Tag Archives: jewish tradition

Response to an Rabid Atheist, a confirmation of G-d

A week or so ago I posted a very well received piece titled “Response to a Homophobe”. When I posted the piece I was prepared for some negative comments, maybe an attack or two, but I didn’t get anything like that, at least not relative to the content of the post.

I did, however get one snide remark that left me thinking, in a bad kinda way. Here was the quote

“You make some good points, but why do you refuse to spell G-d? Do you really think your deity, if there is one, is going to read your blog and be somehow offended? I find that behavior as irrational as homophobia.”

I had to read the quote a couple to times and let it sink in.

My first thought, “what a douche”. But my second thought was better forumlated; “that’s the best you can come up with after reading the discussion on homosexual rights?” And the more I thought about it the more I found myself getting defensive and at the same time asking myself a fundamental question, what exactly do I believe or not believe about G-d.

First of all, a little clarification for you, Jews do not write any name of G-d outright, either in Hebrew or English, or any other language. Why? It’s probably not what you think. True, there is a sense of respect, in Jewish tradition a name defines the very essence of a person and is never taken lightly. In some traditions children are not given the name of living relative because the belief is that person won’t life a full of a life because they’re always carrying someone else’s name. (Side note, I’m thankful for this little belief, even though my middle name is a little weird.. I am 100% thankful that Grandpa Hyman was still alive when I came along. That, wudda sucked.)  In traditional households a newborns name isn’t reveled to anyone until the child’s naming ceremony or bris, 7 days after the child is born.

But that’s not exactly it either. There is no rule about writing the name of G-d, but there is a strict prohibition about defacing it. If you remember my piece on the Cairo Genizah, I talked about how Jews don’t throw away scared books and writings when they’re no longer readable; instead they’re saved and buried in a cemetery. The tradition of writing G-d is to prevent G-d’s name from being defaced. Once it’s written, it makes any document sacred.

Interesting enough Rabbi’s have determined, wherever it is they do that, that writing G-d’s name on a computer does not count. The rule applies to permanent writings only and as the computer screens are temporary…. However, if there is an opportunity to print a document.. it becomes permanent.

But, I don’t think that was the commenters point. I’m not sure who this person is, but I did post a question on a site recently and noticed as I was logging off the page I caught a banner on the side, “Avowed Atheist”.

I suspect.

Besides the point. This person took the time to read my post and then comment in an offensive way about my personal beliefs, and happens to be ignorant enough in their convictions to not even bother to try to understand the why’s or what for’s of what I do. In essence they become so offended at the very name of G-d on my site that they felt compelled to attack.

Well I, in turn, was offended enough that I deleted the comment, it was a distraction to that particular post.

So what’s the deal Sank, you must believe in G-d huh, you write the name without the “O”, as any reader of this site knows that I’m a fairly religious person and that I’m Jewish, in the Reform tradition.

I’m going to respond to the question this way. “it doesn’t matter.”

The idea of G-d existing or not existing isn’t an argument that’s really worth having. Believers are their corner, Atheists are in theirs, and much like the debate on abortion or capital punishment, there’s very little one side can do to sway the opinions of the other one way or another. This is despite the fact that each side feels compelled to prove to the other side the error of their beliefs. Really it’s no different than the centuries of religious warfare where one faith or denomination went after another for their beliefs.

And again, it doesn’t matter.
Clearly, if there is one truth in the history of man and his relationship with G-d it is that we DO believe. Even the most ardent Atheist who casts unsolicited cynical disparagements towards someone whom he believes is holding on to some ancient fairy tale in an irrational, that person is a believer. He has an opinion on G-d, different than mine, but the mere fact that he has taken a stand and gone to the trouble of deciding that G-d surely does not exist, well that person takes the same leap of faith that those of us on the other side of that equation have taken only with a different conclusion.

I happen to believe that G-d exists, not as a omnipresent being in a robe and white beard looking down on us at all time, keeping track of what we do and what we don’t do. My personal beliefs are far less concrete, leaning more towards the spiritual and the essence of a what makes us, us.

When man first achieved a sense of self, it was in that instant that I believe he realized that he was not alone. And in the last 10,000 years we have attempted to understand what exactly that presence is. There is one universal concept that exists across the globe, from the most remote tribes in the New Guinean highlands to Muslim pilgrims at the Haj to the Latter Day Saints doing Temple Work, to Jews praying at the Western Wall, that concept is we are not alone. And how we go about determining the nature of the presence that is always around us, is a unique feature of being human.

The mere fact that we search, all of us, is what differentiates us from every other creature on this planet and in my estimation, that search, and it’s universality in the human experience confirms the existence of G-d.

So to that Atheist, your comments calling my beliefs irrational and lame, are in fact helping me in my personal beliefs. Thank you for that, and you’re still a douche.

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Gender Wars- Jeans Edition or How to Change Your Man

“Where the f*k are my G-dDamed painter pants”.

Mrs S replied.. “Some people start the day with ‘Good Morning’” you should try it.”

Scowl.. a feeble attempt at the “Look” that I can’t pull off.

I should report I’m crabby as hell at the moment.

December 25, the entire family decided to celebrate Christmas in the Jewish tradition and rather than sing songs about the nativity of Jesus, instead went to see a movie. Sherlock Holmes I believe. I do not  know if Chinese food was involved. Never the less I stayed home. I don’t care for movies and I especially don’t care for movies that are going to be packed and thus my back row seat is not guaranteed. Room With A View for example, I liked that movie not because of the story and certainly not the nudity since the only nudity in that lame art film was a fat old Vicar “bathing” with a bunch if young men..

Not sure that would play today.

I liked that movie because I had the entire movie house to myself and could sit anywhere I wanted and not worry about making involuntary noises. Nice night out.

The problem occurred when, while the family was out, I attempted to put on my shoes and in the process kicked a piece of clothing away and, in some manner unknown to me, as I was executing the kick motion, had the sensation of someone shooting me in the back, lower left side, just above my the spot where an ass would be on a normal person, with a high powered taser gun. Either that or a New Guinean aborigine with a poison blow dart hit me with damned nail..

The sensation put me right on the ground, excruciating shooting pain from my lower back down my left leg and back up again. I was rendered immobile and completely impotent (not the sexual kind the other kind) rolling around, eyes tearing up and quite unable to get up with out the sensation of severe pain.

I was also quite pissed off. I’d done something like this years ago and remember the recover and the pain and damn it all to hell anyway this is just BS.. The other thought on my mind.. the errand I was about to run after putting on my shoes.. a needed to trip to the can. Now I couldn’t even get up much less go to the bathroom.

Well, les just say as much as I hate the damn CPAP machine.. wearing Depends would be worse and if Mrs S caught me laying on the ground in my own pee.. I could crawl to the can and did so. Getting off it another story. Using the towel rack and the hamper was able to get into a standing position and that, actually was the most comfortable position I could find. I managed to walk around a bit, which felt pretty good and spend the next half hour slowly walking laps around the house waiting for the gang to get home.

On arrival Grandma suggested that I be taken immediately to urgent care for an examination and some muscle relaxers. My current health insurance really doesn’t work out of state so I had turn that down. I couldn’t see spending $1500 for an office visit for a condition that would get better over time anyway. Besides I could find my own muscle relaxants around the house, there were many different kinds in the closet to pick from. And I did.

Over the next few days I got a little better every day, the flight home sucked bad and I paid for it today but I will come around.

But, I am rather grumpy because any movement which involved bending at the waist, sends a little shooting reminder of Christmas cheer down my leg and across by back. Getting out of bed too, takes about 10 minutes to get up right with out a pulley system of some sort.

And since the most comfortable jeans I own are my painters pants.. I wanted to wear them. But I couldn’t find them. “Where are your NEW JEANS”.

F’n here we go again. A few years ago it was pointed out to me at a wardrobe intervention, that my old stone wash denim jeans, my Wranglers, you know, the ones I’ve been happily wearing since 1982 were no longer acceptable in mixed company. Nope. Now we’re all about stupid dark denim and low cut rise. An old fat guy has no business in low cut anything, and I don’t care for dark denim and certainly don’t care for tight cut legs. Oh and we’re going to pay $60.00 for a pair of denim that I can get at any big box for $9.00. $15.00 if I go with the designer label like Wrangler or Farah or Dad-N-Lad.

But she bought a few pairs and wore them for a bit and then realized that when she said “no more stonewash” she wasn’t talking about painter jeans. Painter jeans I rationalized not only had a cool loop in the side, but were also a loop hole that the local fashion police had left open for me. So over the last couple years I’ve successfully swapped out the Metro Denim for painter pants. Last summer when I was enrolled in a How To Dress For The New Millennium correspondence course I pointed out to her that one of our close friends also wears painter pants, all the time. If she lets her husband do it,

so

will

I.

Nahnah. So imagine my joy when I opened my only gift this year for the holidays and found there in, a new pair of dark denim jeans and a damed pair of flat front khaki pants. Flat fronts.. the other kinda pant.. and I hate those as well.

“Try them on”

“No”

Yes

“No”

Yes

“Forget it I hate ‘um”

I think they’re sexy and who knows what I would do to a…where’d'e go?”

“Whad’ya think? They’re a little low in the waist but I think they’re gonna be OK, Thanks honey.”kiss kiss.

This morning I realized my mistake. By agreeing to wear them under the vain hope of some promised congress I had implicitly given her approval to remove the offending clothing from my closet. She’s always  ahead of me you know.

Or so she would think.

“Honey” I called out “Are you sure about these, they seem low in the waist, don’t want my underwear to show you know.” I would be tagged as the worlds biggest hypocrite if even an millimeter of my drawers were to show above my pants because, with two post teen boys around the house at the moment I’m heard to say no less than 100 times a day “Pull up your G-d damn pants”.

She looked at them.. “they’re a little low but that’s because of your handicap.” “Which handicap is that” I asked.. could be one of many. “the one where in your 30′s your body started absorbing your ass back into itself.” I have that middle age guy thing where I have no ass.

She went on ” But they look great.. so nice to see you in-style for a change.. well done big boy.”

Still, hiking up the drawers isn’t going to do.. but remembering that we had a box of her grandfathers stuff in the basement I went through it and found the perfect solution for nifty new jeans with to low a rise, suspenders. On they went.

The daughter caught the first glance when I came up from the basement… SCREAM and up the stairs “MOOOOOMMMM”

Mrs S came down stairs three at a time.. “OMG.. NOOooooooooo”

And for once.. I think it’s 15-Love.. for the man.

Until I go outside.

 

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