What's God Got To Do With It?

Last Sunday morning, while visiting friends out of town, my husband and I accepted their gracious invitation to accompany them to church. I can say wholeheartedly that it was a completely pleasant experience and that everything was perfectly lovely, even though I did not understand much of what went on or what any of it had to do with God. For example, I have a hard time with the whole "Jesus died for our sins" thing, and apparently this is a basic tenet without which you're flying blind. I clearly lack the necessary belief structure required to get the most out of organized religion, which is  understandable given my personal history. When I was a kid I was exposed to a confusing array of rules and regulations, none of which were adequately explained to me.

My parents maintained a strictly kosher household, complete with two sets of silverware, two sets of dishes and two pounds of bacon in the freezer for emergencies. The eating of pork was strictly forbidden, unless we were in a Chinese restaurant where all bets were off, since apparently God does not look into Chinese restaurants. Makes sense. We had to walk the mile to temple on the Sabbath since driving during that 24-hour period was a sin, but bad weather, which included the threat of rain, made driving acceptable, and in high heels, quite welcome. During Passover we could not eat leavened bread for eight days, except for those bagels at the Pantry Diner early in the morning with my father, who made me promise not to tell anyone, ever. (He's dead now.) I went to Hebrew school for exactly one Sunday morning and complained bitterly afterwards. My parents agreed that I should be allowed to sleep in at least one day of the week and we never spoke of it again.

Today the Jews still have bar mitzvah ceremonies for boys turning 13, which is a signal they have become men. If you have seen a 13-year-old boy lately, you know how deeply ridiculous this is. There are also bat mitzvah parties for girls turning 13, which in certain communities--including greater Los Angeles, parts of New Jersey and all of Long Island--signifies they are now old enough for Botox. My husband wants us to go to temple every once in a while, but the last time I attended the rabbi was a woman and she was wearing leggings and leopard-skin fur clogs. As you can imagine, I haven't been back.

I do believe in God, but I pray alone, mostly at home and sometimes out in public when necessary, but never in Chinese restaurants. Why bother?