Personal Providence
On Yom Kippur, on his way home from prayers, Boaz saw God sitting on a bench near the synagogue. He just kept walking without making eye contact, minding his own business. “Hey, come over here for a ‘sec,” God called out casually, and when He saw that Boaz wasn’t moving, He patted the bench and said, “Come on, sit down, I won’t bite.” Boaz sat down next to the Creator without saying a word. God didn’t say anything either. The silence was getting oppressive, and after a moment, the good Lord took a pack of Camels out of His shirt pocket, pulled out a cigarette, and offered one to Boaz.
“It’s Yom Kippur,” Boaz whispered, “smoking is forbidden.”
“Says who?” God grinned.
“The Bible…” Boaz murmured. “You.”
“Okay then,” said God with a laugh, “so I said it’s forbidden. But now I’m saying it’s allowed.” God put the cigarette in His mouth and it lit up, just like that, no lighter. He took a long drag and asked, “Did you pray?”
Boaz nodded. “Didn’t you hear?”
“Sure I did.” God nodded and blew smoke out of His nostrils. “You prayed hard. I was very impressed.”
“Thanks, I really made an effort.” Boaz wasn’t sure whether God actually remembered his prayer or if He was just trying to be nice.
“I know,” God said, “I know. If you hadn’t made an effort, I wouldn’t have come.”
“Really?” Boaz was excited now. “So you heard my plea and you came? That’s really moving, honestly, because this past year has been pretty tough. We’ve had one catastrophe after another here, almost every day, and the fact that you came, physically, to be more involved… that in itself makes me feel good…”
“Whoa!” God laughed again. “Boaz, my man, take it down a notch! I’m not looking at real estate in Netanya or anything. I just popped over for a few minutes to deliver a message.”
“A message?” Boaz repeated anxiously. “To who? The human race? You mean like another flood or something?”
“A flood?” God wrinkled his nose. “You must be joking. With all due respect, do you really think I’d even move my ass off the chair for the human race? I came here for you.”
“If you don’t mind, I think I will have that cigarette after all.” Boaz could feel his palms getting clammy. God gave him a cigarette and lit it spontaneously.
“Look,” said God, “ordinarily, I don’t do these kinds of things. The last time I came down for a one-on-one was probably more than a century ago. I remember the woman well, she was one of those Type A’s, sweated constantly, even more than you. And she was also a mother—”
“A mother?”
“A parent,” God corrected himself. “I meant that she was also, like you, a parent.”
“I don’t understand.” Boaz sucked on his cigarette. “What do you mean, she was a parent? Does this have something to do with Yotam?”
Instead of answering, God asked, “Is your phone turned off?”
“Obviously. It’s Yom Kippur.”
“You can turn it on,” God said firmly, and when Boaz hesitated, He added, “It’s like with the smoking – if I’m right here next to you and I say it’s okay, then it’s okay. Go on, turn it on.”
While Boaz long-pressed his phone, God sighed and said, “I just came to explain… Or not even explain, just to say that the things that happen around you, all this craziness going on, it’s not all you: crime and punishment, personal providence, that’s all good and well, but at the end of the day, when things happen—and believe me, they happen—it’s always complicated. Not everything is because of you or thanks to you…”
Boaz’s phone made a short beep. It was a message from Meirav, asking him to call her urgently. Instead of dialing, Boaz looked straight at the Creator. “Did you do something to my boy?” he asked.
“ ‘Did you do something…’” God mimicked Boaz’s voice perfectly. “Look, no one here goes around doing. This whole operation, it’s much bigger than me or you. Definitely bigger than you. An e-scooter crashes into a bike, a malignant tumor is found in a routine test, a bomb explodes on a bus – things happen, because they just do, it’s normal. You know, not everything in life is sins and mitzvahs.”
“But you said you haven’t been here for more than a century. So if everything’s so normal, how come you’re here now?”
God sighed again. “I’m here because I felt bad, okay? I’m here because he was a good boy and you’re a good dad and I didn’t want you to take this on yourself. Didn’t want you getting some bee in your bonnet about how it’s because you did something bad. You did, though. We both know that the way things went down with your brother wasn’t right, and that if your parents were still alive it would have devastated them. But forget that, it has nothing to do with this. You did something horrible, true, but for that to lose a kid? It makes no sense, not in the heart and not in the brain. And so I came here to tell you personally, you know, I’m sorry.”
Instead of answering Him, Boaz called Meirav. While he waited restlessly for her to pick up, he watched God get up and give a strange farewell bow. “Remember,” God said before He left, “don’t take it on yourself…”
Boaz stood up and faced his God. They were very close, and Boaz, who put his face right up in God’s, could see the entire universe in His luminous eyes. God was a head taller, but Boaz was much broader. He was about to say something to God, something harsh, something mean, something he’d definitely regret later, when he heard Meirav answer in tears.
I always love those stories where faith in God's existence doesn't imply a faith in God's goodness. I'm sure you've heard this joke a thousand times before, but anyway:
Shlomo ascends to heaven, gasps the cool blue air. He collects himself as he stands before the Throne Of Glory, unimpressed.
God sees the numbers on Shlomo's arm. Shlomo sees God's shame.
"Nah, it's not what you think," Shlomo says, "these are just my lottery numbers."
God sighs. "Shlomo, I'm sorry about what happened to you, and I can understand why you're angry, I really can. But still you shouldn't joke about these things. This is very serious, it's not funny."
"Yeah, I don't know," Shlomo replies, as he looks God in the eye, "I guess you had to be there."
I wish I’d written this. Quite an evil writer trick, the way you made it seem like it was going to be a funny story.