Project Genesis (01)

Jonah fretted. He alternated between playing drums on his forehead with his fingers and obsessively biting his fingernails and cuticles. After whittling away everything but the flesh, Jonah took to jumping jacks, until a creak in his left knee politely reminded Jonah that wildly flailing limbs is ill advised, especially at the tender age of 52 years old.

So Jonah stopped, panted for a bit, and looked at the device that represented the culmination of 40 years of intellectual curiosity, if not ferocity. The time was 6:40am; his colleagues, the camera crews, and his family would arrive in another three hours or so. According to the schedule, at 9:30am, in front of this adoring crowd, Jonah would press a big button on the big machine and cause a big bang. It was that simple, kind of. If successful, Jonah’s name would join the ranks of Galileo, Newton and Einstein. If successful, Jonah would have created the first man-made nanoworld. If successful, Jonah’s unshakeable conviction in atheism would be shaken.

It was the last part that worried him so. His unbending belief, no, knowledge of a godless world was as essential to him as his wife of 26 years. In fact, the two were inextricably intertwined. Jonah became an atheist and fell in love on 23 March 2013. On that day, a Sabbath, 14 year-old Jonah went to synagogue, read the Torah portion to himself, and after services, informed the rabbi of the congregation that he did not believe in God.

The rabbi, a kind man advanced in years whose blue eyes remained twinkling despite their increasing obsolescence, turned to Jonah and said “Hm, you’re a very smart young girl, so if there’s no God, how did the universe begin?” Jonah immediately turned and walked away, cursing his mother for her insistence on his effete bowl haircut and cursing his non-existent deity for his delayed puberty.

Later that afternoon, Jonah met Hannah Schmidt at the park. Hannah had always been a good friend of his, despite her determined refusal to doubt the sagacity of the rabbi or the teachers or her parents or whomever. Indeed, Jonah took immense pride that he was the only person with whom Hannah ever disagreed. And so, with a mischievous melody ringing through each sentence, Jonah told Hannah that he had crossed the Rubicon. Doubts were no longer entertained, questions no longer needed, and answers no longer sought. “God doesn’t exist. It’s as simple as that,” Jonah sang with a smile.

The revelation of her friend’s apostasy terrified Hannah. She had always reluctantly appreciated, if not admired, Jonah’s critical approach to authority. But at least Jonah had approached authority, and not denied its very existence! Very quickly the disagreement escalated into a shouting match. Hannah demanded the reason for Jonah’s conversion. The epiphany came, Jonah revealed, after observing that the week’s Torah portion, Parashat Tzav, was entirely ridiculous.

“Why the hell do I need some priest to disembowel a helpless lamb, and spread its guts all over the place to clean my soul?!” Jonah demanded to know.

Hannah would not budge. With a fierce humility she relegated the appropriation of meaning to others. It was not for her, certainly as a 14 year-old, to question thousands of years of tradition and knowledge. Jonah scoffed at her submissiveness.

“If God really did exist, and really did write the Bible, and really is able to do all sorts of awesome miracles, why the hell would He write something as boring as Leviticus?” Jonah argued.

“If some old dude really did write the Bible, and really did want to convince others of his beliefs, why would he write something as boring as Leviticus?!” Hannah countered.

Hannah’s rhetorical jujitsu impressed but failed to sway Jonah. Their faces reddened, and their faces inched closer to each other as they equated the decibel level of their voices with the effectiveness of their arguments. Then, quite unexpectedly, they kissed. 38 years and three children later, neither Jonah nor Hannah had moderated their theological views in the slightest. They presented both sides of the argument to their children, and much to Jonah’s delight all three had adopted reason and science.

Over those 38 years Jonah sought to answer the old rabbi’s answer the right way, the scientific way. Vindication would come in the form of Project Genesis, Jonah’s second wife for the better part of two decades. Project Genesis harnessed the latest developments in nanophysics in order to recreate a universe, a really really tiny one. A universe borne from the sheer brilliance and determination of Man, without any supernatural assistance. It would be a universe where Man, Jonah in particular, was omnipotent and omniscient. He created it, he understood it, and, with the continued generosity of federal grants, he would sustain it.

But on the morning of Jonah’s inauguration as a nanodeity, he had a harrowing epiphany: if he played god in his nanoworld, then what’s not to say…

The thought was too repugnant and superstitious for Jonah to even consider, hence the drumming, nail biting and jumping jacks. He left the complex that housed Project Genesis to buy a cigarette from the dingy convenience store situated across the street. As he exited the complex’s parking lot and entered the street, his thoughts meandered away from existential crises and instead to Delilah Persimmons. Delilah had embodied the high-school cheerleader everyone loves to hate. Equally attractive and malicious, Delilah was a fixture of Jonah’s teenage daydreams, despite his fidelity to Hannah. Now, after an extended absence, Delilah returned once more to Jonah’s imagination. After winning the Nobel Prize, or becoming Time Magazine’s Man of the Year, or preferably both, Jonah would track down Delilah. She would confess her abounding jealousy of his unmatched brainpower, only for him to spurn her and return faithfully to Hannah. But before exiting stage right, he would say something cutting, something pithy, something memorable. He would say something like…like…What would he say…”You were such a bi — “

SPLAT! Or BOOM! Or CRUNCH! Jonah wasn’t quite sure what the sound sounded like, but it most definitely was the sound of a vehicle flattening him. He laid on the pavement in agony. As his frustration drowned out his pain, his singular thought was “Dammit Jonah! You were about to become famous.” Then he drifted out of consciousness.

He awoke to find himself in a room composed of entirely white tiles adorned with only three pieces of furniture. Two white chairs, probably Ikea products in Jonah’s estimation, on either side of a rather flimsy looking white table, yet another Swedish import. Disoriented and distraught, Jonah frantically eyed for an exit but to no avail.

“So, — con — grat — u — la — tions Jo — nah,” said a mysterious voice. Jonah jumped. Sitting in front of him was a man, perhaps in his early 70s, with stubble unevenly distributed along his face. He wore wire glasses that rested precipitously off the edge of his prominent nose.

“On what? Who are you?” replied a suspicious and still terrified Jonah. The man chuckled.

“I — guess — you — could — say, — God.” The man spoke very slowly, too slowly for Jonah’s liking because it belied an air of condescension, as if Jonah was a child.

“Bullshit. God doesn’t exist,” Jonah retorted, his senses were heightened and he surveyed the elderly gentlemen. He was pretty sure that even with a creaky knee, a swift jab to the ribs would do the trick.

“Now — now — language. — Aft — er — all, — you — are — spea — king — to — God,” the man said methodically with a slight smile and painstaking annunciation. Jonah thought that if this was God, that would make sense, since he hated him already.

“You’re not God, he doesn’t exist. But whoever you are, don’t speak that slowly. It’s annoying and patronizing,” Jonah retorted sharply with furrowed eyebrows and keen eyes. The old man scratched his head, and said, with a quicker cadence. “Okay. Is this fine? I’m never 100% sure how this whole thing works.”

“Still a bit too slow, but better.” Jonah kept his guard up.

“Okay, what about this? It’s just hard. Since you’re a human and I just don’t — point is, you know? This good?”

“Perfect.” Jonah thought this man may be a mysterious loony, but he’s an adaptable mysterious loony. Jonah appreciated that.

“So, like I said, congratulations. You really should be proud about Project Genesis, top notch work. I see some kinks in it, but when I began I also — “

“Who are you?” Jonah demanded.

“I told you already, I’m God!” said the exasperated conversation partner.

“How do I know?” Jonah said, with a slight skeptical turn of his head.

“Well, who else would send an 18-wheeler into a parking lot at 6:45 in the morning?”

“You sent that truck?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Fuck you.”

“What did you just say?!”, the elderly man said aghast.

“I said ‘Fuck you.’ That really hurt! I’m in a lot of pain right now!”

“Now listen buster, I’ve tolerated your indignation thus far, but you’re walking a fine line. And you do not want an angry God!” The elderly man had risen from his seat to deliver this lecture, firing spittle like flak from anti-aircraft guns. Jonah dried his face with his forearm, remained quiet, and thought of his next move. He finally asked. “So. You’re God?”

“Yes, well, my real name is Dr. Kale, but that’s what most of you guys call me so we can go with that.”

“If you wanted to talk to me, God, then why not appear to me in a dream?” asked the inquisitive Jonah. He never accepted any authority easily, and he was not about to begin now.

“Hm. I don’t know. I wonder. If I appeared to you in a dream, what do you think your reaction would be?” God did not appreciate Jonah’s contentious attitude, which He thought was totally uncalled for given the circumstances.

“I would think it was just a dream.”

“Exactly. Now you get it.”

“But how do I know this is not a dream?” asked a persistent Jonah.

Suddenly, Jonah regained consciousness. He was flat on his back, suffering from an unimaginable pain. He had lost all feeling in his legs but unfortunately not his back. His spine had snapped, leaving shards of vertebrae to float aimlessly in his torso. He yelped in pain and cried. The truck driver stared at him curiously.

“So — do — you — still — think — this — is — a — dream?” asked a spiteful Dr. Kale. Jonah had returned to his interview with that mysterious old man. He remembered the splitting pain, but felt nothing. The only thought that crossed his mind was, “You’re talking really slowly again.” The old man rolled his eyes.

“Fine. So do you still think this is a dream?”, Dr. Kale had readjusted his pace of speech.

“No.” Jonah replied curtly and indignantly.

“You know when I had my meeting, I did not act like a precocious little brat. And I think it would behoove you to adopt a similar attitude.” said the old man, wagging his finger. Dream or no dream, Jonah found little benefit in continuing to argue with this man.

“I’m sorry.” The two men stared at each other. The old man sniffed the insincerity of the apology, but decided to say nothing. Jonah averted his conversation partner’s gaze and tapped his feet. Jonah decided to break the silence, and thought out loud. “So you’re God?” The old man nodded in affirmation. “And you flattened me with a truck, so you could…?”

“So I could congratulate you. And welcome you into the club. And wish you good luck.” Dr. Kale’s endorsement of Jonah’s achievements was less than effusive to say the least.

“To congratulate me. Of course. Obviously.” Jonah’s sarcasm did not faze the old man who lit a cigarette and exhaled a long puff of smoke in Jonah’s direction. Jonah wheezed and coughed. Having achieved his purpose, Dr. Kale extinguished his cigarette. Jonah could not think of anything else to say, so he surveyed the room. It was so white, so dull. He waited for the old man to initiate a conversation. Nothing. Finally Jonah commented, “White room. White table. White chairs. A little cliché for God’s office, no?”

“Ohhhh and the name “Project Genesis” is real original. I wonder from whom you got that one?”

“I’m not a marketer, I’m a scientist. But apparently you’re God. Not even a couch?”

Dr. Kale tut-tutted. “To you humans, I’m God. And I am. The one and only, I might add. But to us…” he trailed off and sighed heavily. “To us, I’m just a scientist, a scientist on a tight budget. It’s a tough economy right now, and some of my funds were diverted to — well, office politics need not concern you. Point is, you’ll have to make due with this rather Spartan meeting area.”

“Okay, okay” Jonah replied defensively. God has issues, Jonah thought. God. That was an uncomfortable concept to fathom. “God, You don’t mind if I take a minute to gather my thoughts do You?”

“No, no. Not at all. We have all the time in your world.”

Jonah returned to drumming on his forehead. Gone were the 38 years of complete self-assurance. Jonah was wrong, and spectacularly so. The upending of his identity traumatized him. Yet there were too many inconsistencies, too many incongruities, too many “but thens” for him to merely accept what he now knew. What could he do? Jonah raised his hands in frustration and confessed, “You know what, I’m stumped. I have so many questions, but, but I don’t think I — .”

“You’re not supposed to understand. Maybe you will after Project Genesis; but in your world, I’m God and you’re Man,” said the old man in a condescending but parental tone. Jonah rolled his eyes and blinked.

He blinked and found the truck driver standing over him, biting his lower lip. He extended a hand to pull up Jonah and said with a drawl “How ya doing buddy? Looks like you took quite a tumble.” Jonah was confused and distraught. Was it a dream? The splitting pain in his back remained a vivid memory, but nothing more. Paralyzed he was not, though sore all over he certainly was. He ignored the stranger’s overture and instead demanded, “Who are you?”

“Oh me? Oh, my name’s Gabriel. I’m a research assistant for Dr. Kale,” chirped the stranger eagerly. Oh God, Jonah thought, You’re real. Dr. Kale’s chipper assistant took Jonah’s hand and wrenched it toward him as easily one shifts gears. The chipper assistant continued, “You know, I would ice that shoulder. That was some tumble.” Yes, Jonah thought. You ran me over in your truck. A tumble indeed. Exhausted physically and emotionally, Jonah just muttered “Can you please just take me home?”

Gabriel graciously agreed and as Jonah exited the car, the former apologized for the collision. “I’m real sorry about the accident, I wasn’t supposed to hit you that hard,” said Gabriel with a toothy grin.

“That hard?” Jonah said with an expression of disbelief, if such a thing existed anymore.

“Yeah, not that hard, the instructions were to ding ya, you know what I mean? But the hill back there is tricky steep, so when I tried — “

“That’s enough. Thanks for the ride.” Jonah exited the truck, tapped the door, and said goodbye. It was roughly 7:00am when he arrived home, and his family was still asleep. He retrieved an icepack from the freezer and strapped it onto his back. He then climbed to the attic, where he shuffled through a half-dissolved and forgotten cardboard box.

Its contents were relics of a previous Jonah. Old portraits revealed the austere faces of Jonah’s grandparents and great-grandparents. A yellowed certificate still trumpeted Jonah as the best Talmud scholar in middle school. A kosher cookbook guaranteed that at least one of its dozen gefilte fish recipes would be palatable. Finally, he found what he was looking for and headed downstairs.

Tears gushed from his eyes as he swayed feverishly. He forgot to close his office door and so his entire family gathered to watch the spectacle. Though aware of the flabbergasted gaze of his wife and children, Jonah never diverted his attention until he had wrapped up his tefillin and folded his tallit.[1]

Hannah entered the room cautiously and stammered with equal parts astonishment and excitement, “Jonah — , but you — “

Jonah turned to his vindicated wife and said “God exists. He’s just an asshole.” Jonah fretted. He alternated between playing drums on his forehead with his fingers and obsessively biting his fingernails and cuticles. After whittling away everything but the flesh, Jonah took to jumping jacks, until a creak in his left knee politely reminded Jonah that wildly flailing limbs is ill advised, especially at the tender age of 52 years old.

So Jonah stopped, panted for a bit, and looked at the device that represented the culmination of 40 years of intellectual curiosity, if not ferocity. The time was 6:40am; his colleagues, the camera crews, and his family would arrive in another three hours or so. According to the schedule, at 9:30am, in front of this adoring crowd, Jonah would press a big button on the big machine and cause a big bang. It was that simple, kind of. If successful, Jonah’s name would join the ranks of Galileo, Newton and Einstein. If successful, Jonah would have created the first man-made nanoworld. If successful, Jonah’s unshakeable conviction in atheism would be shaken.

It was the last part that worried him so. His unbending belief, no, knowledge of a godless world was as essential to him as his wife of 26 years. In fact, the two were inextricably intertwined. Jonah became an atheist and fell in love on 23 March 2013. On that day, a Sabbath, 14 year-old Jonah went to synagogue, read the Torah portion to himself, and after services, informed the rabbi of the congregation that he did not believe in God.

The rabbi, a kind man advanced in years whose blue eyes remained twinkling despite their increasing obsolescence, turned to Jonah and said “Hm, you’re a very smart young girl, so if there’s no God, how did the universe begin?” Jonah immediately turned and walked away, cursing his mother for her insistence on his effete bowl haircut and cursing his non-existent deity for his delayed puberty.

Later that afternoon, Jonah met Hannah Schmidt at the park. Hannah had always been a good friend of his, despite her determined refusal to doubt the sagacity of the rabbi or the teachers or her parents or whomever. Indeed, Jonah took immense pride that he was the only person with whom Hannah ever disagreed. And so, with a mischievous melody ringing through each sentence, Jonah told Hannah that he had crossed the Rubicon. Doubts were no longer entertained, questions no longer needed, and answers no longer sought. “God doesn’t exist. It’s as simple as that,” Jonah sang with a smile.

The revelation of her friend’s apostasy terrified Hannah. She had always reluctantly appreciated, if not admired, Jonah’s critical approach to authority. But at least Jonah had approached authority, and not denied its very existence! Very quickly the disagreement escalated into a shouting match. Hannah demanded the reason for Jonah’s conversion. The epiphany came, Jonah revealed, after observing that the week’s Torah portion, Parashat Tzav, was entirely ridiculous.

“Why the hell do I need some priest to disembowel a helpless lamb, and spread its guts all over the place to clean my soul?!” Jonah demanded to know.

Hannah would not budge. With a fierce humility she relegated the appropriation of meaning to others. It was not for her, certainly as a 14 year-old, to question thousands of years of tradition and knowledge. Jonah scoffed at her submissiveness.

“If God really did exist, and really did write the Bible, and really is able to do all sorts of awesome miracles, why the hell would He write something as boring as Leviticus?” Jonah argued.

“If some old dude really did write the Bible, and really did want to convince others of his beliefs, why would he write something as boring as Leviticus?!” Hannah countered.

Hannah’s rhetorical jujitsu impressed but failed to sway Jonah. Their faces reddened, and their faces inched closer to each other as they equated the decibel level of their voices with the effectiveness of their arguments. Then, quite unexpectedly, they kissed. 38 years and three children later, neither Jonah nor Hannah had moderated their theological views in the slightest. They presented both sides of the argument to their children, and much to Jonah’s delight all three had adopted reason and science.

Over those 38 years Jonah sought to answer the old rabbi’s answer the right way, the scientific way. Vindication would come in the form of Project Genesis, Jonah’s second wife for the better part of two decades. Project Genesis harnessed the latest developments in nanophysics in order to recreate a universe, a really really tiny one. A universe borne from the sheer brilliance and determination of Man, without any supernatural assistance. It would be a universe where Man, Jonah in particular, was omnipotent and omniscient. He created it, he understood it, and, with the continued generosity of federal grants, he would sustain it.

But on the morning of Jonah’s inauguration as a nanodeity, he had a harrowing epiphany: if he played god in his nanoworld, then what’s not to say…

The thought was too repugnant and superstitious for Jonah to even consider, hence the drumming, nail biting and jumping jacks. He left the complex that housed Project Genesis to buy a cigarette from the dingy convenience store situated across the street. As he exited the complex’s parking lot and entered the street, his thoughts meandered away from existential crises and instead to Delilah Persimmons. Delilah had embodied the high-school cheerleader everyone loves to hate. Equally attractive and malicious, Delilah was a fixture of Jonah’s teenage daydreams, despite his fidelity to Hannah. Now, after an extended absence, Delilah returned once more to Jonah’s imagination. After winning the Nobel Prize, or becoming Time Magazine’s Man of the Year, or preferably both, Jonah would track down Delilah. She would confess her abounding jealousy of his unmatched brainpower, only for him to spurn her and return faithfully to Hannah. But before exiting stage right, he would say something cutting, something pithy, something memorable. He would say something like…like…What would he say…”You were such a bi — “

SPLAT! Or BOOM! Or CRUNCH! Jonah wasn’t quite sure what the sound sounded like, but it most definitely was the sound of a vehicle flattening him. He laid on the pavement in agony. As his frustration drowned out his pain, his singular thought was “Dammit Jonah! You were about to become famous.” Then he drifted out of consciousness.

He awoke to find himself in a room composed of entirely white tiles adorned with only three pieces of furniture. Two white chairs, probably Ikea products in Jonah’s estimation, on either side of a rather flimsy looking white table, yet another Swedish import. Disoriented and distraught, Jonah frantically eyed for an exit but to no avail.

“So, — con — grat — u — la — tions Jo — nah,” said a mysterious voice. Jonah jumped. Sitting in front of him was a man, perhaps in his early 70s, with stubble unevenly distributed along his face. He wore wire glasses that rested precipitously off the edge of his prominent nose.

“On what? Who are you?” replied a suspicious and still terrified Jonah. The man chuckled.

“I — guess — you — could — say, — God.” The man spoke very slowly, too slowly for Jonah’s liking because it belied an air of condescension, as if Jonah was a child.

“Bullshit. God doesn’t exist,” Jonah retorted, his senses were heightened and he surveyed the elderly gentlemen. He was pretty sure that even with a creaky knee, a swift jab to the ribs would do the trick.

“Now — now — language. — Aft — er — all, — you — are — spea — king — to — God,” the man said methodically with a slight smile and painstaking annunciation. Jonah thought that if this was God, that would make sense, since he hated him already.

“You’re not God, he doesn’t exist. But whoever you are, don’t speak that slowly. It’s annoying and patronizing,” Jonah retorted sharply with furrowed eyebrows and keen eyes. The old man scratched his head, and said, with a quicker cadence. “Okay. Is this fine? I’m never 100% sure how this whole thing works.”

“Still a bit too slow, but better.” Jonah kept his guard up.

“Okay, what about this? It’s just hard. Since you’re a human and I just don’t — point is, you know? This good?”

“Perfect.” Jonah thought this man may be a mysterious loony, but he’s an adaptable mysterious loony. Jonah appreciated that.

“So, like I said, congratulations. You really should be proud about Project Genesis, top notch work. I see some kinks in it, but when I began I also — “

“Who are you?” Jonah demanded.

“I told you already, I’m God!” said the exasperated conversation partner.

“How do I know?” Jonah said, with a slight skeptical turn of his head.

“Well, who else would send an 18-wheeler into a parking lot at 6:45 in the morning?”

“You sent that truck?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Fuck you.”

“What did you just say?!”, the elderly man said aghast.

“I said ‘Fuck you.’ That really hurt! I’m in a lot of pain right now!”

“Now listen buster, I’ve tolerated your indignation thus far, but you’re walking a fine line. And you do not want an angry God!” The elderly man had risen from his seat to deliver this lecture, firing spittle like flak from anti-aircraft guns. Jonah dried his face with his forearm, remained quiet, and thought of his next move. He finally asked. “So. You’re God?”

“Yes, well, my real name is Dr. Kale, but that’s what most of you guys call me so we can go with that.”

“If you wanted to talk to me, God, then why not appear to me in a dream?” asked the inquisitive Jonah. He never accepted any authority easily, and he was not about to begin now.

“Hm. I don’t know. I wonder. If I appeared to you in a dream, what do you think your reaction would be?” God did not appreciate Jonah’s contentious attitude, which He thought was totally uncalled for given the circumstances.

“I would think it was just a dream.”

“Exactly. Now you get it.”

“But how do I know this is not a dream?” asked a persistent Jonah.

Suddenly, Jonah regained consciousness. He was flat on his back, suffering from an unimaginable pain. He had lost all feeling in his legs but unfortunately not his back. His spine had snapped, leaving shards of vertebrae to float aimlessly in his torso. He yelped in pain and cried. The truck driver stared at him curiously.

“So — do — you — still — think — this — is — a — dream?” asked a spiteful Dr. Kale. Jonah had returned to his interview with that mysterious old man. He remembered the splitting pain, but felt nothing. The only thought that crossed his mind was, “You’re talking really slowly again.” The old man rolled his eyes.

“Fine. So do you still think this is a dream?”, Dr. Kale had readjusted his pace of speech.

“No.” Jonah replied curtly and indignantly.

“You know when I had my meeting, I did not act like a precocious little brat. And I think it would behoove you to adopt a similar attitude.” said the old man, wagging his finger. Dream or no dream, Jonah found little benefit in continuing to argue with this man.

“I’m sorry.” The two men stared at each other. The old man sniffed the insincerity of the apology, but decided to say nothing. Jonah averted his conversation partner’s gaze and tapped his feet. Jonah decided to break the silence, and thought out loud. “So you’re God?” The old man nodded in affirmation. “And you flattened me with a truck, so you could…?”

“So I could congratulate you. And welcome you into the club. And wish you good luck.” Dr. Kale’s endorsement of Jonah’s achievements was less than effusive to say the least.

“To congratulate me. Of course. Obviously.” Jonah’s sarcasm did not faze the old man who lit a cigarette and exhaled a long puff of smoke in Jonah’s direction. Jonah wheezed and coughed. Having achieved his purpose, Dr. Kale extinguished his cigarette. Jonah could not think of anything else to say, so he surveyed the room. It was so white, so dull. He waited for the old man to initiate a conversation. Nothing. Finally Jonah commented, “White room. White table. White chairs. A little cliché for God’s office, no?”

“Ohhhh and the name “Project Genesis” is real original. I wonder from whom you got that one?”

“I’m not a marketer, I’m a scientist. But apparently you’re God. Not even a couch?”

Dr. Kale tut-tutted. “To you humans, I’m God. And I am. The one and only, I might add. But to us…” he trailed off and sighed heavily. “To us, I’m just a scientist, a scientist on a tight budget. It’s a tough economy right now, and some of my funds were diverted to — well, office politics need not concern you. Point is, you’ll have to make due with this rather Spartan meeting area.”

“Okay, okay” Jonah replied defensively. God has issues, Jonah thought. God. That was an uncomfortable concept to fathom. “God, You don’t mind if I take a minute to gather my thoughts do You?”

“No, no. Not at all. We have all the time in your world.”

Jonah returned to drumming on his forehead. Gone were the 38 years of complete self-assurance. Jonah was wrong, and spectacularly so. The upending of his identity traumatized him. Yet there were too many inconsistencies, too many incongruities, too many “but thens” for him to merely accept what he now knew. What could he do? Jonah raised his hands in frustration and confessed, “You know what, I’m stumped. I have so many questions, but, but I don’t think I — .”

“You’re not supposed to understand. Maybe you will after Project Genesis; but in your world, I’m God and you’re Man,” said the old man in a condescending but parental tone. Jonah rolled his eyes and blinked.

He blinked and found the truck driver standing over him, biting his lower lip. He extended a hand to pull up Jonah and said with a drawl “How ya doing buddy? Looks like you took quite a tumble.” Jonah was confused and distraught. Was it a dream? The splitting pain in his back remained a vivid memory, but nothing more. Paralyzed he was not, though sore all over he certainly was. He ignored the stranger’s overture and instead demanded, “Who are you?”

“Oh me? Oh, my name’s Gabriel. I’m a research assistant for Dr. Kale,” chirped the stranger eagerly. Oh God, Jonah thought, You’re real. Dr. Kale’s chipper assistant took Jonah’s hand and wrenched it toward him as easily one shifts gears. The chipper assistant continued, “You know, I would ice that shoulder. That was some tumble.” Yes, Jonah thought. You ran me over in your truck. A tumble indeed. Exhausted physically and emotionally, Jonah just muttered “Can you please just take me home?”

Gabriel graciously agreed and as Jonah exited the car, the former apologized for the collision. “I’m real sorry about the accident, I wasn’t supposed to hit you that hard,” said Gabriel with a toothy grin.

“That hard?” Jonah said with an expression of disbelief, if such a thing existed anymore.

“Yeah, not that hard, the instructions were to ding ya, you know what I mean? But the hill back there is tricky steep, so when I tried — “

“That’s enough. Thanks for the ride.” Jonah exited the truck, tapped the door, and said goodbye. It was roughly 7:00am when he arrived home, and his family was still asleep. He retrieved an icepack from the freezer and strapped it onto his back. He then climbed to the attic, where he shuffled through a half-dissolved and forgotten cardboard box.

Its contents were relics of a previous Jonah. Old portraits revealed the austere faces of Jonah’s grandparents and great-grandparents. A yellowed certificate still trumpeted Jonah as the best Talmud scholar in middle school. A kosher cookbook guaranteed that at least one of its dozen gefilte fish recipes would be palatable. Finally, he found what he was looking for and headed downstairs.

Tears gushed from his eyes as he swayed feverishly. He forgot to close his office door and so his entire family gathered to watch the spectacle. Though aware of the flabbergasted gaze of his wife and children, Jonah never diverted his attention until he had wrapped up his tefillin and folded his tallit.

Hannah entered the room cautiously and stammered with equal parts astonishment and excitement, “Jonah — , but you — “

Jonah turned to his vindicated wife and said “God exists. He’s just an asshole.”