Alex Fradkin
Mrs. Singer
Advanced Composition
September 8, 2002
Half & Half
Just as a child never questions the wonders of time, I too had never questioned the customs of my predecessors. It wasn’t necessarily because I had accepted their customs as accurate dealings, but simply that I was taught through repetition that their endurance over time was a result of their validity. My religious schooling constantly stressed this concept of validity and tried to instill belief for it. By a certain point, I no longer questioned the validity, yet as I broke through the weakening bindings of my religion, I saw that my main problem was the life long servitude involved in the knowledge of such truths. Despite their successful instilling of the belief in G-d’s existence, this religious school had given me no choice as to whether I wanted to follow his obligations or not. Agnostic was not a word in the Religious Jewish dictionary and the acceptation of it due to my persuasion was obviously a doubtful deal at best. I was a nomad, drifting alone in a sea of what I thought to be my fellow comrades. Only they would be walking on water where as I was almost drowning. They would extend their hands, but no more; I would have to find my own strengths to wade towards them. And despite my acceptance of the first half of their faith, my disapproval of the purpose around which this faith revolved led to me to believe that as only half of a believer, I would remain an outsider in their eyes. Everyday, I would thrice observe those missing services that comprised the other wretched half of their faith. I do not know whether it was the mere fact that they were praying or the handicapped manner in which they did it; I would simply loathe every second that I had to listen to them praise “He, Whose name is revered.” I would see them exonerate themselves before the world; the excitement screwed upon their faces during this ritual was sickening to me. Their natural cravings for servitude simply seemed unnatural and cult-like to me. I could do nothing but watch as the pagan-like ritual in front of me unfolded to an almost inhuman capacity. Only the mutual chanting and shifting of the men broke the ethereal silence of the room. The scene would have been no different than had I attended an 18th century voodoo ritual in which the spastic climax of the ceremony would have been the communal effort to uproot the heart of a sacrificial victim. Even their feet’s convulsive actions were timed to the point where an almost unprecedented beat could be detected.