Free Beware of God by Shalom Auslander Page B

not to miss any more of the services.
    The assistant rabbi kindly asked that Motty leave the premises before he was forced to call the police.
    The doors opened and Rabbi Epstein and Rabbi Akiva stepped outside.
    A discussion ensued.
    The central question, it seemed, was whether Motty was to be considered kosher or traif. Motty explained that he should be allowed to enter the shul because religion is based on belief, which is a function of thought, which is a function of your brain, which is located in your head. So, Motty observed, the head was more important than the body.
    The assistant rabbi disagreed. “When God prohibits the bringing of the flesh of an unfit animal into the Temple, he specifically says flesh. Why? Because God is telling us that no matter how pure the thoughts of the pig might be, his body is still what matters most. We learn from this that the body matters more than the head.” Motty’s body was prohibited from entering the shul, the assistant rabbi declared; however, if they were to cut Motty’s head off, they would certainly be permitted to carry it inside.
    Rabbi Epstein shook his head. “Even if we knew for certain,” he said, “that a pig had only pure thoughts, and that the pig believed with his whole pig heart in The Holy One Blessed Be His Name, the ancient rabbis still forbid us to eat it.” Thus, Rabbi Epstein held, irrespective of whether they could allow Motty into the synagogue, they were, without question, prohibited from eating him.
    â€œThat’s utterly ridiculous,” argued Rabbi Akiva. “If the pig believed in Hashem—as it is written, With all of your heart and all of your mind —the ancient rabbis would certainly deem the pig kosher.” Therefore, according to Rabbi Akiva, they could not bring Motty into the synagogue, but they could probably eat him. And so it was decided.
    â€œMotty?” the assistant rabbi called out.
    But Motty had already gone home.
    His mother had still not awakened. He regretted having frightened her so, and decided to prepare the Shabbos lunch for the family so she could rest a bit longer. He also built a second level to the deck and installed some landscape lighting. For entertaining.
    He was in the kitchen preparing a kugel tray when he heard his father come through the front door, speaking loudly with a number of other familiar voices.
    â€œI’m in the kitchen!” Motty called out. He recognized the other voices as belonging to Rabbi Brier and Rabbi Falkenstein.
    â€œWe didn’t see you outside shul,” his father was saying, “so we just …”
    The three men stepped into the kitchen and froze at the sight of him.
    Motty tried to explain.
    â€œI woke up like this.”
    â€œShaygitz!” Motty’s father spat.
    â€œI’m not a shaygitz!” said Motty, “I’m your son, Motty. Listen! Listen, it’s just some kind of a miracle, a Shabbos miracle. I don’t know how or why it happened, but I can’t see why it should make you feel any diff—”
    Motty’s father smashed him across the face with his Talmud Bavli. The oversized hardcover book caught Motty just below his left eye, and he fell to the floor.
    â€œTraif!” yelled his father. “You dare to touch our food with your goyishe hands! You anti-Semitic …”
    He raised the Talmud up to strike the hideous creature again, but Rabbi Brier and Rabbi Falkenstein intervened.
    A discussion ensued.
    â€œRabbi,” asked Motty’s father, “should not a father correct his son? Is it not written ‘Teach them to your children and their children after them?’”
    Rabbi Brier explained that while the Torah certainly encourages the hitting of a no-good, rotten child, if the child is traif, you are forbidden from hitting him with a holy book. He suggested that they strike Motty again, only this time with a leather belt, or perhaps a flat piece of unholy