without a lucky Rabbi’s foot.”