Sunday school

Making a case against homosexuality by using the bible is ridiculous. I'm sorry, but if you're going to use the bible for justifying any opinions or behavior, please be consistent and follow all the laws. Who gave you the ability to cherry-pick God's word, anyway?

I presume you've forgotten the entirety of Leviticus, so here's a half dozen laws and punishments that you better get cracking on:

You shall not interpret omens or tell fortunes. (Lev.19:27)

A man or a woman who is a medium or a necromancer shall surely be put to death. They shall be stoned with stones. (Lev.20:27)

The land shall not be sold in perpetuity, for the land is mine. For you are strangers and sojourners with me. (Lev.25:23)

If a man lies sexually with a woman who is a slave, assigned to another man and not yet ransomed or given her freedom, a distinction shall be made. They shall not be put to death, because she was not free. (Lev.19:20)

You shall not sow your field with two kinds of seed, nor shall you wear a garment of cloth made of two kinds of material.(Lev.19:19)

And you shall not take a woman as a rival wife to her sister, uncovering her nakedness while her sister is still alive.(Lev.18:18)

Painting note:Rembrandt "The Angel Prevents the Sacrifice of Isaac" 1635
“Take your son, your only son Isaac, whom you love, and go to the land of Moriah, and offer him there as a burnt offering on one of the mountains of which I shall tell you.” (Genesis 21:2)

Abraham and Isaac - a whole 'nother kettle of fish. What would you have done?

Bob Dylan's brilliant version of this Biblical story:

In search of God and a half pound of chopped meat

Being an atheist is not easy. We are only 4% of the population, for one thing.

I've felt a bit more comfortable since the spate of books about atheism that we've seen in the last few years. There's Sam Harris, whom I love having on "my side" with his "The End of Faith" and "Letter to a Christian Nation" and his willingness to engage in debate with people totally opposed to him and stay in good cheer. There's Dawkins, a noted scientist, who wrote "The God Delusion", which appeals to a different set, is English, and somewhat more serious in tone. And then there's Christopher Hitchins, who came out with "Why God is Not Great: How Religion Spoils Everything", another crankier than thou piece of writing by this perennially obnoxious writer.

But still, I'm glad it's there. Anyway, every point of view needs a smattering of curmudgeons, snobs and other disagreeable sorts.

I was incredibly surprised, when on a layover stop at the Atlanta airport, the "God Delusion" was a featured book at the small bookstore where I sat and had a coffee. Somehow, just seeing this unabashedly atheist statement sitting high up on the stacks, with its "Featured Title - 30% Off" sign made me feel a bit more hopeful about the fate of mankind (at least for twenty minutes or so).

I have never believed in god. I wasn't brought up with religion, so the concept of a god was never instilled into my once quite malleable brain.

Oh, I wanted to believe, even desperately at times. I looked around at other people, my street, my town, my country, the entire world, and it appeared that every one else believed in some god or another. What was wrong with my family? I wanted to belong and I did not.

When school was out because of a religious holiday, I would feel at wit's end. We would do nothing, like any other Sunday when we didn't go to church (or Saturdays that we didn't go to a synagogue).

I went to Mass with my Catholic neighbors for years. I didn't believe a word the Priest said. Again, I yearned to believe, but it all seemed too ridiculous to me. Yet, I kept going. At one point, I got it in my head that if I took communion I would be convinced or at least have some kind of epiphany (though I doubt I knew that word at the time). I waited in line to accept the wafer and a sip of wine, all the while accompanied by my anxious 9 year old friend, whose anxiety was mounting and mounting as she whispered different things to me like, "You can't take communion 'cause you weren't baptised" or "You haven't been confirmed" (confirmed as what?) I waited. I was anxious, too, for I wanted it so badly. Perhaps there would be thunder in the sky, a bolt of lightening, something, anything, just to let me believe for once and for all that there might be a possibility of a god, and that I could stop feeling alienated from the rest of humanity. But I never got that wafer or that wine, for when I was about to kneel beneath the Priest, my friend yelled out "Stop. She's Jewish!"

I suppose she thought there could be lighting or thunder, too, but it wouldn't be a good thing, only a sign from her god that she was going to hell in a handbasket.

In retrospect, I think it would have been the right thing for that Priest to have given me communion, in spite of the rules and the rituals. I mean, how many ten year old kids are that hungry for the experience? What would have been the harm, really?

But no, it wasn't done and so I stopped going. I was bored there after the novelty of the rituals wore off and my communion was denied. I even wanted to go to confession. It seemed like a wonderful idea, especially to a kid who was milk fed on guilt every day. What a fantastic thing: you feel bad about something. You tell the priest (who doesn't even see you!) You say a certain amount of Hail Marys or Our Fathers and it's over and done with. No residual guilt. No nothing. You slate is clean. Great idea. They should have 'em on street corners of bad neighborhoods.

But my brush with Catholicism was over. Protestants had all sorts of variations and I thought I'd try 'em all.

The first thing I realized I needed was a bible. Being as ignorant as I was, I didn't think you could buy one in a bookstore. They were religious objects, sacred, very special. It never occurred to me that you could get one in a big drug store or alongside romance novels and magazines.

So, I went to a church and asked for a bible. Oh, that minister was as pleased as punch! He most happily gave this young girl her first bible. He also told me, that yes, I could have gotten one at a bookstore, but coming to the church showed how serious I was and that it was "god's will". Seriously, once I found out that I could have chosen from dozens of translations, I thought it was more a question of my own ignorance than any will of a supernatural being, but I let that happy minister believe what he liked. I was getting a free bible, after all.

Parenthetically, this reminds me of a story, totally unrelated: One christmas, when I was 18 or 19 (and I looked all of 12), I went to the supermarket to get some chopped meat to make myself a hamburger. All the packages were just too big for one little me and so I asked if they'd make me up a half pound package. I waited a bit and this woman came out with a 10 pound slab of chopped meat. On it was a sticker that said "Special" in bright red. The price was the same as half a pound of chuck.

I was puzzled. I asked for a half a pound and I got ten. I had no where to put it for I had one of those little refrigerators with enough room in the freezer for two ice cube trays and a perhaps one box of frozen spinach if one bothered to manually defrost it (which I did not).

I said there must be some mistake but the butcher pushed that big package at me and said, "Take this, dear, back to your family. I know no one likes charity, but it's Christmas time. Give it to your mother and say Merry Christmas." I started to explain, "But no, I live alone. . ." I could see she could not believe me, did not want to believe and needed to believe that she was doing this very good deed. So, I took the chopped meat home with me. I made a hamburger. I have no idea what happened to the other nine and a half pounds of meat.

Back in those days, I got a lot of free food. I looked like a waif. And I was poor, and so, when I looked at a menu in a restaurant and asked, oh, "Is it possible to get a half portion of pancakes?" I'd usually wind up with a double portion at half the price. It got to be a regular thing with me (and no, I'm not proud). One day my brother suggested I was scamming people, which I was (though making them feel good in the process) and he shamed me sufficiently to make me stop this charade.

What does this have to do with believing in God? Oh, nothing much, except for the fact that that Minister was delighted to have a kid show up at his church asking for a bible. I was always keenly aware of other peoples' desire to do good works, as deluded as they might be.

I've tried to believe in god. I've gotten down on my knees and prayed and I've prayed hard and I prayed for years. But there was always a resounding silence. Absolutely nothing convinced me that there was a shred of evidence for the existence of god, or for heaven or hell or the devil or any of the other faith-based ideas, places, dates and events.

And if there was a god, what kind of monster was he? He let good people perish while others lied, cheated, stole, murdered and raped? For what purpose? He asked Abraham to kill his first born son? He let his son die on a cross?

If he was so powerful, why was he so insecure and jealous? I mean, he's god, for god's sake: he could kill you with a flick of his wrist (or whatever) if you even thought a naughty thought! Why was he so keen on having humans prove their devotion?

These were my childish thoughts, but they aren't so far from what I believe today. Perhaps today, my feelings are more nuanced, but they are essentially the same.

It saddens me, in a way, that it seemingly takes a lot of guts to admit to being an atheist. People are scared of admitting it. It's abnormal. It's suspect. So, it seems to me, most folks say they're agnostic. Perhaps they are agnostic and are hedging their bets. I mean, if I really wasn't sure, I would be afraid of going to hell. And a part of me says "Hey, maybe you are!" But really, show me where hell is or where heaven is, when we've explored space, been to the moon and sent probes even further. Where is it? Is it in a parallel universe? Where are the fiery pits that hold the trillions of damned people?

If someone could point these two places out to me on a map, maybe I'd be an agnostic, but only then.

Painting Note:William-Adolphe Bougereau's Dante and Virgil in Hell, 1850
This, depending on the viewer, may either look like heaven or something one would go to hell for, not indulge in once there.

Some things are illuminated

As I watched the old man nod his head, a wan smile crossing his face, I knew he knew, too, that there are 400 words for schmuck in Yiddish. And in that moment, listening to some of these words; schmuck, putz, schlamazel, schlamiel, a wry smile crossed my face, too. Some things were illuminated, like why I didn't get good ol' american rock n' roll, rockabilly or shockabilly, until I had lived here in the boondocks, amongst the goyim (yes, I said that) for almost twenty years.*

When I went to the Dunstable Tattoo Convention in England I met an Israeli tattoo artist who was desperately looking for work in Europe. He was spit upon outside of his shop, for tattoos are frowned upon by Jews. The bible's laws pertaining to making permanent marks upon or in the skin are hazy at best. The injunction is mostly against making marks which are akin to idolatry. Interestingly, this would make all the religious tattoos the worst offenses. But this Levitican law became more intense after the holocaust, because of the tattooing of inmates in the concentration camps.

So, I was in England and hit it off with this Israeli tattoo artist. I said I was Jewish, too. Being a Jewish tattooist is not so common (though I have no statistics for this!) When I first opened my studio ten years ago, I got a tourist from Seattle who came to me simply because he heard I was Jewish. His grandfather, he said, would be rolling over in his grave if he knew he was getting a tattoo. His grandfather had opened the first bagel shop in Seattle. I wish I knew what it was called.

Another time I did a cover-up on a guy who had a swastika on his back. He had been a neo-Nazi when he was young and disavowed it. I have no idea what I covered it with, but I did a nice job and we engaged in pleasant conversation. When I was done, while bandaging him up, I said "My dead ancestors would be happy that I've done this." When he asked why, I told him I was Jewish. He blanched and said, "Why didn't you hurt me more?" I laugh as I think of this. I had not occurred to me to do anything of the sort.

One very late night a fellow came in and asked me if I did touch-ups. Sure I did. He rolled up his sleeve and there I saw a big swastika with some words about white supremacy under it in a banner. I thought I misheard him. "Oh, you want a cover-up, not a touch-up" said I. "Hell no" was his reply, "I want it to be better." When I told him I wouldn't do it he stepped back and looked me in the eye, saying, "Are you some kind of Jew or something?" I stared back at him and said only one word: "Yes."

That man looked like he was thinking about what manner in which he might kill me and whether to do it on the spot or at a later date. Obviously, he did nothing but turn on his booted heel and leave. I was foolish, no doubt, but I have a nasty habit of speaking the truth.

But what truth is this? What makes me Jewish? I have no belief in god. I didn't grow up with any religion. Even my grandparents did not practice Judaism. But some piece of paper somewhere said that my mother was Jewish and her mother before her, and therefore, in the eyes of Israel, I am a Jew. I could go live there and become a citizen (not that I would). But this fact amazes me (and also bothers) me.

What makes me say I'm Jewish, when I don't believe in race or religion or identity politics and would prefer to think of myself as just a human being like everyone else? It has always been this: if I disavowed my Jewish heritage I would be killing off another Jew, as marginally Jewish as I am. It would be like one more person was put in the ovens. So many were killed (and not just in the holocaust).

I heard stories when I was a kid. My family, both sides, came to this country before the turn of the century. But they, too, were running away from horrors. One relative said he was the only survivor of his village at the Western edge of Russia. He said, in a steady tone, that when he was a boy, he returned from a trip to another village and as he was coming over a hill, he could see his small town burning. These were the pogroms, where whole towns and villages of Jews were being systematically killed all over Eastern Europe and Russia. The German's holocaust was nothing new.

I decided when I was sixteen to say I was Jewish only if someone said something anti-semitic, for without that, it meant nothing to me at all. In a sense, a sense that I've always hated, it has been anti-semitism, the pogroms, Hitler, neo-nazis and ignorance that has kept me from saying I am an atheist, practicing buddhist american. Being defined by negatives is not pleasing to me, but I feel obligated.

I have no idea what I would have done if I had had children. What would I have told them? And what if they had embraced Judaism? I shudder at the thought. There is nothing in this religion that speaks to me in the least. That's the worst part about my dilemma (and it is a dilemma).

I suppose I am what people call a secular or cultural Jew. I use Yiddish words, Yiddish inflections and have a Yiddish sense of humor. I like traditional "Jewish food" and know how to cook some: matzoh ball soup, tsimmes, latkes and the noodle casserole whose name I've forgotten. But that ain't much of an identity. People who have no Jewish backgrounds use as much or more Yiddish than I do or cook more eastern European food.

This post was directly caused by my watching a movie tonight (see footnote). Afterwards, I realized that it is precise to say that the major reason I did not get along with the Cramps was because I was a "New York Jew". Period. I did not have the cultural references to have fun with amerikan kulture. When I went on tour with them, i was excited, for I'd seen very little of this country. I'd been to Maine, Massachusetts, New Jersey, Connecticut (passing through), London and Amsterdam. The idea of seeing Akron, Ohio really excited me. I had no idea what middle america was all about.

Since I write off the top of my head, I don't know where my posts are going to wind up. Well, this one isn't going to wind up anywhere. It has no conclusion. I'm stopping dead. More on this to come, I'm sure.

*These are some of my reactions to watching the film, "Everything is Illuminated", the funniest "heavy" movie I've ever seen. And the word goyim means non-Jewish people. Goy is the singular. See if you get this joke:

So, a goy calls up his mother and says "I can't make it to dinner this sunday". His mother says, "That's okay."

Photo note: A scene from "Everything is illuminated". I won't give away what it's about.

Lovesick

There's no mystery left. Dr. Frank Tallis has written a book called "Lovesick: Love as Mental Illness". Here is an excerpt from the preface:

"The symptoms of love are many and varied. What’s intriguing is that if we list them- for example, preoccupation with the loved one, tearfulness, euphoria- and check them against accepted diagnostic criteria for mental illness, we find that most ‘lovers’ qualify for diagnoses of obsessional illness, depression or manic depression. And this is no superficial relationship. Neurochemical and brain scanning investigations have shown a considerable overlap between ‘the brain in love’ and ‘the brain in the throes of mental illness’"

The other night, I said to a friend that even if we could explain everything with science, there would still be something ineffable, mysterious and transcendent about human experience. Though our feelings of love may simply be the effects of too much oxytocin, we still feel emotions. These emotions lead us to see the world and others in a different way. They may be "crazy", or be chemically induced, but does that render them less important or meaningful? No.

Dr. Andrew Newberg, in his book "Why God Won't Go Away" explains the neurochemical state of meditators. In a Q & A on his website, he states:" Our studies, as well as those of other investigators, have shown that meditation increases activity in the front part of the brain and decreases activity in the area of the brain that orients our bodies in space. . .The decreased activity in the orientation area is believed to be related to the changes in spatial perception and the loss of a sense of self that are associated with meditative states."

This sense of "loss of self" and changed spatial perception are the same phenomenon found in those we call "lovesick". In both, the meditator who feels the exhilaration of a new found expansiveness and oneness with the universe or the lover who finds a oneness with the beloved - can we say these are illusions only because they can be "explained away" by chemicals? Absolutely not. Altered states can show us things we would otherwise not experience.

This is one of those moments where I want to opt out of an intellectual point that I'm trying to make. I am lazy. I don't have the intellectual rigor it takes to, shall we say, close the deal. I may be prone to debate, but when the going gets rough, I'd rather walk away. As my father says (accusingly), I am just a ruminator.

I like to chew on thoughts. I don't really care if I'm "right or wrong". I don't care if you agree or not, either. Ideas are like grass to this cow and I need to graze in the field of ideas. My words are, then. . .what? Excrement? I didn't know I'd wind up here when I wrote "Lovesick" in the title. Hmmm.

Aromatherapy: I am still in love with the perfume Passage D'enfer and had to scrub off some lotion a friend asked me to try, Demeter's "Fiery Curry". I only want to smell the L'artisan scent. I keep smelling my wrists. Is Passage D'enfer a good substitute for an anti-depressant drug for me?