Live....live....live! Life is a banquet and most poor suckers are starving to death!
Wednesday, April 4, 2007
Passover- No Chocolate Bunny For Me!
It's that time of year again....gnashing of teeth, copious weeping, family dysfunction and a general air of despair seemingly reserved for the Jew in all of us, but what does it all really mean?
Every year at this time, I am reminded that the Good Sweet Lord Above was either a. far more interested in us during biblical times, or b. a major drama queen who's histrionics peaked early on. It never escapes me that life was far more colorful and exciting while Moses was bossing his extremely aggravating flock around. Apparently, every one of the Pharaoh's slaves were far too preoccupied with drunken cavorting and casting false idols (Sanjaya comes to mind) than they were with getting the hell out of Dodge.
Forty years seems like an awfully long time to be wandering aimlessly in the desert-enough time to reach the Holy Land a thousand times over-but no time to bake a decent loaf of bread!
I can't remember even one instance of Divine Intervention during my tenure on the planet. No burning bushes, no voices from on-high. As far as I know, the Los Angeles river has never parted, even to allow gang bangers to scribble their homie's names on it's fabricated banks.
What happened to learning life-lessons via plagues, pestilence and smiting? When was the last time you heard on the evening news that some nasty evil doer had been "smote" ? I'm telling you, in comparison to the days of yore, life is just plain dull.
Maybe we have become boring and the bearded one has moved on to a different Universe- one where the common folk are still awe-struck by lightening bolts, hoardes of insects (I guess Dow Chemical showed him a thing or two!) and where the Angel of Death packs less of a wallop than, say, the Easter Bunny.
That would explain a lot. Rosie O'Donnell, for instance. Or for that matter, our obsession with finding the next Pussycat Doll. I would love to live in a world where I could smear my electric bill with pigs blood, nail it to the front door and pray that the Edison Company would soar over Santa Monica, leaving me to my own devices.
Honestly, a good locust attack might just wake us all up a bit. Imagine how "Survivor" would play out if one of the challenges involved building a pyramid out of chopped liver, or smelting earrings into the Ark of the Covenant.