The Year of Living Biblically Part 15

A few days later, I get a purple box with two dozen individually wrapped chocolate crickets. I'm going to need a fellow traveler on this one. I ask Julie, but she gives me another in a long line of overly enthusiastic "Thanks for asking! But I'm going to take a pa.s.s this time!"

So I take a couple of crickets along to dinner with my friend John. For my last book, John went to singles bars and tried to pick up women using facts from the encyclopedia about penguin mating rituals, so I figure he might be willing. He wasn't so sure.

"If I feel sick in the next couple of days, I'm going to blame you." "Fair enough," I said.

"I'll think about it."

After we finish dinner at a downtown diner, I eat my cricket. Or at least I swallow it. I pop the cricket in my mouth, bite down twice, then chug water, ingesting it like a chestnut-sized pill. I tasted nothing. I offer the other one to John.

"Come on. Just one."

"Fine," he says.

John unwraps his cricket and takes a bite, chewing slowly while looking at the ceiling, brow furrowed in thought.

"You like it?"

"A little crunchy," he says. "Hard to actually taste the cricket."

"I read it's supposed to be tangy. Is it tangy?"

"The chocolate is overpowering. But you do get a nice crispness."

He takes in the other half.

"It tastes like that candy bar Krackel. Same consistency."

A couple of days later, I am at my grandfather's house boasting about my insect eating. My cousin Rick, who is a high-school soph.o.m.ore, isn't impressed.

"You eat insects all the time," he says. "There are insect parts in everything."

Rick has embraced entomology with a pa.s.sion that most kids reserve for baseball and illegally downloaded music. If E. O. Wilson had a poster, Rick would have it on his wall. So presumably he knew what he was talking about.

And he did. I found a tremendously disturbing Food and Drug Administration website that lists the "natural and unavoidable" amounts of insects for every kind of food.

One hundred grams of pizza sauce can have up to thirty insect eggs.

One hundred grams of drained mushrooms may contain twenty or more maggots.

And if you want oregano on your mushroom pizza, you'll be enjoying 1,250 or more insect fragments per 10 grams.

So I was violating the Bible rules even without intending to. Or maybe not. Depends on the interpretation. Orthodox Jews usually reason that since they didn't have microscopes in biblical times, then a bug must be visible with bare eyes to be forbidden.

Why would G.o.d weigh in on any insects at all, visible or not? Once again, my secular mind wanted to know the reason for the Lord's decrees. What's the logic? The Bible doesn't say--it's one of the unexplained laws.

But one book I read--The Unauthorized Version by Robin Lane Fox--had a theory. It said that in biblical times, swarming locusts would often devour the crops and cause famines. The only way for the poor to survive was by eating the locusts themselves. So if the Bible didn't approve of locust eating, the poorest Israelites would have died of starvation. This I like. More and more, I feel it's important to look at the Bible with an open heart. If you roll up your sleeves, even the oddest pa.s.sages--and the one about edible bugs qualifies--can be seen as a sign of G.o.d's mercy and compa.s.sion. by Robin Lane Fox--had a theory. It said that in biblical times, swarming locusts would often devour the crops and cause famines. The only way for the poor to survive was by eating the locusts themselves. So if the Bible didn't approve of locust eating, the poorest Israelites would have died of starvation. This I like. More and more, I feel it's important to look at the Bible with an open heart. If you roll up your sleeves, even the oddest pa.s.sages--and the one about edible bugs qualifies--can be seen as a sign of G.o.d's mercy and compa.s.sion.

You shall rise up before the grayheaded and honor the aged . . . --LEVITICUS 19:32 (NASB) --LEVITICUS 19:32 (NASB) Day 142. I'm currently in Florida. Julie and I have made a trip to Boca Raton for the wedding of Julie's college friend. We got through airport security without a second glance, which made me both happy and slightly concerned about the screeners' vigilance.

It's the day before the ceremony, and we're at a strip mall restaurant. It's 5:00 p.m., Jasper's mealtime. Florida, 5:00 p.m. dinner. As you can imagine, the average age approached that of a Genesis patriarch--maybe not Methuselah's 969 years, but perhaps Mahalalel, who saw 895 years.

The Bible has a lot to say about your elders. In fact, there's this one law that I keep meaning to abide by, but so far it has gotten lost in the avalanche of other rules. It is Leviticus 19:32: We should not only respect our elders, but stand in their presence. If there's a time to laser in on this rule, it is now. So as we wait for our pasta, I start standing up and sitting down. I pop up every time a gray-haired person enters the restaurant. Which is pretty much every forty-five seconds. It looks like I'm playing a solitaire version of musical chairs.

"What are you doing?" asks Julie.

I tell her about Leviticus 19.

"It's very distracting."

I stand up and sit down.

"I thought you had a wedgie," Julie says.

I stand up and sit down.

"Are you going to do this for the rest of the year?"

"I'm going to try," I say. I know I'll fail--there's just too much to remember to follow in biblical living--but I don't want to admit that yet.

There's a reason the Bible commands us to respect the elderly. According to scholars, many of the ancient Israelites lived a subsistencelevel nomadic life, and the elderly--who couldn't do much heavy lifting--were seen as a liability.

The command seems disturbingly relevant today. After the ancient times, the elderly did have a few good centuries there. Victorian society especially seemed to respect those with white hair and jowls. But now, we've reverted back to the elderly-as-liability model of biblical times. This has become increasingly troublesome to me as I speed toward old age myself. I'm thirty-eight, which means I'm a few years from my first angioplasty, but--at least in the media business--I'm considered a doddering old man. I just hope the twenty-six-year-old editors out there have mercy on me.

And I have pledged to have mercy on those even older than I. A week ago, when I volunteered at the soup kitchen, I sat next to this fellow volunteer; she must have been in her seventies. And she complained . . . for a half hour straight. She was like the Fidel Castro of complainers--she spouted a never-ending stream of faultfinding. She spent five minutes alone on how the tree roots in her neighborhood make the sidewalk uneven. But instead of trying to stuff my ears, I attempted to empathize. Yes, that must be hard. Uneven sidewalks. I never noticed it, but, yes, someone could trip.

As Julie and I finish our dinner, we watch an old man get up from his table and shuffle off to the bathroom. He emerges a few minutes later and sits down at an empty table. It is a table two tables away from the table with his wife and kids. He sits there alone for several minutes, his head c.o.c.ked, staring into the middle distance. What's going on? Is he mad at his family? I didn't see them fighting. Why his banishment?

Suddenly the daughter notices her father sitting two tables away.

"Dad!" she calls. "We're over here. Over here!" He looks over, suddenly remembering. He returns to the table, still somewhat dazed.

I turn to Julie. She looks like she's about to cry.

"The standing stuff I could do without. But I think it's good that you're honoring your elders. That's a good thing."

Let your eyes look directly forward, and your gaze be straight before you. --PROVERBS 4:25 --PROVERBS 4:25 Day 143. My gla.s.ses broke today. Jasper grabbed the wire-rimmed frames and stretched out the temples, so the gla.s.ses keep slipping off my nose. I'm reduced to keeping my head tilted up at a forty-five-degree angle as we walk around Boca Raton. My neck is killing me.

Plus, I look arrogant; my nose stuck in the air all day. I wonder if I'm breaking a biblical rule. I'm not sure. Maybe. In the Talmud, there's a ban against walking more than four cubits in what one translator calls "a jaunty, insolent, upright position." This is one reason you see some old Jewish men and women walk with such a p.r.o.nounced stoop, their hands folded behind their backs. In America, land of Trump and self-esteem, humility isn't much of a virtue. But my ancestors wouldn't even stand up straight for fear of looking boastful.

I keep my chin in the air while watching the wedding the next day. It's a lovely, quiet outdoor ceremony in a j.a.panese-style garden. You can barely hear the bride and groom, but it doesn't matter.

I try not to think about the propolygamy parts of the Bible. That would be disrespectful to the event at hand. I try to focus instead on those parts of the Bible that say one wife per husband is a good ratio. In Genesis 2:24--a pa.s.sage quoted by Jesus--we read about how man and woman are not complete until they cleave to each other. They are two halves. Only together can they create a full being.

So you shall do with any lost thing of your brother's, which he loses and you find.

--DEUTERONOMY 22:3.

Day 148. On the flight back from Florida, I found the checkbook of a Fort Lauderdale woman in the seat pocket in front of me. The Bible says that if your neighbor loses an ox or a sheep--or anything, for that matter--you are to return it to him or her.

So I sent back the checkbook. I felt good, honorable. I'm not a hardhearted New Yorker: I'm acting with random kindness. And the beauty part is, it actually worked out to my benefit. The Fort Lauderdale woman sent me a thank-you note (the stationary had a cartoon of a fat guy wearing an "I'm Too s.e.xy for My T-shirt" T-shirt), and enclosed a Starbucks gift card.

The checkbook triumph gives me such a moral high, I use the card to pay for the latte of the guy behind me at Starbucks. I got the idea from a religious website devoted to kindness. Just tell the cashier that three bucks of the next guy's bill is on you.

I'm opening the door to leave, when I hear him call.

"'Scuse me," he says. He is about forty, squat, wearing biking shorts despite the chilly weather.

I turn around.

"Did you pay for my coffee?"

"Yes, I did."

"I really don't feel comfortable with that."

I pause. Huh. I don't know what to do here. Does he think there must be a catch? Does he think I was. .h.i.tting on him?

"Uh . . ." I say. Then I walk out the door very quickly and don't look back till I am a block away.

Ye shall not round the corners of your heads. --LEVITICUS 19:27 (KJV) --LEVITICUS 19:27 (KJV) Day 153. A physical update on my/Jacob's appearance: The beard has gone wild. You can see only about 40 percent of my face nowadays. It's got its disadvantages, of course--my wife now will kiss me only after covering her face with her hands so that just her lips are exposed. But I try to look on the bright side. It's keeping me warm from the wintry New York winds, like a sweater for my cheeks. Plus, it's providing me a level of anonymity. Not that I've ever been mobbed on a subway platform by adoring fans. But if I happen to see my former boss on the street, it's nice to know I could stroll by unrecognized.

I've even started to get the occasional positive comment about my looks. The Italian woman who works at the corner deli said she feels more sacred in my presence and is afraid to curse or gossip. And my coworker Tom, whom I hadn't seen in months, said he was all ready to greet me with a one-liner about Mel Gibson's facial hair, then decided he couldn't make a joke because he felt almost reverential. Reverential, Reverential, that's the word he used. I was on a high for two days afterward. that's the word he used. I was on a high for two days afterward.

The beard is the most noticeable, but I'm making other changes to my appearance too. I'm pleased to report that I got a new set of ta.s.sels. For the first few months, I tried the homemade approach: I attached four ta.s.sels from Ta.s.sels without Ha.s.sles to my shirt with safety pins. But here was a case where I decided I didn't need to reinvent the wheel: Why not use the prefab ta.s.sels, or fringes, known as tzitzit tzitzit and worn by Orthodox Jews? For about twenty dollars, you can get a towel-sized rectangular cloth with four cl.u.s.ters of meticulously knotted white strings tied on each corner. The cloth has a hole in the middle, and you simply slip the entire thing over your head and wear it under your shirt. and worn by Orthodox Jews? For about twenty dollars, you can get a towel-sized rectangular cloth with four cl.u.s.ters of meticulously knotted white strings tied on each corner. The cloth has a hole in the middle, and you simply slip the entire thing over your head and wear it under your shirt.

If you're really hardcore, like I'm trying to be, you need to go further. The Bible says you must attach a blue thread to your fringes (Numbers 15:38). For centuries, almost all Jews skipped the blue thread because no one could figure out the exact shade of blue used in biblical times. No more. Archaeologists in the last two decades have discovered a type of snail that the ancient Israelites used for blue dye. The snail is still around and still capable of making blue. So for the first time in hundreds of years, a handful of ultra-Orthodox Jews are, once again, wearing four blue threads tied to their fringes. As am I.

And then there's my hairdo, which is starting to take on a personality of its own. The Bible has a lot to say about hair. In general--despite claims to the contrary that I read on a website for pious heavy-metal rockers--the Bible comes down on the side of short hair for men.

Consider Absalom, the vain and nefarious prince whose flowing locks got tangled up in an oak tree during battle. They cost him his life. And in the New Testament, the Apostle Paul is even more to the point. He asks: "Does not nature itself teach you that for a man to wear long hair is degrading to him?" (1 Corinthians 11:14).

But what of Samson? Granted, he did lose his superhuman strength after Delilah gave him a haircut--but his was a special case. Samson was part of a holy sect called the n.a.z.irites whose members took a vow to drink no wine, touch no dead bodies, and cut no hair. He broke the vow. He suffered the consequences.

I'm no n.a.z.irite, which is why I've been getting monthly haircuts at the local barbershop. Of course, as with everything in my biblical year, a haircut is not a simple matter. You want your hair mostly short, but a typical number 4 buzz cut is out of the question. Leviticus says you are forbidden to chop off the sides. This has led to some extreme micromanagement at the barbershop. First I requested for a male haircutter--purity issues. Then, after giving him elaborate pretrim instructions, I periodically piped up: "You won't cut the temples, right?"

"I won't cut the temples."

Two minutes later: "You know not to cut the temples, right?"

"Yes, I know. No cutting the temples."

By the end, I think he was ready to slay me with the jawbone of an a.s.s.

He did tell me that he needed to clean up the hair on my neck. "So you look religious, not dirty," he said. "No offense." Most biblical scholars believe the purpose of the uncut side locks was, as with the food laws, to distinguish the Israelites from the pagans. Apparently the pagans cut and shaved the sides of their hair short, perhaps, says one commentator, to give it the shape of a "celestial globe," perhaps as some sort of mourning ritual.

But in Jewish tradition, the hairstyle has taken on moral significance as well. One scholar told me that if you pa.s.s by a harlot on the road, G.o.d will blow your side locks into your eyes to shield you. Another rabbi has said that one day he will grab hold of the side locks to pull his students out of h.e.l.l.

The ultra-Orthodox twirl their side locks while praying or studying--resulting in those amazing curlicue stalact.i.tes, frequently as long and thick as rolling pins. The Bible doesn't require this. So I've left my side locks untamed, leading to these odd hair formations that grow upward and outward, bringing to mind an ethnic Pippi Longstocking.

But to this day the Lord has not given you a mind to understand, or eyes to see, or ears to hear.

--DEUTERONOMY 29:4.

Day 154. The more I research these side locks, the more confused I am about whether I've been properly following this commandment. The word payot payot in Hebrew is often translated as "corners." Do not cut the corners of your head. in Hebrew is often translated as "corners." Do not cut the corners of your head.

What are the corners of the head? Not being a robot or cartoon sponge, my skull is reasonably ovoid. And if it is corners, shouldn't it be four corners? So maybe I should grow sideburns, a rattail, and a unicorntype forelock. Could be interesting. But there's only so much I can subject my wife to. Payot is sometimes translated as "edge." But this doesn't clarify much.

The Hasidic-style payot have been around for centuries, but what did they do in biblical times? Can we ever know? I'm growing more and more skeptical that I'll ever hit biblical bedrock and discover the original intent. The Bible's meaning is so frustratingly slippery.

Yossi told me that the Bible has seventy faces. The ancient rabbis themselves don't even claim to have struck the bedrock. The Talmud--the huge Jewish book with commentaries on biblical law--is far from black and white. As writer Judith Shulevitz puts it in Slate Slate magazine: "You cannot compare the Talmud to, say, the United States civil code, a series of prescriptions issued from Congress, or to Catholic doctrine, which comes directly from the pope. The Talmud is more like the minutes of religious study sessions, except that the hundreds of scholars involved in these sessions were enrolled in a seminar that went on for more than a millennium and touched on every conceivable aspect of life and ritual." magazine: "You cannot compare the Talmud to, say, the United States civil code, a series of prescriptions issued from Congress, or to Catholic doctrine, which comes directly from the pope. The Talmud is more like the minutes of religious study sessions, except that the hundreds of scholars involved in these sessions were enrolled in a seminar that went on for more than a millennium and touched on every conceivable aspect of life and ritual."

Even more exasperating: If I do get to the bedrock, it may be such strange bedrock that I won't be able to process it. In Karen Armstrong's terrific book A History of G.o.d, A History of G.o.d, she says that the ancient Israelites weren't really monotheists. They believed in the existence of many G.o.ds: Baal, El, and so on. It's just that Yahweh is the boss of all G.o.ds. Hence the command "You shall have no other G.o.ds before me." It doesn't say "You shall have no other G.o.ds at all." she says that the ancient Israelites weren't really monotheists. They believed in the existence of many G.o.ds: Baal, El, and so on. It's just that Yahweh is the boss of all G.o.ds. Hence the command "You shall have no other G.o.ds before me." It doesn't say "You shall have no other G.o.ds at all."

Could I ever hope to get into the skull of an ancient Israelite who believed in several G.o.ds? Do I want to?

Month Six: February

If you chance to come upon a bird's nest . . . you shall not take the mother with the young.

--DEUTERONOMY 22:6.

Day 155. As a New Yorker, I've generally avoided interacting with pigeons, much like I avoid dark alleys or the Jekyll and Hyde theme restaurant. But living biblically makes you do some strange things.

Tonight I got a voice mail from Mr. Berkowitz, the man who inspected my wardrobe for mixed fibers a while back.

"Good evening, Mr. Arnold Jacobs. It's Bill Berkowitz of Washington Heights. There's a pigeon with an egg under her tonight, if you want to come over."

You bet I do.

You see, Mr. Berkowitz, in addition to shatnez, shatnez, also specializes in another commandment. This one is likewise among the least known in the Bible. You won't find it on stone tablets in front of any federal courthouses. also specializes in another commandment. This one is likewise among the least known in the Bible. You won't find it on stone tablets in front of any federal courthouses.

The commandment says that if you discover a mother bird sitting on her egg in a nest, you cannot take both mother and egg. You are permitted only to pocket the egg; you must send the mother away.

The Bible doesn't say why. Most commentators think it has to do with compa.s.sion--you don't want the mother to have to watch her offspring s.n.a.t.c.hed up for the breakfast table, so you nudge her away. In fact, many rabbis have expanded the meaning of this commandment to forbid cruelty to all animals, not just expectant birds, which is a great thing. I'm glad mainstream Judaism stresses kindness to animals, despite the sacrificial past.

But the actual wording of Deuteronomy 22:6 is solely about birds and nests, and it is this formulation that Mr. Berkowitz--along with others in his community--has taken to the literal limit. He has set up two pigeon nests on his third-floor windowsill in his northern Manhattan apartment. Whenever there's a newly laid egg, he allows a faithful seeker to come over, pay one hundred dollars to charity, shoo the mother pigeon away, pick up the egg, hold it aloft, say a prayer, place it back in the nest (or, in some cases, eat it), and thereby check off this commandment as officially "fulfilled."

This I needed to do. In fact, I'd been waiting for several months for my egg, tempted by a half dozen false alarms and missed opportunities. Tonight is the real thing.

I get to Mr. Berkowitz's apartment at seven-thirty, and he is all business. He has an appointment in a half hour, so we are on a tight schedule. He gives me a quick orientation on how this commandment works.

"It must be a kosher bird," says Mr. Berkowitz.