The Jewolic (4 page)

7

Shpilkus

So far I’ve figured out that if you believe in God, He exists. And if you don’t, then he doesn’t. Inconclusive and a tad circular. I found that I was caught in a new quandary — not what I was, but more what I wasn’t. I had put my Jew/Catholic quandary aside to focus on a more basic dilemma. 

Was I agnostic, a believer in God but a disdainer of organized religion? Or, an atheist: a believer in none of the above, literally and figuratively? Or was I neither of those and just a Jew or Jewolic, ascribing to multiple religions as a matter of convenience over beliefs. I considered each carefully so I would be properly prepared should this come up in conversation or should I find out quite suddenly that I only had six and a half minutes to live. 

I gave agnosticism a reasonable chance of succeeding when Hochman’s earlier words regurgitated through my cerebrum that to be agnostic is to be: ‘a cowardly atheist.’ A certain truth prevailed.

If I were to become unofficially agnostic, would I be doing so because I am, deep down, an atheist that really doesn’t believe in God but is afraid to declare so publicly where God could hear me? Are agnostics really just cowardly atheists?  Even if I were 99 and 44/100% sure that God does not and never did
exist, what about that missing 56/100%? What if I was wrong?

I realized that even in my Jewolicism, I have been a covert agnostic for the better part of my
life. I went along with the tradition of religion because the family did, but never ascribed to the teachings and I have always devoutly and respectfully questioned God’s existence. Of course, had I gone to Hebrew School, I might have been more inclined to swing the other way. But I chose not to, choosing instead to build my own belief system and develop my proficiency as a mediocre stickball player. That is not to say that religions do not offer some worthwhile foundations. I just chose to be a freethinker and do it myself.

The quandary remained: atheist or agnostic?

“Neither.” Hochman, the all-knowing about all things unknown, exclaimed.

“Neither?”

“Exactly. Allow me to explain.” Hochman could be obnoxiously scholarly at times. “First, answer a few questions, two to be precise. Answer quickly, yes or no will suffice. Keep your eyes on your own paper.”

“I don’t have a paper.”
He stood at the foot of my bed.

“Metaphoric. Are you ready?
”

“
Yes.” It was raining and shpilkus had begun to set in.

“Ok. Do you believe in God?”

“I’m not sure.”

“One word.”

“
I’mnotsure.”

“Question numero two. Do you believe in, and/or follow, a religion?”

“I’mnotsure.”

“Ok
. Allow me to tabulate your answers.” He contemplated as he paced the room in a small figure eight pattern — or maybe it was a vertical infinity pattern. I couldn’t tell which. After two shpilkus-filled minutes, he sat on the edge of my bed and stared at me. He spoke. “You are agnostic, which, contrary to popular belief means that one is unsure about the existence of God. In this case, the one being referenced is you.”

“What? Agnostic means you believe in God but not religion.”

“Au contraire, pupick-brain. Agnostic means that you are unconvinced; that it cannot be proven satisfactorily, that there is insufficient evidence and there may never be sufficient evidence.” Hochman stood. “Yes, the evidence may never exist to your satisfaction in your lifetime or even beyond, whichever comes first. To wit, the proof is in the pudding, so it is said. However, in this case, there is no pudding. We are without pudding, pudding deficient, puddingless; thusly and therefore, without sufficient proof.” Dizzy from his aforementioned figure eight or infinity walkabout, he sat, and then slowly slid off the bed onto the floor.

“I see. So I am agnostic.”
I contemplated my newfound knowledge.

“Yes. You are a perpetual fence sitter,
a hung jury of one, oscillating between beliefs as a Chinese ping-pong ball or the perpetuating pendulum of a perennial grandfather clock. You are convinced of your lack of conviction — a classic case of agnosticism. You are so classic that if you looked up ‘agnostic’ in the dictionary, do you know what you’d see?”

“A photo of me?” I emitted rhetorically.

“I doubt it. More likely you’d see words describing your condition — a doubter, a skeptic, an unbeliever…”

“Sounds more like a thesaurus.”

“Take your pick.”

In spite of Hochman being Hochman, he offered some enlightenment. If he was correct, I was agnostic.
It’s nice to be part of something.

“Can I still be Jewish?”

“You can be anything you want.”

“I mean; can I be an agnostic Jewolic?”

“Porqué no?”

If Hochman was right, my conflict had been reduced to a mere molecule of a quandary, a miniscule conundrum. I can legitimately sidestep my belief in God or not by being an agnostic, which enables me to hold the question in abeyance. I can effectively and leg
itimately answer the question by not answering it.

However, I could not let Hochman off the hook just yet.

“Maybe . . .” I stood, drawing out the ‘maybe’ for dramatic intermezzo. “Maybe, I’m an inverted agnostic.” I sat.

“A what?”
Hochman quizzed.

“An inverted agnostic.
Maybe I believe in religion and not in God.”

“No such thing.”

“Why?”

“Not logical. Religion is about God. You can believe in God and not religion, not the other way.”
Hochie had been atypically logical. This would not deter me.

“Why?
”

“It’s the rule.
There is no rule for inverted agnosticism. There’s not even a word for it. If it were something, somebody would have invented a word for it.”

“Inverted agnosticism
are words.”

“
They are two words. Things are supposed to be one word. Two-word things are made up.”

“Matzo
brie is something and it’s two words.”

“That’s food. There are no word rules for food.”

“I see.”

“
Besides, it doesn’t make sense.” Hochman’s tongue began twitching as he went on. “How can you believe in religion and not in God? Religion is about believing in God.”

“What if you don’t believe in God, hypothetically speaking?”

“Why hypothetically?” Hochie inquired.

“In case He’s listening.”

“But if you don’t believe that He exists, how can He be listening?” Hochie began to slowly spin in small circles, neatly buffing my linoleum floor.

“Just in case.”

“He’s got better things to do than listen to you babble.” Saliva puddles formed on his chin, just out of reach of his tongue.

“Stay with me. Let’s say religion is a giant placebo.” I conjectured.

“Placebos are nothing.” Hochman just stared, apparently wondering if there was a neighborhood stickball game that he could not join. Hochie was the worst stickball player on the planet. I, in my mediocrity, far exceeded his stickball prowess.

“True, placebos are nothing. A great nothing that works
because you believe it will. So, effectively, placebos have merit. Ergo, they are something after all. They are a something nothing.”

“None of this makes sense.”
Hochman began to drool uncontrollably, wiping it on his sleeve, forgetting that he was not wearing sleeves.

“Sure it does.
” I had him at his logical limits — exactly where I wanted him. “Religion is a placebo, a self-fulfilling spiritual ponzi scheme. But . . .” I made sure to utter the ‘but’ before Hochie could take me off track. “But,” I stood for maximum impact; “it works.” I sat.

I stood again and continued my oratory.

“
Do you know why it works? Rhetorical question. Do not answer.” I interjected to avoid interruption. “Do you know why it works?” I repeated, waiting just long enough to ensure that Hochman would not reply. “It works because people believe it works. It gets them together, gives them a place to go on weekends, a sense of belonging, an occasional day off, flaky cake things and grape juice in fake wine glasses, bingo . . .” I was beginning to make sense to myself.

Hochman, on the other hand, lay on the floor, half under my bed,
head bobbing, and tongue twitching. I righted him and joined him on the floor so that he wouldn’t feel out of place.

“Hoch,” I said confidently, “you have been extremely helpful to me today. I shan’t forget this.”

“I have?”

He really had. I need
ed him to ferret out all of my thoughts.

“
Yes. I believe you have made up for all those years of inane answers.”

“Thank you,” Hochie replied,

“And remember all those times I said that you were a schmuck?”

“Yes. You are taking them all back.”

“No. But you are not a schmuck all of the time.”

“I consider that a compliment.”
He sat up.

“It was, of the highest order.” Yes, I had a newfound respect for Hochman. “
Today you have been very helpful in my quest for an identity and inner peace.”

He smiled.

“But you are still obnoxious.”

“Understood.”

“Now, I must ask you to leave so that I may lay on my bed an
d contemplate my new existence. Much to ponder.”

“
Comprehend.” He sprung to his feet. “I depart, knowing that I leave behind a shred of wisdom. Yes, planted a seed, which you shall nurture and grow into a newfound belief. And that seed shall beget other seeds which shall beget generations of other seeds . . .”

“Go.”

“Yes.”

I watched as he
proudly walked down the street, oblivious to the rain, satisfied and proud that he had accomplished something on this day, as he tripped and fell into a puddle.

8

No Encounters of the Third Kind

So the questions remained, do I or do I not believe in God and, if not, am I courageous enough to declare it to myself, if not others? After spending the first half of my life as a Jewolic, could I finally summoned the courage to chuck it all, take the chance of all chances, and declare myself, not an agnostic, but a nonbeliever?

Fortunately, I have
deferred my ultimate decision until I was well out of my teens where God has maximum impact on the divine passages of acne, puberty and driving tests. I did however, take into account that, if God does exist, he could have very easily screwed up my calculations, in some warped form of heavenly amusement.

I
lay on my bed and looked at my piece of paper:

Donald
and Jackie,

Hi
from Uncle Irving, your favorite Uncle,

Uncle Irving
.

I flipped it over to my religion cross sectional analysis and looked under the God column and read:
breasts
. One thing was clear; God knew how to market.

That wa
s the problem. In most instances of decision-making, you can be pretty sure, damn sure, or convinced. But in the God quandary, you better ace the question or you get an F on your permanent record. Of course, you would get another chance and can take a makeup test, down the road; you change your mind about God. In fact, He favors those that are retested and pass. I would think that God would be more concerned with my ultimate decision, and would not apply any undo pressure on me to make up my mind quickly. As long as I ultimately chose Him, I would pass and graduate, cum laude. The pressure that grew from within had been my own doing.

“Gram,” I broke the silence during our nightly game of double solitaire, “what would you do if I told you that I believed in God and I was a full-fledged, 100 percent Jew?”

Her eyes
widened as she continued to stare at her cards.

“I’m not saying that I am,” I continued, “but hypothetically speaking, what if?”

“No what-if. You are or you aren’t. Enough nonsense, you are. End of story.”

“No really. Pretend for a minute. Just suppose.
”

She stared at me, trying to decide whether I was trying to distract her from the game or asking a real, albeit hypothetical, question.

“It would be ok with me.” She laid down seven cards, putting her only a bisel away from winning the game. I detected a slight smile at the very ends of her mouth.

In Gram
speak; ‘ok’ really meant that she was ecstatic. No doubt that she would ask me to be her escort to her Friday night soirees at the Temple, just like this, mox nix. And certainly, I would not refuse; besides I would be old enough to drink grape juice in real wine glasses. She would escort me around and brag about my recent achievements in height, my incredible academic consistency (carefully omitting the details of the straight C+ average) and, now that I had officially declared Judaism as my religion de jour, the inevitability of a belated Bar Mitzvahed not too far down the road. Her grandson may become the tallest young man ever to be Bar Mitzvahed in the Temple. It may have been worth the wait.

Alas, I had not reached that inflection point as yet.

Looking back, the only time I did give the existence of God a chance
was the occasional time I was perched on the throne with severe stomach cramps. There I sat, writhing in pain, seeking any escape from the inhuman torture that I was experiencing, and I succumbed. Not that I admitted there was a God; I, more appropriately, kept true to my lack of belief and silently declared that if there is a God, and he should end my torture forthwith, I would reconsider my consideration that he did not exist.

I did not cross my fingers or any appendage because, like my doubt in God, I have similar qualm
s about the crossing of one’s fingers, the wishing upon one’s star, and the stepping on a crack, which I did many times and am proud to report that my mother’s back is fine, save for some sciatica problems and a small mole which is benign.  The doctors assured me that only had less than four percent chance of being caused by stepping on a crack.

I do, however, believe in extraterrestrials in
even numbered years, because to be a true passive adventurer, I believe than one must take the other side of arguments to acquire pure objectivity. And, like God, extraterrestrials have been as yet unproven even though there are thirty one times as many God sightings as there are UFO sightings each year. Assuredly, many UFO sightings, especially those followed by abduction, removal of the human spleen, and injection of a new personality, go unreported. Many of those converts live covertly amongst us now to convince us that UFOs and extraterrestrials do not exist.

Conversely
, God sightings are oft bragged about and an undeniable admiration and celebrity status often follow soon behind. This, undoubtedly, would have been the case with Aunt Selma’s assessment of Moses of the Matzo, had he not met such a tragic matzological end.  I do harbor a tad of guilt about swiping Aunt Selma’s chances of celebrity. Alas, I digress.

Being more logical than spiritual
, I decided that there is a slightly better chance of the existence of an extraterrestrial than there is of God, absent real evidence of either.

C
ontrary to my firm stance on being a confirmed agnostic until I was not, I decided to alternate my beliefs on the existence of extraterrestrials annually. So each year, I did a one-eighty on my opinion on ETs, UFOs, reincarnation, the hereafter and the herebefore. Recently, I have also added Atlantis, the big bang and creationism to my alternating beliefs, further modifying it by believing in the expanding universe in odd years and the shrinking universe in even. I find this to be an extremely enlightening position.

My alternating belief system
provided me with points of view that never would have entered my consciousness before. Formerly, once I ascribed to any belief, I tended to own it, defend it, and recruit for it. Thusly, instead of opening myself to new enlightenment, I narrowed my field of vision and repelled any notions to the contrary. My alternating belief system worked so well that I owned it, defended it and recruited for it. That is, until last year when I lost track of the odd/even-ist of the year and mistakenly believed in everything, conflicting points of view or not.

However
that was then, and I am still unsure as to the existence of extraterrestrials and not wholly committed to either position. And each January, I still shift my position on their existence, believing thoroughly both sides of the case, but not at the same time.

O
ther than my brief encounter with Moses of the Matzo and my occasional stomach cramp, I have had no encounters with God of the first, second or third kind. And, it should be noted that, even if the pain in my abdomen had stopped immediately which, in my recollection of my life on the throne it had never done, I may have declared the remote possibility of His existence with the caveat that his powers did not exceed that of two tablespoons of Pepto Bismol.

So I proudly
crossed into manhood confident of my new belief and even more confident in myself for having finally outed myself to myself.  Yes, I rounded up the probability from 99 and 44/100 percent to an even 99 and 45/100 percent that God did not exist. Yet, because I fell 55/100 percent short of the required 100 percent to qualify as an atheist, I continued as a borderline agnostic who was unsure about God and did not believe in religion, yet ascribed to the traditions because of the plentiful family and social benefits.

I did not yet have the courage or need to declare
my agnosticism to my family who remained fair to middling Jewish, the equivalent of soft-boiled Jew-eggs.