The Year of Living Biblically: One Man's Humble Quest to Follow the Bible as Literally as Possible by A. J. Jacobs

Author:A. J. Jacobs
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, azw3, pdf
Tags: Humor, Religion - Biblical Studies, Satire And Humor, interpretation, Christianity, Religion, Biblical Studies, Religion & Spirituality, Bible, Christian Life, Bible Commentary, New Testament, Personal Memoirs, Biblical Studies - General, Topic - Religion, Biblical Criticism & Interpretation, Criticism, Biblical Criticism & Interpretation - New Testament, General, Topic, etc, Biography & Autobiography
ISBN: 9780743291477
Publisher: Simon and Schuster
Published: 2007-10-08T07:00:00+00:00

Month Seven: March

He who winks his eyes plans perverse things . . . --PROVERBS 16:30

Day 184. Julie's dad is visiting from Florida. We're out to dinner at a Chinese restaurant. It's proving to be a trying experience, mostly because her dad--a former software salesman--is indulging his weakness for particularly excruciating puns.

I can't even remember how it came up, but over entrees he punned on the word olive and the first letter of the Hebrew alphabet, aleph.

Then he looked at me and winked.

"You know, the Bible is antiwinking," I say.

"Really? What's the origin of that?"

"Not sure."

"Well, when you get down to it, the Bible is all about the prophet motive."

I purse my lips and nod. A little part of me dies.

"Prophet," he says. "Like the Prophet Elijah."

"I got it."

The Bible's antiwinking bias (there are at least four warnings against winkers) is one of the least-studied scriptural motifs around. I found negligible literature on the topic. But it does seem wise and ahead of its time, the wink being perhaps the world's creepiest gesture, with the winker coercing the winkee into being a part of his little cabal. If the Bible condemned people who call me "Captain" . . . well, a man can dream.

The Lord has made everything for its purpose. --PROVERBS 16:4

Day 187. I blew my shofar on the first of the month, and frankly, I'm feeling much better about my skills. Mr. Berkowitz gave me a few pointers--including holding my shofar between my fingers like a giant cigarette--so it's begun to sound respectable. I'm no Miles Davis, but I can hit a couple of clear notes.

Today, Julie and I have an appointment at Mount Sinai to get a sonogram. Julie is dreading it. It's not so much a fear of hospitals. It's a fear that we'll find out the twins' genders--and that they'll both be boys. She's wanted a daughter from day one.

"We'll be fine," I say. "There's a seventy-five percent chance we'll have at least one girl. My guess is two."

An hour later, the Italian-accented nurse is sliding the microphonelike sonogram gadget over Julie's stomach. She stops on the right side.

"OK, Baby A is a boy. That's very clear. Baby A is a boy."

Julie starts laughing nervously. She's muttering, "Please be a girl, Baby B, please be a girl."

The nurse is digging the gadget into the left side.

"And I'm sorry," the nurse says.

At which point, my stomach drops, my pulse triples. What? What's wrong?

"I'm sorry to say that you have two boys. Baby B is a boy."

I'm relieved. For a moment, I thought that there was something seriously wrong with Baby B. But the only thing wrong is that he has a Y chromosome.

Julie isn't relieved. Her face crinkles. She starts crying, then sobbing. My relief fades to mild depression.

"I know it's stupid," says Julie. She's caught her breath now. "I'm mad at myself for being so upset. But it's just the finality of it. I'll never have a girl. That's it."

It's true. I love Jasper--but three boys? That's far too much testosterone for a two-bedroom New York apartment.

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