G-d of Corona

Two men wearing surgical masks are sitting on a bench outside a suburban Walmart. One man sits next to a shopping bag containing a large box of disinfecting wipes, a bottle of Lysol, 48 Ultra Strong Super Mega Rolls of toilet paper and a copy of the CDC’s “Coronavirus Disease (COVID 19) Guidance for Cleaning and Disinfecting Public Spaces, Workplaces, Businesses, Schools, and Homes.” The other man has a bag holding three 63-liter bottles of Mountain Dew, a large pouch of Crispy M&M’s and the current issue of “Guns and Ammo.” They are sitting 4-and-a-half feet apart.

Man #1: Do you know who’s responsible for this virus? The Devil ... Do you want some Mountain Dew?

Man #2: No thanks. I say it’s G-d.

Man #1: What? The deaths, the unemployment, these stupid masks. They’re from G-d? No bad comes from G-d. G-d is Good. That’s why he’s called G-d. The Devil is Evil. That’s why we call him the Devil. And Beelzebub … Well … Can you think of a more evil-sounding name than that?

Man #2: I still say it’s G-d. G-d created the world. He’s responsible.

Man #1: That doesn’t prove anything. Let’s say you’re the owner of Walmart. Someone was trying out some patio furniture at one of your stores, and they fell off and landed on their face and broke their nose. Now is that Joe Walmart’s fault?

Man #2: I think he’d probably lose a lawsuit. It happened in his store.

Man #1: “Probably lose.” Maybe it’s the patio furniture manufacturer’s fault – faulty furniture. Maybe the guy who fell off has done this before in other stores. He could be some kind of professional klutz. See, G-d created the “store,” but that doesn’t mean that everything that happens here is His fault. In most of these cases you’ll find that the Devil was involved.

Man #2: Okay, suppose you build Walmarts. You just finished building the premier Walmart in the United States. One night the whole store – the walls and the ceiling – collapses.

Man #1: And the sinks explode … I mean it’s a better effect.

Man #2: Now you’re responsible. You designed the store. You put it together bolt by bolt, all by yourself. See ya in court!

Man #1: Well, suppose someone slipped me some faulty bolts. Maybe a phantom    tornado flattened the store. Or the Devil himself huffed and puffed and blew the Walmart down. Just because I made the store that doesn’t mean I’m responsible when there’s a calamity.

Man #2: So you’re saying G-d isn’t responsible for the world He made.

Man #1: G-d created the world then left us in charge. Or He at least left some flexibility. Evil, for example, is its own separate branch – like the Congress.

Man #2: All right ... You’re making that Walmart. You want to do it right this time. You make your own bolts. Not only do you make the bolts but you give them existence. You create them from nothing.

Man #1: That’s impossible.

Man #2: Maybe for you, but not for G-d. G-d made the world but not like how you or I make a Walmart. Before He created the world there was no world. Only G-d existed. To create the world he had to make it exist. He made something that wasn’t there.

Man #1: Wait a minute. I’m making a fried peanut butter and banana sandwich. I got my bread, my jar of Skippy and a good-looking banana. Now, if I made this sandwich like G-d made the world, you’re saying I’d have to create all the ingredients out of thin air? Man, that’s tough. That’s not even wholesale.

Man #2: And that’s not all. When someone builds a Walmart, he can walk away once he’s done. A creation constructed from already existing materials can stand on its own. G-d, on the other hand, can’t just leave His Creation.

Man #1: Why not?

Man #2: Because if He did, it would no longer exist. He made it from nothing. He has to keep re-creating the world for it to continue existing. If he takes His “hand” off for one moment, the whole Creation reverts to nothingness.

Man #1: So what does that have to do with Mr. D?

Man #2: Mr. Dalrymple?

Man #1: No, the Devil.

Man #2: Since G-d’s control over the world – as Creator and never-ceasing re-Creator – is total, no creature enjoys true independence. Everything that happens in the world happens because G-d makes it happen. The Devil can’t cook up any evil by himself.

Man #1: Hold on a second. G-d is good. Are you with me on that?

Man #2: Yeah.

Man #1: How does bad come from G-d if He’s good?

Man #2: Whatever G-d does is for the good. The good might not be revealed to us now, but even evil is ultimately for the good. G-d created light and dark. Revelation and concealment. He employed both to create the world and to shape its destiny. In the end, concealment will beget revelation, darkness will become light.

Man #1: Now that we’ve defanged the Devil, what are we going to do about these masks?

Man #2: I’m going to keep my mask on.

Man #1: I’m taking mine off … Want some M&M’s?

Man #2: No thanks.

Letter From Crown Heights: The High Holidays 5780

Rosh Hashanah

            “L’Shana tova tikaseiv v’seichaseim.”

            “L’Shana tova tikaseiv v’seichaseim.”

            We exchanged the traditional Rosh Hashanah night blessing: “May you be written and sealed for a good year.” I said it to whomever I saw as I made my way out of the Frankel Shul – even to the Israeli guy who usually scowled at me.

According to the Torah, G-d writes the contract for the new year that night, at least for some people, such as tzaddikim, the righteous. It’s sort of like winning the World Series after the first game. After the first night of Rosh Hashanah we no longer wish each other to be signed and sealed for a good year because the signing has already begun and is only pending the final seal. Instead we say, “G’mar chassimah tova” (“May you have a good final sealing.”)

I saw my friend, Gavriel Greenberg, and wished him the first night blessing with an outstretched hand. I improvised a follow-up blessing. Not wanting to say something trite to my good friend and sports addict, I said something silly instead: “May all your teams be winners this year.” I got a reply in kind: “Hey, don’t give up on your Chiefs, Moish. I still think they’re going all the way this year.”

On Rosh Hashanah we’re enjoined to keep idle talk to a minimum. Not only were thoughts of touchdown passes now in my head, but I had become Gavriel’s Rosh Hashanah enabler. Just then young Chaim Horowitz, a consummate Yankees fan, passed by Gavriel, well into a full sports monologue. Chaim, who would have been talking incessantly with Gavriel about baseball had this been a regular Shabbos or holiday, just looked at him and shook his head.

Signed, sealed and delivered, or not, the lengthy daytime praying started the next morning at 9:30 … Standing with my shoes together, head bent down and the Rosh Hashanah prayer book close to my face, I started praying the Rosh Hashanah Shemoneh Esrei (Amidah) prayer quietly to myself: “… instill fear of You over all You have made … all the created beings will  prostrate themselves before You, and they all will form a single band to carry out Your will with a perfect heart.”

            It gets me every time. On the day in which we accept G-d as King over us (the Jewish people), we pray that the whole world bow down in awe before Him, revealed in all His splendor. The world the Rosh Hashanah Shemoneh Esrei depicts is no less than the Days of Mashiach.

… The scene shifted. Quiet anticipation, a hush, descended. Attention turned to the center of the shul for the Mitzvah of the Day.

Standing at the bima, the Baal Tekiah (Shofar blower), white tallis wrapped around his medium frame, pronounced Psalm 47 – “… All you nations join hands – sound the shofar to G-d with a cry of joy …” – seven times in his throaty voice with the congregation joining in. Eight more verses were said in unison.

The Baal Tekiah then made two blessings and sounded the Shofar: “tekiah-shevarim-teruah-tekiah  …”

            The Shofar blowing man, Phivel Caplan, blew loud, long and clear, making holy sound in physical space. The Frankel Shul, like the ocean, holds treasures that no one besides its members sees. Phivel is the whale shark of our ocean: a humble guy, serious about Torah law, generous to those in need, with the lung capacity of Louis Armstrong.

Yom Kippur

            Before we began praying Shacharis, the morning service, the rabbi led us in singing “Avinu Malkeinu” (“Our Father, Our King”): “Our Father, our King, we have no King. We have no King but You.” Those words are what Yom Kippur is all about – returning to the essential point, the one nation reuniting with the One G-d.

… Yossie Blumenfeld, the shul caretaker, sitting next to a stack of folded bath towels in a clothes basket, tossed a towel to everybody at our table, like a dutiful gym teacher, for us to bow down on.  In the Temple on Yom Kippur the Jews would prostrate themselves to G-d whenever they heard the Kohen Gadol (High Priest] pronounce the Divine Name. We, too, bowed four times, three when the prayer book described the Temple prostrating and once in the Aleinu prayer.

The prostrating was a two-step process. First, I got down on my knees, landing on the towel I had spread out in front of me; then I bent forward, my forehead touching the floor (without the intervention of a bath towel). To make contact on the floor with my forehead, I had to lift the brim of my hat at the last second.           

            After we finished prostrating, the praying continued throughout the afternoon and into evening: 80 men praying and fasting for 10 hours – in addition to the praying-fasting the night before starting at sundown – with only one break. Like a team of astronauts traveling together in a tight compartment, we remained in the Frankel Shul until our mission – securing atonement for our transgressions – was completed.

            Finally, we could see through the windows it was dark out. According to the clock, Yom Kippur was over. Confident the Heavenly Court had reached a verdict of “Not Guilty,” we danced around the bima singing Napoleon’s March, the tune we used to sing at the conclusion of Yom Kippur in 770 with the Rebbe.

I pictured that scene: The Rebbe has climbed to the top of a step ladder perched on top of a raised platform so people can see him. Dressed in a special white robe for Yom Kippur, called a kittel, covered by a white tallis, the Rebbe sways to the singing, clapping his hands, as the singing builds to a crescendo.

            “Our Father, our King. We have no King. We have no King but You.” May the king, King Mashiach, be revealed now.

Sukkos

            It was 7:00 am, and I was going to bed. I had spent the last six hours reading Psalms out loud – make that all of the 150 psalms in King David’s Book of Psalms. It took me that long because I’m a slow reader, at least of Hebrew. Those tiny marks, called nekudos, which vowelize the Hebrew consonants, slow me down. Actually, I don’t know why I read so slowly. Once when I was in elementary school, my friend Jerry Esrig’s grandfather tested our Hebrew reading speed. Jerry blew me away. I guess I never recovered.

            I had been saying Psalms in the shul, starting at midnight, because that’s what we do on Hoshana Rabbah night. You see, even after Rosh Hashanah, the Ten Days of Repentance and Yom Kippur, there’s still one more day of judgement on the final day of Sukkos – Hoshana Rabbah. I guess a more positive way of looking at it is that G-d keeps giving us chances to repent. (According to one opinion, the final judgement doesn’t come until Chanukah.)

            I set my alarm for 10:30 to make sure I would pray Shacharis, the morning prayer service, before midday – knowing full well there was little chance I’d wake up after three-and-a-half hours of sleep. I woke up at 11:30, grabbed my Lulav and Esrog and rushed to 770, Lubavitch Central.

            Hundreds of Lubavitcher chassidim were standing on the service road in front of 770, outside a big tent erected so that when 770 was filled to capacity the rest of us would have a place to pray. The tent must have been filled to capacity. I immediately found a man trying to start a minyan – a quorum of 10 men, the minimum required for group prayer. I stood there in the street praying, my pocket-size prayer book in my right hand and my Lulav and Esrog in the left. An Israeli yeshiva student came up to me and asked in Hebrew if he could use the Lulav and Esrog. I said, sure, and watched him disappear into the crowd. I was glad to help him but felt uneasy not having my eye on him and my precious mitzvah items.

I prayed on, but the Israeli yeshiva student didn’t return. It started to rain, and the big crowd ran to the tent, squeezing under the roof at the end nearest us. “Great,” I thought, “I’m never going to find him now.” Then another, much bigger, Israeli yeshiva student ran over to me and, laughing, handed me my Lulav holder, without the Lulav inside and no Esrog. I was really mad now: “Where’s the Lulav and Esrog?” He pointed in the direction the other student had run off in. I felt I was being made the butt of somebody’s Hoshana Rabbah joke. I pictured a hundred Israeli yeshiva students passing around my Lulav and Esrog, making blessings, shaking – and laughing their heads off.

Now I would have to go around asking to borrow a Lulav and Esrog when they came up in the praying. A while passed, then the big Israeli student tapped me on the shoulder. He pointed behind him. There in the tent stood a third Israeli yeshivah student praying with my Lulav and Esrog. I approached him. He handed over the goods.

Reunited with my Four Species, I thanked G-d for returning them to me. I decided to return to the Frankel Shul where the atmosphere would be calmer.

The Hoshana Rabbah praying is long. It’s the last chance during this month of fast and festival to beseech G-d to grant us and the Jewish people a year of peace, joy and Mashiach. I finally finished, smacking the Hoshaanos – five willow branches tied together – five times on the floor of the shul to “sweeten the judgement,” the culminating act of the Hoshana Rabbah praying.

I picked up my Lulav and Esrog, their role as mitzvahs over, and walked home. I looked ahead to the remainder of the holiday: no more pleading; no more extended praying. This was not the time for sharp analysis, deep thinking or meditation. Tonight we would dance with the Torah.

Together

We’re always getting together. We celebrate, join clubs, form leagues, “friend” people on Facebook, arrange play dates, schedule meetings, participate in after-school activities, throw parties, join parties, shop, make plans, do lunch, watch the game, camp out, go to a museum, go to the zoo, play video games, host, attend, give a shower (bridal or baby), organize, enter, sponsor, volunteer, chew the fat, call, email, text, message, Skype, tweet, post, comment, chat, follow, blog and go bowling.

            Today, seemingly, we have a greater ability to “love your fellow as yourself” and to unite with one and other than ever before. With 2.41 billion monthly active users connected through Facebook and five billion people worldwide hearing each other on mobile devices, the world has become, if not one big family, at least one big community center. The Internet has enabled us to extend our connections beyond our inner circles to circles conceivably as wide as the whole world.

            Our differences, on the other hand, breed conflict: mass shootings; terrorist attacks; religious intolerance; anti-religious bias; rancorous politics; nativism; political correctness; epidemic divorce rates; cyber bullying; racism; hate crimes; anti-Semitism; sexual harassment; nuclear tensions; war. Nature works against harmony. The world’s vast diversity creates an environment susceptible to clashes. No two things are alike in this world. Every life form carries its unique DNA, rendering multiple varieties of each creation and multiple ways of thinking, doing and being. There are 350,000 known species of beetles alone (and over 30 kinds of Coke)! It’s hard to keep all this multiplicity floating in the same, peaceful boat.

            The tension between the urge to connect and the fear and hatred provoked by our differences is natural. The world was created this way – on purpose. G-d created a world full of innumerable, seemingly autonomous creations, all of which are in truth one with Him and, consequently, with each other. We only see the objects, though, and not the unity, because the Creator conceals Himself from the Creation. In his work, the Tanya, Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi provides an analogy to explain the separate-yet-unified world G-d created.

            Consider the sun and its rays. The ray in the atmosphere and on earth appears to be independent of the sun. But, of course, the ray can be tracked back to the sun, its source. The ray’s state of being in the body of the sun is different than its state outside the sun. In the sun, the ray merges with its source to the point that it can no longer be called “ray.” Because the ray is only the sun’s radiation and not the sun itself, it becomes nullified in the body of the sun. The only place where the ray is seen to exist is in the space between the sun and the earth where the body of the sun is not present.

            The world is like the ray of the sun. It appears here as light issuing from G-d. But in its source the world becomes nullified to the Divine light. The ray of the analogy, however, differs from the world in one significant way. Where the ray can be seen, the sun is absent. G-d, on the other hand, is everywhere, even in the place of the world. The world, then, is always one with G-d, even here where it appears to be independent. He hides His presence, though, to render us unaware of this constant unity so we can experience the world’s existence as separate from Him.

            The world of squirrels, condos, sunsets and cartoons G-d created is in actuality subservient to Him; but from our perspective the world is self-made and self-perpetuating. G-d designed a seemingly autonomous world because He wanted to make us partners in the ongoing perfection of His Creation. By concealing Himself from the Creation, by disguising His oneness with us, G-d enables us to help Him make the world a little more united. And every time we make a connection between two apparently disconnected things, we catch a glimpse of the One who holds it all together. Every purposeful act of unity demonstrates that the world is not random but interconnected by that oneness.

Although living in a fractured world can be painful, it’s comforting to know that we’re all in this together and that the reward for our efforts waits for us ahead. Our service of G-d in the darkness of His concealment readies us for the future when Mashiach will finally reveal G-d’s Infinite Light. We will then see with our very eyes how the entire world and all its multiplicity are bound to the Creator.

Today we improve the world by doing G-d’s will despite the lack of Divine revelation. In the Days of Mashiach we will serve G-d by knowing Him through direct revelation. But it won’t be until the Future Redemption that we will understand the greatness of our service in the darkness. Then, according to Rabbi Sholom Dovber Schneersohn, the fifth Lubavitcher Rebbe, we will long for the days of the Diaspora. We will sorely regret not having worked harder to serve G-d when doing so was a challenge.

One challenge is using technological innovations for the good. The Internet has definitely been used for both good and bad. It seems that the social network can be a force for good and might even be a prelude to the great experience we will share with the coming of Mashiach: “For then I will change the nations [to speak] a pure language so that they will proclaim the name of G-d, to worship Him with one resolve (Zephaniah 3:9).”

That will be some celebration. L’chaim!

Bird Song

Bird #1: I’m thinking about going south about two weeks early this year … Take the kids to Disney World.

Bird #2: You know, you shouldn’t provoke Mother Nature.

Bird #1: Mother Who?

Bird #2: Mother Nature.

Bird #1: Don’t you believe in G-d?

Bird #2: G-d, Mother Nature … I don’t know. I’m a bird, not a theologian.

Bird #1: What inspires your singing in the morning?

Bird #2: You know, stuff I hear on the radio …

Bird #1: It says in the Psalms of David that animals sing out to G-d in gratitude for creating them: “Let them praise the Name of the Lord, for He commanded and they were created … sea monsters and all that dwell in the depths … the beast and all cattle, creeping things and winged birds …”

Bird #2: Why should I praise G-d?

Bird #1: He created you. He gave you your sturdy beak, your airy wings and your sleek tail.

Bird #2: Hey, you forgot my cute dimples.

Bird #1: And your cute dimples.

Bird #2: But what has He done for me lately?

Bird #1: He gives you water to drink, twigs and mud for your nest; worms just under the surface after a rain so you can dig them out easily with your beak, the whole beautiful spring. And that time you bashed into that bay window and injured your beak, well, the Creator made it heal. Didn’t He?

Bird #2: But how do I know it was G-d that created all this? Maybe it was Mother Nature.

Bird #1: Well what’s Mother Nature? She’s nature, right? Worms and grass and fields and trees.

Bird #2: Bushes. Don’t forget about bushes.

Bird #1: OK. So let’s look at trees for a second. You know something about trees. Tell me, do you think a tree could create the world – or even another tree?

Bird #2: Are you nuts? Most trees I know couldn’t even make a decent corned beef sandwich.

Bird #1: But why couldn’t a tree make something?

Bird #2: A tree’s just a tree. A tree doesn’t know about much besides trees. How’s it going to make a whole multiverse or whatever?

Bird #1: A tree is limited. A limited creation cannot create another created thing or an entire created world.

Bird #2: So who can? Everything in the world seems pretty limited, especially my talent for bowling.

Bird #1: Everything in the world has a cause that preceded it – except G-d. Nothing created G-d, so nothing limits Him. Only G-d, who is not dependent on Creation, could create a universe out of nothing.

Bird #2: So then what did Mother Nature create?

Bird #1: She didn’t create anything. There is no Mother Nature. That’s just a myth like Santa Claus, the Lone Ranger and the Great Sparrow.

Bird #2: Somebody made up the Great Sparrow? The Great Sparrow isn’t real? Don’t do this to me.

Bird #1: And the power G-d used to create the world and uses to keep it going is just a tiny, tiny fraction of His absolute power.

Bird #2: Now I feel like praising G-d. How’s this: “G-d you are so good/You created everything – spring, summer, the flying squirrel, and even tasty food.”

Bird #1: Was that supposed to rhyme?

Bird #2: Yes.

Bird #1: Why don’t you sing one of those songs your mother taught you?

Bird #2: Sure. There’s “Birdsey-birdsey-birdsey-birdsey-birdsey …”

Bird #1: That’s good.

Bird #2: Then there’s “Birdsey-oo-birdsey-oo-birdsey-oo-birdsey-oo …”

Bird #1: Excellent.

Bird #2: You know, I’m really singing full-throttle now to my Creator.

Bird #1: “Full-throttle”? Don’t you mean “full-throated”?

Bird #2: Oh, right ... Could I have meant “full-throattled”? ... Anyway, have a safe flight south.

Bird #1: I’d hug you, but my wings are wet.

Bird #2: That’s all right. No problem. You’ll get me next time.

Miracle Train

            He approached me in the subway, a good-looking African-American boy about 11- or 12-years-old wearing a green winter jacket and no head covering on a frigid day. I stood alone at the end of the platform. He walked up to me, bold and carefree.

            “You know those straps that you put on when you pray?” he said. “What are they for?”      

            “The one on the arm binds our emotions and actions to G-d, and the one around the head binds our thoughts,” I answered. “Your actions and your thoughts are focused on G-d.”

            In my career as a New York subway rider, conspicuous in beard and fedora, I’ve been asked two kinds of questions: the Evangelical Question on a verse or passage in the Bible aimed at provoking an argument or proving a point; and the Limited Curiosity Question seeking relief from puzzlement over a Jewish practice once observed.

            This boy was different. His questions were personal and serious.

            “What about putting the strap around the hand?” he asked, wrapping an invisible Tefillin strap around his left hand.

            I hesitated, searching for the answer. I could see him on the periphery of a large synagogue closely watching Jewish men putting on Tefillin. Then suddenly he cut to the point.

            “How do I become a Jew?” he asked.

            I paused, stunned by his question.

            “Do I need a bar mitzvah?”

            The three train arrived. I didn’t have a lot of time now – now that our time seemed suddenly precious.

            “Well, first you study a lot,” I answered, as we stepped onto the crowded car. I was traveling only one stop.

            A gentile who declares his intention to convert is not automatically accepted. To consider someone as a candidate for conversion, a Jewish court must determine if the person sincerely wants to convert. To discern the candidate’s sincerity, the court apprises the prospective convert of the difficulty and sacrifice demanded by the keeping of the commandments and of the history of suffering and persecution experienced by the Jewish people.

            For those not inclined to take on the obligation of the Torah and its commandments, the Seven Noahide Laws function as a path to serving G-d available to all gentiles at all times. With that in mind – and considering he couldn’t convert now, anyway, since he was apparently younger than 13 – I decided to introduce him to the Noahide Commandments.

            “You know, conversion is not your only option,” I said, hanging on to a handrail with passengers all around me. “You can keep what’s known as the Seven Commandments of the Children of Noah.” I then specified the Seven Noahide Laws: 1) do not worship idols; 2) do not curse G-d; 3) do not murder; 4) do not commit incest or adultery; 5) do not steal; 6) do not eat a limb from a living animal; 7) establish courts of justice.

            I told him that G-d gave seven commandments to Noah and transmitted them again with the Torah on Mount Sinai, making them incumbent on all gentiles. A follower of the Noahide Laws must believe that their authority derives from G-d’s commanding them in the Torah.

            The train stopped at the Utica Station and the doors opened. I regretted leaving him there. Even though we had talked only a short time, I felt affection for him. He valued the thing most central to my life – my Judaism. We shared a confidence unlikely to exist between two other strangers meeting by chance.

         The wonder of two people from such different circumstances being drawn to the same Truth reminded me of the Lubavitcher Rebbe’s reading of the world: ripe to have its essential goodness revealed. According to the Rebbe, the dissemination of none other than the Seven Noahide Commandments has brought the world to its current state – ready for the arrival of Mashiach. As I emerged from the subway and headed toward my apartment to get ready for Shabbat, I felt joy at having been shown a glimpse of that new world awaiting.

Two Thumbs Up for ‘Seder’

Richard: Hi, I’m Richard Elbert, movie critic for the Denver Post.

Ethan: And I’m Ethan Lichter, movie critic for the Cleveland Plain Dealer. We’re devoting tonight’s show to one of our favorite directors, Japanese auteur Kawasaki Fookiyama, and his new movie, Seder, which took first place at this year’s Cannes Film Festival in the category “Most Difficult to Understand.”

Richard: Fookiyama is known for his obscure, head scratching movies – and proud of it.

Ethan: Seder is no different. What other director would dare to make the shank bone a recurring image or pose as a central question, “Why on this night do we dip twice?”

Richard: But don’t worry. Ethan and I were both Fookiyama majors in film critic’s school. In the next hour we will guide you through Seder, giving you our opinions as well as helping you understand Fookiyama’s latest achievement.

Ethan: Seder tells the story of a modern nuclear family, the Weiners, conducting an ancient Jewish ceremony in the comfort of their own dining room.

Richard: Fookiyama usually leaves the key to the meaning of his movies in the first scene. So let’s watch as the boldly determined Mr. Weiner makes an intriguing announcement to start off the Seder …

Mr. Weiner: This is the bread of affliction that our fathers ate in the land of Egypt. Whoever is hungry, let him come and eat; whoever is in need, let him come and conduct the Seder of Passover. This year [we are] here; next year in the land of Israel. This year [we are] slaves; next year [we will be] free people.

Richard: Looks like Fookiyama’s up to his old tricks. What kind of crazy director would have his main character invite all the hungry and needy in town to dinner at his house – when he’s already safe and sound at his dinner table? If you really want to have guests, put some speakers in your car and drive around before the Seder. Or buy space on a billboard on a major highway: “Seder Tonight at The Weiners, Exit 3½ Miles, Across from Denny’s – DRINKS ON THE HOUSE!!”

Ethan: But the perplexity of Mr. Weiner’s monologue doesn’t end there. Tonight the Weiners celebrate the Redemption from Egypt. So why is Mr. Weiner touting “the bread of affliction” the Jews “ate in the land of Egypt” rather than the bread they took with them when they went out as free people? And while his family is supposed to be experiencing freedom the whole night, why does Mr. Weiner say that “next year” they will be free but “this year” calls them “slaves”?

Richard: That’s kind of a bummer.

Ethan: Richard and I would like to tell you that we figured out this movie. We didn’t. But instead of pretending like we did or turning this into a Godfather retrospective, we decided to invite one of the actors from Seder to explain it. Child star Sadie Weiner, playing herself as the Weiner’s preteen, worked closely with Fookiyama in making the movie, and she’s with us tonight … Sadie, tell us, what is Fookiyama really like?

Sadie: He’s a little … How do they say it in Japan? … Meshuga.

Ethan: But he is brilliant?

Sadie: Oh, yes. He almost beat my little brother in chess.

Richard: First off, that bizarre speech your father makes at the beginning of the movie. He invites the hungry and needy to your Seder, but the only people who hear the invitation is your family.

Sadie: My five-year-old brother, Zach, had some questions for my father before we started the Seder. So in that little speech my father was answering Zach’s questions.

Richard: Why don’t we watch that …?

Mrs. Weiner: Zach, take a tissue and blow. It’s not that complicated. I don’t want to have to look at that the entire Seder.

Zach: Dad, I don’t get it. If G-d took us out of Egypt and made us free, why do I have to go to school? Why are all the Arabs still trying to kill us? Why does it take so long to download New Super Mario Forever 2012? And if we went out of Egypt with the Egyptian’s wealth as G-d promised, why are there still poor Jews?

Mr. Weiner: This is the bread of affliction that our fathers ate in the land of Egypt. Whoever is hungry, let him come and eat; whoever is in need, let him come and conduct the Seder of Passover. This year [we are] here; next year in the land of Israel. This year [we are] slaves; next year [we will be] free people.

Ethan: That kid’s incredible. I don’t care what age he is. He’s getting my vote for best supporting actor … I’m still not sure, though, how your dad answered his question.

Sadie: My father’s telling my brother that the Redemption from Egypt wasn’t complete. We’re still transitioning from slavery to freedom. That’s why we continue to eat the bread “our fathers ate in the land of Egypt.” My dad’s not inviting poor people. He’s talking about us at the Seder. We remain in spiritual poverty as long as the complete Redemption goes unrealized. That’s why he acknowledges that this year we are slaves while vowing that next year we will be free.

Richard: Then if you’re poor slaves at the Seder, why is your mother using the good china? Why aren’t you all dressed like hobos or members of the World Wrestling Federation?

Sadie: We act and feel like free people at the Seder because the Exodus from Egypt, even though it wasn’t the Final Redemption with Mashiach, was the opening and channel to the ultimate freedom.

Ethan: And how did you get into the head of your character there with your mom and dad, your brother with his runny nose, and all the matzah?

Sadie: I pictured myself as a member of a nation that embarked on a chartered flight this night many years ago, a flight that’s been en route for a long, long time. I saw the plane finally arriving tonight – all of us completing the journey together.

Richard: Sadie, that was wonderful. I think you’ve answered all our questions. Thank you for helping us out tonight. By the way, what’s your next movie going to be?

Sadie: I’m working on a project called The Haftorah Lesson. It’s a prequel to Bar Mitzvah.

Richard: Interesting. Well, good luck, Sadie!

Ethan: So, Richard, what’s the final verdict on Seder?

Richard: I want to like this movie, but something’s holding me back.

Ethan: What is it?

Richard: I hate to say it, but I think Mrs. Weiner overcooked the brisket.

Ethan: Ohhhh! But other than that?

Richard: Other than that I thought it was great.

Ethan: Fookiyama baffles you. But you know, if you’re patient and pay attention, sometimes he can make sense – and be beautiful. He can even be fun.

Richard: You know what they say: “Kawasaki lets the good times roll!”

Ethan: Rich, I realize you were waiting the whole show to say that. I just wish you’d waited a little longer.

Shtroodle

            I was waiting outside Einstein’s office, thinking about the code name for the secret project, “Red Penguin.” It didn’t exactly move me. Why didn’t they ask me about it? I wondered. I would have at least picked a kosher bird.

            The door opened and he greeted me with that quizzical look of his: John Einstein, top scientist of the Orthodox Union of Scientists, the OU-s.

            Einstein had invited me there to discuss Red Penguin, of which I knew nothing, to prepare me for tomorrow’s press briefing introducing the secret project.

            “Come with me to the library,” he said. “There’s a book I want to show you.”

Einstein led me to the stacks.

“This book,” he proclaimed, pulling an old, dusty tome from the shelf, “changed how we see the world. Isaac Newton’s Principia proved once and for all, through experimentation and rigorous mathematics, that nature operates, not by magic, but like a machine. At least that’s what most people thought. Newton, himself, never perceived nature as a machine.”

“Wait,” I said. “Isn’t this the guy who discovered gravity when he got beaned on the head with an apple?”

“And I suppose you also believe he invented the Fig Newton?” he asked.

“Well, yes,” I admitted.

“As I was saying,” Einstein continued, “Newton refused to view nature as an autonomous network of impulses and responses. He insisted that G-d operates the universe. He even wrote a friend that he hoped this book here, the Principia, would serve as a proof of G-d’s existence.

“Newton wanted science to make G-d known, not conceal Him.”

            We then proceeded to a small laboratory tucked away in a corner of the building’s top floor. Einstein worked the lock on a safe at the far end of the lab. He produced a leather case and pulled out a laptop, which he placed on a nearby desk, facing me.

“You are about to experience the result of 23 years of work dedicated to proving the forgotten Newton right,” he declared. “G-d calls the shots. And science will show it.

“My invention detects the soul’s very will. It demonstrates that the spiritual world the soul inhabits exists.”

 “I don’t know,” I protested. “This is starting to remind of the time you accidentally launched those lab mice in that propulsion experiment.”

“Don’t worry,” he assured me. “Look at the text box at the top of the page. Think of something you want. Now blink … Okay, here’s your search result in .00027 seconds: “‘See like this New Delhi rabbi! Laser eye surgery could be for you!’  ... What was your wish?”

“An Indian restaurant under rabbinic supervision,” I said.

“We still have to work out a few kinks – it’s only a beta version,” Einstein insisted. “But once it’s ready, my new search engine will give the world its first glimpse of the spiritual world … I call it Shtroodle.”

“I think you better check with our lawyers about the name,” I said.

“Listen, there’s another reason why I’ve asked you here,” Einstein revealed, dropping his voice. “Ill-intentioned people want to thwart Shtroodle’s launch. I need your help.”

“Press release?” I said.

“No. A rogue group from the National Science Institute knows about Shtroodle,” he confided. “They’re trying to steal her and destroy the evidence that anything other than random chaos rules the universe.

“Someone posted a skull and crossbones on our Facebook page last week with the caption: ‘Red Penguin Is a Dead Duck’. And last night this building was broken into.”

“So, so what does this have to do with me?” I stammered.

“For security reasons I made no copies of Shtroodle,” he said. “This is the only version. I want you to take possession of Shtroodle and guard her. No one will suspect you. By accepting this responsibility you will be doing humanity a great kindness.”

“Don’t they have professionals for this kind of thing?” I protested. “Private security firms? Guys with unlisted phone numbers? I never hold on to anything! Give your magic search engine to me and it’s likely to end up with Al Qaeda!”

“We cannot trust Shtroodle to anyone on the outside,” Einstein insisted. “She is too sensitive!”

“Well, tell her to stop being so sensitive!” I shouted.

Einstein made a pouty face.

“Oh, all right. All right. I’ll do it for G-d and country … in that order.”

The next day I strode to the podium at the Union of Orthodox Scientists conference room to meet the press:

“I have a short statement and then I will take questions.

“This Monday at 8 pm at the Allegro ballroom of the Rodeway Inn, the OU-s will unveil Red Penguin, the top secret project in development for over 20 years. Red Penguin will prove once and for all that science and G-d are not incompatible – that science, in fact, points the way to G-d.

“This invention will fulfill the vision of Isaac Newton, who believed that science should show how G-d directly intervenes in and affects the world. I hope to see you all there ... OK, questions? Yes, you in the third row.”

“Isn’t Isaac Newton the guy who discovered gravity when an apple beaned him on the head?”

“That’s in all likelihood just a story. And I’ll save you another question: He didn’t discover the Fig Newton, either.

“Isaac Newton, the first physicist, was able to see G-d’s hand in the world with his science. The pertinent question is ‘Why didn’t anyone else see that?’ … Yes, the gentleman from the Ledger.”

“Why didn’t anyone else see that?”

“Good question. Newtonian physics made nature look like a machine, convincingly. Although Newton found Divinity there, most people couldn’t because physics was not advanced enough yet to explain the workings of the world as anything but machine-like … Myrna, go ahead.”

“Science has taken some pretty unpredictable turns since Newton’s time. Does it still describe a world without G-d?”

“In the 19^th Century science began to change. Eventually, as scientists probed the properties of light and later looked inside the atom, a peculiar universe of strange behavior emerged. Scientists themselves began to speculate that the implications of the quantum world opened the door to the possibility of an intelligent being transcending the physical … Yes, Roy.”

“Newton did more than leave the door open to G-d. He firmly believed that science and the belief in a Deity went hand in hand. Is anyone upholding that standard?”

“In the 1970s the Lubavitcher Rebbe announced that the time had come for science to fulfill its purpose, predicted by Kabbalah over 1,800 years ago: prepare the world for the Era of Mashiach. Then, according to the prophet Isaiah, everyone will see tangibly the Divinity that sustains the universe. Today’s science gives us a preview … Yes, in the front row, Ms. Skeptical.”

“That’s quite an assertion. Could you give us an example?”

“Einstein’s formula, E=mc², states that mass and energy are interchangeable, aspects of the same thing. E=mc² reduces the entire universe to these two equivalent states.

“The unity in the physical world demonstrated by Einstein is a reflection of the true existence of the world, G-d’s unity. Today science shows us unity in matter. In the future we will see with our eyes G-d’s essential oneness in the world … You in the third row.”

            “Can you confirm the rumors that a rogue group from the National Scientific Institute is trying to steal the OU-s’ much awaited secret project?”

            “No, I cannot. I think you’ve been reading too many spy novels … Next question. In the back.”

            “Why is that laptop case handcuffed to your left wrist?”

“What laptop? … Oh, this? My lunch is in here … peanut butter and jelly … and herring … sandwich. It’s my favorite. I don’t want it falling into the wrong hands … Good, there are no more questions … Have a nice day.”

I hurried out of the building, flagged a taxi and headed home.

That night I made dinner with the laptop still handcuffed to my left wrist. That didn’t present much of a problem, as I rarely use my left hand while cooking. But in my highly nervous – no, frightened – state I attempted to scratch my forehead with my left hand and banged myself on the nose.

            I decided to unlock the handcuff and place the laptop on the dinner table. As I reentered the kitchen, the computer began to beep. I had an email.

I opened the email and clicked on a smiley face. Nothing happened for a few seconds – then the computer started making loud noises, and the screen flashed on and off. Worried, I called Einstein.

“Did you open the email and select a smiley face icon?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“You just launched the Funny Virus,” he informed me.

“What’s the Funny Virus?” I asked.

“The Funny Virus takes control of your operating system, erases your hard drive and finally melts your hardware from the inside out,” he explained.

“What’s funny about that?” I asked.

“Nothing – except that it tells a joke before it destroys your computer,” he said.

Just then a commanding voice came through my speakers:

“Knock, knock.”

“Who’s there?” I said.

“Bill and Melinda Gates,” the virus answered.

“Bill and Melinda Gates who?” I responded.

“You know, Bill Gates and Melinda Gates. Bill is the guy who founded Microsoft, and he and his wife Melinda now head an international foundation that gives billions of dollars a year for global health and development …”

“What happened?” Einstein interjected.

“The virus told a joke,” I said.

“Now what’s happening?” he asked.

“The computer hardware is melting from the inside out,” I reported.

“Yep,” Einstein said. “It’s the Funny Virus.”

“But that wasn’t even a real joke!” I protested.

“I guess you were right, then,” he admitted. “It’s not that funny, after all.”

After Shtroodle was torpedoed, the haranguing from the group of rogue NSI scientists stopped. I began exploring other ways to elevate awareness that science reveals G-dliness in the world. In my trolling of the Internet I came across an interesting scientific phenomenon, quantum entanglement. In the quantum universe when two particles interact and then become separated – even at opposite ends of the world – a change in one automatically yields the same change in the other.

I wrote a memo outlining how the OU-s could explore this area as a possible demonstration of G-dly unity and was directed to one of our scientists, Jerry Oppenheimer, who did work on the phenomenon.

Jerry was interested in my proposal, and we decided to begin collaborating. While we were talking I noticed he would occasionally drum his fingers on the lid of a green Tupperware container on his desk. As I was about to leave, I asked him what was in the container. He said with a smile it was his wife’s shtrudel and offered me a sample. I respectfully declined.