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Finding True Religion
I can see her lookin’ fast in her faded jeans
She’s a hard lovin’ woman, got me feelin’ mean
-Gordon Lightfoot
I have finally discovered True Religion. It came in the form of something other than God speaking to the Jewish People at Mount Sinai. My revelation came this week and it started in South Beach. Karen and I took the 95 down to the 395 and headed toward this hallowed ground. Turning north on Collins we miraculously found a parking spot. South Beach parking - a dollar; finding a spot for under 20 bucks – priceless. Granted it is slow season – just after Labor Day and a Wednesday night to boot, but I still felt like George on Seinfeld who cannot stop kvelling over the great parking spot he lucked out on in front of the hospital. Don’t try this at home, kids or in three months time – you are liable to get hurt, or at least get very ripped off.
We parked and walked a few blocks north – and there it was, True Religion. I expected angels singing, a full choir a la St. Paul’s Cathedral. But alas, it was not to be. All that greeted us was Jimmy – a buffed black guy with a friendly smile. I wanted to stay to witness the life-changing experience but could not. Nature called and I missed almost all of it, spending it in a dingy bathroom and showing up only for the end. Jimmy and Karen had no idea where I was, but sometimes even True Religion has to wait for the more mundane things in life. I did finally arrive at the blessed event when it came to pay at the cash register. And this indeed was a religious experience. Karen tried to ease my pain by paying with cash for most of the cost of the jean skirt and putting only about $120 of the purchase on the credit card. Where she got that cash is beyond me, but I have a feeling that I am somehow the source of it as well. The act was consummated; our baptism complete and we spent the next little while touring South Beach before heading home.
It was not until the next day where I began to inspect the priestly garment. I wanted to know what makes a jean skirt cost over $250. I first spotted the hallowed vestment laying on my bed, very plain looking and not appearing all that special. I looked it over and over to see what made this jean different from all other jeans. Was it unleavened, dipped twice in salt water, made by people in a reclining position? I could not see anything special that made it different from the Levi’s 519 jeans that I used to purchase in my youth at Eaton’s in Yorkdale for $19.99. (Levi’s, not Lee’s which were too thick. And don’t even get me started about Wrangler – in 1976 they were definitely for losers.)
Ah, but perhaps the specialness only became apparent when the priest (in this case, my wife) donned the holy article. Then, like the Urim and Tummim on the chest of the High Priest, they would light up with blinding splendor and proclaim God’s glories. So on they went, and yet I still could not see their magic. Was I blind, am I missing something, have I allowed my life to slip so far in the gutter that I could no longer behold the True Religion when it was there staring me in the face?
As I expressed my doubt, my lack of faith, my utter contempt for what seemed to me was quickly becoming a false religion with Jimmy as its false prophet – I knew his smile and buffed body were insincere! - it then came to me. That moment arrived not in thunder or with a lightening bolt but came in a still, small voice. My wife proclaimed, “I like wearing them, they make me feel good.” And there it was – they make her feel good. I could just hear my Rosh Yeshiva right then and there: A Happy Wife is a Happy Life. And that indeed is a True Religion.
Rabbi Tzvi Nightingale
Aish South Florida
www.aishfl.com; 954-989-2474
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