Ive got nothing. Fasting takes a lot out of me. So does thinking about what I did wrong. I hate thinking about what I did wrong.
I hate it when Yom Kippur comes on a weekend, because it's the most tiring day of the year, and now I've lost a day of weekend getting all tired and instead of taking time to recover tomorrow, I have to catch up on all the stuff I didn't get done today like cleaning the house and taking Boo to buy a present for the birthday party I also have to take her to.
AND we have to help build the succah for our Temple.
It's a hard time of year to be Jewish. There's just so much to do when all the holidays come at once. Christians were smart to put their two main holidays months apart. Also to arrange society around them so they are automatic days off. (Although I do feel sorry for the devout on Easter Monday.)
But I'm here. I'm writing. It counts.
Hopefully tomorrow I'll have something more outrageous to rant about, like politics or education or something. Or maybe I'll be able to reflect more on why I'm doing all this religious stuff when I don't believe in God.
After the morning youth service today, several congregants cornered me and asked if I would help lead the youth service next year. While this was flattering, I didn't really know what to say because we have someone who leads the service (which I enjoy) but they do have a point about it being helpful to have two people leading--it helps you know, for example, when you're supposed to listen and when you're supposed to read along, and it can be helpful with the singing, too. And I'd love to do it, but it's not really up to me, is the thing. So I said thank you a lot of times and I guess we'll see if they bring it up to anyone else.
In the mean time, I want to see what else I can lead. I'd love to start a more progressive service of some kind. Maybe I should approach our youth leader and see if any of the teens in our congregation want to help me write a service.
We'll see what happens.
In the mean time, I'm going to bed.
Make it a great year, everyone! Inscribe yourselves for making the world a better place.
Showing posts with label religion. Show all posts
Showing posts with label religion. Show all posts
Saturday, September 14, 2013
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
Cheeseburger
I saw this article on Slog today and it really resonated with me.
For those too lazy to click through, it's an article saying that Jews have had to deal forever with cheeseburgers being in restaurants, even though cheeseburgers are forbidden by the Bible, so conservative Christians can deal with gay marriage being legal. (In short. Go read it. It's a good argument.)
Of course there are fundamentalist Jews out there--every religion has fundamentalists--but the rest of us are used to being a minority who has to deal with everyone else all the time. Heck, now I'm a vegan (mostly) and guess what? I have to watch people eat meat all the time. I smell it when I walk down the street. I see it displayed in the window of butchers. The supermarket is full of animal products that I choose not to eat, for scientifically sound health reasons.
And yet I can't stop them.
I can't stop people from eating meat. I can't stop restaurants from selling cheeseburgers. I can't stop Christmas trees everywhere.
And all of that is why nobody can stop me from practicing my religion, or preaching my non-religion, if that's what I decide to do. In this country, everyone gets to practice her own religion. But we don't get to impose that religion on others. We can't stop McDonalds from selling cheeseburgers, and we can't stop my friend from sponsoring her wife for citizenship.
I can't tell you that Baptism is a meaningless magic trick, and you can't refuse to pay for your employees' health insurance just because it covers birth control. It works both ways.
Yeah, it's hard to be a religious minority. I imagine it's even harder when just a few years ago you were in the majority. But being in the minority doesn't automatically make you oppressed. Being unable to impose your views on others doesn't make you oppressed, either.
It sucks sometimes. But the same rules that stop you from stopping gay marriage also protect you from being shut down for preaching your message of hate.
You just have to turn the other cheek. Who said that, again?
For those too lazy to click through, it's an article saying that Jews have had to deal forever with cheeseburgers being in restaurants, even though cheeseburgers are forbidden by the Bible, so conservative Christians can deal with gay marriage being legal. (In short. Go read it. It's a good argument.)
Of course there are fundamentalist Jews out there--every religion has fundamentalists--but the rest of us are used to being a minority who has to deal with everyone else all the time. Heck, now I'm a vegan (mostly) and guess what? I have to watch people eat meat all the time. I smell it when I walk down the street. I see it displayed in the window of butchers. The supermarket is full of animal products that I choose not to eat, for scientifically sound health reasons.
And yet I can't stop them.
I can't stop people from eating meat. I can't stop restaurants from selling cheeseburgers. I can't stop Christmas trees everywhere.
And all of that is why nobody can stop me from practicing my religion, or preaching my non-religion, if that's what I decide to do. In this country, everyone gets to practice her own religion. But we don't get to impose that religion on others. We can't stop McDonalds from selling cheeseburgers, and we can't stop my friend from sponsoring her wife for citizenship.
I can't tell you that Baptism is a meaningless magic trick, and you can't refuse to pay for your employees' health insurance just because it covers birth control. It works both ways.
Yeah, it's hard to be a religious minority. I imagine it's even harder when just a few years ago you were in the majority. But being in the minority doesn't automatically make you oppressed. Being unable to impose your views on others doesn't make you oppressed, either.
It sucks sometimes. But the same rules that stop you from stopping gay marriage also protect you from being shut down for preaching your message of hate.
You just have to turn the other cheek. Who said that, again?
Sunday, April 28, 2013
An open letter to all Atheists everywhere
Dear Atheists,
Can we all please stop pretending that religion makes no sense at all?
I get that you don't believe in it. That's cool. I don't believe in God either, and I'm working my way down the whole religion thing.
But I understand why it appeals to people, and I get the internal logic.
See, all you have to do is assume that God exists, and that [insert faith tradition] is instructions from Him, and there you go: it all makes sense.
Is the base assumption logical? No. There's absolutely no evidence to support that hypothesis. But if you want to understand the actions of the religious, that's all you have to do. And you're smart, right? That's why you don't believe things without evidence. So you can do a simple logic exercise.
What triggered this rant? (I hear you cry.) Well, the other day, Richard Dawkins tweeted:
From this we are meant to infer that Dr. Dawkins is baffled by the behavior of Muslim women. There is absolutely no logic to what they are doing. After all, their marriages are dissolved under British law, and that should be enough for them.
Well, it isn't. They might want to get married again someday, and under Sharia law, if they don't get a Sharia divorce, they can't get another religious marriage. And if your whole community thinks that's important, it's pretty damned hard to say, "Well, science says it doesn't matter," and walk away.
Let me explain this in terms you can understand. Humans are pack animals. While some humans have been known to leave their pack of origin and to join a new pack, this is rare. Most humans will sacrifice greatly to remain in the pack. Those humans who are rejected by a pack tend to exhibit signs of great anguish, which can lead to depression, desperate attempts to be accepted by the pack, or even destructive behavior. Most humans will follow the rules of their packs even when this defies logic and often even when their own self-interest is compromised in other ways, reducing their individual social power or even depriving themselves of necessities.
So while the evidence may show us that these women will not suffer in hell if they do not get their Sharia divorces, these women believe that they will, and therefore they operate under that assumption. It's not scientific, but it is logical. Even if individual women don't believe in God, they may seek a Sharia divorce so that they can be accepted by their communities, because the thought of leaving the community forever is too painful.
Religion satisfies many human needs, and it polices many societies. We may wish it would go away. We may even work to end its influence. But let's not pretend we don't even know what's going on.
Sincerely,
The Jewmanista
Can we all please stop pretending that religion makes no sense at all?
I get that you don't believe in it. That's cool. I don't believe in God either, and I'm working my way down the whole religion thing.
But I understand why it appeals to people, and I get the internal logic.
See, all you have to do is assume that God exists, and that [insert faith tradition] is instructions from Him, and there you go: it all makes sense.
Is the base assumption logical? No. There's absolutely no evidence to support that hypothesis. But if you want to understand the actions of the religious, that's all you have to do. And you're smart, right? That's why you don't believe things without evidence. So you can do a simple logic exercise.
What triggered this rant? (I hear you cry.) Well, the other day, Richard Dawkins tweeted:
- Oppressed & abused women believe the falsehood that Sharia "law" is law. http://bit.ly/14iOKn6 Who is telling them the lie? "Scholars"?
- British women beg old fools called "scholars" http://bit.ly/14iOKn6 to grant divorce from marriage that was never legal in the first place.
- BBC investigates Sharia in UK: http://bit.ly/14iOKn6 But why so keen for Sharia divorce, when Sharia marriage not legal in first place?
Richard Dawkins From this we are meant to infer that Dr. Dawkins is baffled by the behavior of Muslim women. There is absolutely no logic to what they are doing. After all, their marriages are dissolved under British law, and that should be enough for them.
Well, it isn't. They might want to get married again someday, and under Sharia law, if they don't get a Sharia divorce, they can't get another religious marriage. And if your whole community thinks that's important, it's pretty damned hard to say, "Well, science says it doesn't matter," and walk away.
Let me explain this in terms you can understand. Humans are pack animals. While some humans have been known to leave their pack of origin and to join a new pack, this is rare. Most humans will sacrifice greatly to remain in the pack. Those humans who are rejected by a pack tend to exhibit signs of great anguish, which can lead to depression, desperate attempts to be accepted by the pack, or even destructive behavior. Most humans will follow the rules of their packs even when this defies logic and often even when their own self-interest is compromised in other ways, reducing their individual social power or even depriving themselves of necessities.
So while the evidence may show us that these women will not suffer in hell if they do not get their Sharia divorces, these women believe that they will, and therefore they operate under that assumption. It's not scientific, but it is logical. Even if individual women don't believe in God, they may seek a Sharia divorce so that they can be accepted by their communities, because the thought of leaving the community forever is too painful.
Religion satisfies many human needs, and it polices many societies. We may wish it would go away. We may even work to end its influence. But let's not pretend we don't even know what's going on.
Sincerely,
The Jewmanista
Monday, April 8, 2013
Yom Hashoah (Contains swear words. Unusual for me, but there it is.)
You may remember that a few weeks ago I was wondering about the wisdom of the Passover story. Is it right to teach our children that we are separate and chosen?
Well, today is Yom Hashoah (Holocaust Rememberance Day), and that brings on a whole different way of thinking. We observed the holiday yesterday at Religious School, and when you say the Sh'ma right after thinking about death camps, it turns into one big "Fuck you, Nazis!"
It feels good.
Really good.
The only other time I felt like that was the first service I went to after 9/11. I was living in Brooklyn at the time and teaching in Manhattan, so in addition to my own experience of the city I lived in being attacked, I had students' reactions to deal with.
I was teaching Religious School at the time in a small congregation in Park Slope. Our first day of school was supposed to be September 12th. When I arrived at the church where we rented space, there was a police officer at the door. I had to identify myself before being let into the church. The idea that my congregation could be in danger--that we didn't know if it was over yet--was a new anxiety to add to the pile.
I remember sitting in a circle outside in the churchyard. It must have been the Saturday following 9/11. When we said the Sh'ma, it felt wonderful. I was still alive, still Jewish, and not going to shut up.
Have I mentioned that it feels good?
But really, what's the better way to stop genocide? Teaching about the Holocaust hasn't stopped it. Sure, the Jews have been more or less OK since then, in most places, but in this list of the top 5 genocides in history, two happened after the Holocaust, and that's not even counting the more recent genocides in Bosnia, Rwanda, Cambodia and Darfur. Genocide continues to this day. So is it better to keep teaching our kids to be proud that we are still here? Or is it better to teach kids that all people are entitled to equal rights? That everyone should be free and have access to food, clean water and an opportunity to find meaningful work?
People say that not raising our kids Jewish will allow Hitler a posthumous victory, but I wonder who is kicking Hitler's philosophies harder: people like me, who raise their kids to practice Judaism, or people like my brother, who married an Asian woman and had mixed-race children who aren't being raised with any religion? Or maybe it's my dad, who has blond hair and blue eyes and grew up Christian, but converted to Judaism so that he could marry a brown-eyed brunette with bad vision and crooked teeth. (Take that, eugenics!)
And I won't even start on what Hitler would have made of international adoption.
To be clear, I'm not for a second suggesting that we shouldn't teach about the Holocaust. We should remember it, and the other genocides, too. We should make Turkey acknowledge the Armenian Genocide. High school kids should learn about the banality of evil and we should all stand against genocide.
But I wonder to what extent genocide is a side-effect of tribalism. If we could somehow come to believe that we are all humans and that divisions are artificial, how could genocide exist? There has to be a "them" to extinguish in order for someone to commit genocide. If we were all "us," what then?
Okay, that's not going to happen until the alien overlords arrive. But I still have to decide what to teach my kid.
Well, today is Yom Hashoah (Holocaust Rememberance Day), and that brings on a whole different way of thinking. We observed the holiday yesterday at Religious School, and when you say the Sh'ma right after thinking about death camps, it turns into one big "Fuck you, Nazis!"
It feels good.
Really good.
The only other time I felt like that was the first service I went to after 9/11. I was living in Brooklyn at the time and teaching in Manhattan, so in addition to my own experience of the city I lived in being attacked, I had students' reactions to deal with.
I was teaching Religious School at the time in a small congregation in Park Slope. Our first day of school was supposed to be September 12th. When I arrived at the church where we rented space, there was a police officer at the door. I had to identify myself before being let into the church. The idea that my congregation could be in danger--that we didn't know if it was over yet--was a new anxiety to add to the pile.
I remember sitting in a circle outside in the churchyard. It must have been the Saturday following 9/11. When we said the Sh'ma, it felt wonderful. I was still alive, still Jewish, and not going to shut up.
Have I mentioned that it feels good?
But really, what's the better way to stop genocide? Teaching about the Holocaust hasn't stopped it. Sure, the Jews have been more or less OK since then, in most places, but in this list of the top 5 genocides in history, two happened after the Holocaust, and that's not even counting the more recent genocides in Bosnia, Rwanda, Cambodia and Darfur. Genocide continues to this day. So is it better to keep teaching our kids to be proud that we are still here? Or is it better to teach kids that all people are entitled to equal rights? That everyone should be free and have access to food, clean water and an opportunity to find meaningful work?
People say that not raising our kids Jewish will allow Hitler a posthumous victory, but I wonder who is kicking Hitler's philosophies harder: people like me, who raise their kids to practice Judaism, or people like my brother, who married an Asian woman and had mixed-race children who aren't being raised with any religion? Or maybe it's my dad, who has blond hair and blue eyes and grew up Christian, but converted to Judaism so that he could marry a brown-eyed brunette with bad vision and crooked teeth. (Take that, eugenics!)
And I won't even start on what Hitler would have made of international adoption.
To be clear, I'm not for a second suggesting that we shouldn't teach about the Holocaust. We should remember it, and the other genocides, too. We should make Turkey acknowledge the Armenian Genocide. High school kids should learn about the banality of evil and we should all stand against genocide.
But I wonder to what extent genocide is a side-effect of tribalism. If we could somehow come to believe that we are all humans and that divisions are artificial, how could genocide exist? There has to be a "them" to extinguish in order for someone to commit genocide. If we were all "us," what then?
Okay, that's not going to happen until the alien overlords arrive. But I still have to decide what to teach my kid.
Sunday, March 31, 2013
Grumpy grump grump
I started today planning to visit the Ethical Culture Society meeting. I didn't make it there. Then I thought it would be nice to go on a hike. In spite of murmurings in the affirmative, nobody has moved.
Holidays are hard, even when you don't celebrate them. Everybody around is busy, restaurants are full, and I feel like I'm supposed to be doing something--decorating eggs, eating chocolate for breakfast, attending church--that I have never done and that has no meaning to me. But everyone else is doing those things today.
Yesterday, I attended a Passover celebration at my cousin's house, which was wonderful--great people, traditional foods, and a lovely mini-seder for those who hadn't gotten around to one yet. The kids got to find the matzah and get prizes, and there were truffles.
But when I got home, I realized that International Tabletop Day was almost over, and I missed it because of the holiday. (Although we did have a nice game of Munchkin before Boo's bedtime, because I couldn't let a holiday like International Tabletop Day go completely unobserved.)
Today I'm feeling very grouchy about religion--like having a religion is making me miss fun things that I want to do, and not having a religion is making me miss fun things that everyone else is doing.
Grumpy grump grump.
Just to be clear, I love going to my cousin's house every year for her Passover celebration, and yesterday was no different. Not only that, I love that Boo loves going there. It's somewhere that I went every year as a child (not for this event, but for others) and always remembered fondly, so it's wonderful that Boo is also making fond memories there.
It's just that feeling when two things you want to do happen at the same time, and you can't do both, combined with today's resentment of Easter, that's making me grumpy.
But Boo wants to go on a hike now, so maybe I can make today a nice day anyhow.
Holidays are hard, even when you don't celebrate them. Everybody around is busy, restaurants are full, and I feel like I'm supposed to be doing something--decorating eggs, eating chocolate for breakfast, attending church--that I have never done and that has no meaning to me. But everyone else is doing those things today.
Yesterday, I attended a Passover celebration at my cousin's house, which was wonderful--great people, traditional foods, and a lovely mini-seder for those who hadn't gotten around to one yet. The kids got to find the matzah and get prizes, and there were truffles.
But when I got home, I realized that International Tabletop Day was almost over, and I missed it because of the holiday. (Although we did have a nice game of Munchkin before Boo's bedtime, because I couldn't let a holiday like International Tabletop Day go completely unobserved.)
Today I'm feeling very grouchy about religion--like having a religion is making me miss fun things that I want to do, and not having a religion is making me miss fun things that everyone else is doing.
Grumpy grump grump.
Just to be clear, I love going to my cousin's house every year for her Passover celebration, and yesterday was no different. Not only that, I love that Boo loves going there. It's somewhere that I went every year as a child (not for this event, but for others) and always remembered fondly, so it's wonderful that Boo is also making fond memories there.
It's just that feeling when two things you want to do happen at the same time, and you can't do both, combined with today's resentment of Easter, that's making me grumpy.
But Boo wants to go on a hike now, so maybe I can make today a nice day anyhow.
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
The Hardest Time of Year To Be A Jew
This week is Passover. It's hard, but not for the reasons you might expect.
Sure, it's a pain to avoid bread for a week. I find myself staring longingly at the ice cream truck as I pass it, wanting an ice cream sandwich or a cone. But I can handle that, and I actually think it's good for me to practice this kind of self-control for a week. When the week is over, I always find that I appreciate bread (and pizza!) more than I do the rest of the year. Appreciating bread is a good thing.
Boo keeps asking why she can't eat bread, and I think it's good for her, too. I expect that she will have the same appreciation for leavened products come next week, and in the meantime, I hope she's developing some compassion for other children who have limited diets because of allergy or religious mandate.
It's the rest of it that causes me the problem. We are told that we observe this holiday to separate ourselves from everyone else (we're the Chosen People, after all) and to remember the story of Exodus.
Is it a good thing to separate ourselves from everyone else? The Humanist answer is clear: no. And history would seem to teach the same thing. Throughout history, religious groups that consider themselves better than other religious groups tend to cause trouble. So why is it good for me to teach my child that she is Jewish rather than just another part of humanity? This makes me very uncomfortable at this time of year.
The story of Exodus is even worse. The image of God described in the story is a god who destroys crops, cattle, slaves and babies for no reason other than his own glory. Is that someone I want my child to worship? Or anyone? It's a horrible, uncomfortable, angry-making story that discomfits everyone I've ever read it with. So why is this the central story of our people? Why is this the story that we choose to tell from one generation to the next, without fail?
And, should I decide that I don't want to pass this story on any longer, what then? Do I write a new one? Edit the old one? Dismiss Judaism from our lives altogether?
If I withdrew Boo from Religious School now, she would probably never really learn to read Hebrew. If we stopped attending Temple, she would have very few Jewish friends. Do those things matter?
So many questions at this time of year. It's the hardest time of year.
Sure, it's a pain to avoid bread for a week. I find myself staring longingly at the ice cream truck as I pass it, wanting an ice cream sandwich or a cone. But I can handle that, and I actually think it's good for me to practice this kind of self-control for a week. When the week is over, I always find that I appreciate bread (and pizza!) more than I do the rest of the year. Appreciating bread is a good thing.
Boo keeps asking why she can't eat bread, and I think it's good for her, too. I expect that she will have the same appreciation for leavened products come next week, and in the meantime, I hope she's developing some compassion for other children who have limited diets because of allergy or religious mandate.
It's the rest of it that causes me the problem. We are told that we observe this holiday to separate ourselves from everyone else (we're the Chosen People, after all) and to remember the story of Exodus.
Is it a good thing to separate ourselves from everyone else? The Humanist answer is clear: no. And history would seem to teach the same thing. Throughout history, religious groups that consider themselves better than other religious groups tend to cause trouble. So why is it good for me to teach my child that she is Jewish rather than just another part of humanity? This makes me very uncomfortable at this time of year.
The story of Exodus is even worse. The image of God described in the story is a god who destroys crops, cattle, slaves and babies for no reason other than his own glory. Is that someone I want my child to worship? Or anyone? It's a horrible, uncomfortable, angry-making story that discomfits everyone I've ever read it with. So why is this the central story of our people? Why is this the story that we choose to tell from one generation to the next, without fail?
And, should I decide that I don't want to pass this story on any longer, what then? Do I write a new one? Edit the old one? Dismiss Judaism from our lives altogether?
If I withdrew Boo from Religious School now, she would probably never really learn to read Hebrew. If we stopped attending Temple, she would have very few Jewish friends. Do those things matter?
So many questions at this time of year. It's the hardest time of year.
Friday, March 15, 2013
Pope Francis
I was really excited that they chose a new Pope this week. Since the announcement came right around 3PM, I was on my way to pick up Boo at school when I heard there had been white smoke, and I heard the name of Pope Francis right before Boo got into the car. I refused to put on a music CD because I really wanted to hear about this new Pope.
Boo, slightly perturbed that she had to listen to the News instead of music, asked, "Why do we care? We're not Catholic."
And I started to wonder: why do I care? And beyond caring, why do I feel so hopeful and excited? I remember feeling that way when Benedict was selected, too. Of course, that didn't last long--I soon found out that he was more conservative than John Paul II, and of course his history with coverups of child abuse is appalling. But now there is a new Pope, and I can't help feeling hopeful.
Maybe he'll allow ordination of women!
Maybe he'll allow gay marriage, or at least allow gay people to remain in the Church.
Maybe he'll allow contraception, or at least stay out of America's contraception battles.
I can't even hope on the issue of abortion. But...you never know.
I realize that all of these changes are unlikely any time soon, and maybe in my lifetime. It's possible that Pope Francis will be even worse on Human Rights than the previous two Popes. And even though I'm not Catholic, I know the Pope has an influence on the world, on politics, and on the real lives of real people around the world. But I like that Pope Francis is known for taking his vow of poverty seriously, and that he's from a religious order--it feels more legitimate somehow for someone from a religious order to be Pope. (I wonder what kind of order the previous Popes have been from, if not religious.)
I guess we'll just have to wait and see.
Boo, slightly perturbed that she had to listen to the News instead of music, asked, "Why do we care? We're not Catholic."
And I started to wonder: why do I care? And beyond caring, why do I feel so hopeful and excited? I remember feeling that way when Benedict was selected, too. Of course, that didn't last long--I soon found out that he was more conservative than John Paul II, and of course his history with coverups of child abuse is appalling. But now there is a new Pope, and I can't help feeling hopeful.
Maybe he'll allow ordination of women!
Maybe he'll allow gay marriage, or at least allow gay people to remain in the Church.
Maybe he'll allow contraception, or at least stay out of America's contraception battles.
I can't even hope on the issue of abortion. But...you never know.
I realize that all of these changes are unlikely any time soon, and maybe in my lifetime. It's possible that Pope Francis will be even worse on Human Rights than the previous two Popes. And even though I'm not Catholic, I know the Pope has an influence on the world, on politics, and on the real lives of real people around the world. But I like that Pope Francis is known for taking his vow of poverty seriously, and that he's from a religious order--it feels more legitimate somehow for someone from a religious order to be Pope. (I wonder what kind of order the previous Popes have been from, if not religious.)
I guess we'll just have to wait and see.
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
The Reformation Project
This is pretty cool. Matthew Vines, whom you may remember from his video last year which explained exactly why the Bible does not denounce homosexuality as we know it today, is launching a new project.
I love Matthew Vines. He's my kind of religionist. He spent two years researching homosexuality and the Bible before making last year's video. His religion means a great deal to him, but he's not willing to just accept what others tell him about it. He finds out for himself and then draws his own conclusions. He constructs arguments based on historical facts combined with his interpretations of Christian practice and sacred texts.
Judaism has been an important part of my life, which is why I won't abandon it just because I stopped believing in God. There is still a lot about religion that can be useful if religion is taken the right way: as a collection of philosophical ideas and practices written down in different ways through the centuries. That can work for those who believe in God and those who don't.
I hope that some of my students grow up to confront religion the way Matthew Vines is doing. That's what religion is there for. If we don't interact with it--if we let religion trap us in the time the holy books were written--then it becomes a prison that limits thought and action and keeps us from the world. But if we use it to inspire us, to instruct us, and to struggle against, it can bring out the best in us.
I wish you luck, Matthew Vines. Keep up the good work.
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
The Rapture Has Started
Two of my co-workers disappeared today.
We were supposed to have a meeting at 12:30. Everyone else was there waiting, but we couldn't find two people. Maria tried calling them, but we found their cell phones and jackets near their desks. They hadn't said anything when they left their office, which they share with a third co-worker who was at the meeting.
For a while, I was convinced that the Rapture had started. Really, there was no other logical explanation.
Until they came back with sandwiches.
We were supposed to have a meeting at 12:30. Everyone else was there waiting, but we couldn't find two people. Maria tried calling them, but we found their cell phones and jackets near their desks. They hadn't said anything when they left their office, which they share with a third co-worker who was at the meeting.
For a while, I was convinced that the Rapture had started. Really, there was no other logical explanation.
Until they came back with sandwiches.
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