10/10/97

My Yom Kippur Report Card

OK, so I didn't daven three times a day. But on the other hand, I didn't murder anyone all year.

    Fishblatt was going to put in a lot of overtime today. He knew that. When you're God's right-hand man, and it's Yom Kippur Eve, you don't make plans.
    Fishblatt poured himself a glass of lemon tea and picked up where he left off.
    "O'Dwyer, Thomas."
    "Not too bad this year, for an Irishman. Forgiven."
    "Ofir, Moshe."
    "Never heard of him. Next?"
    "Orbach, Miriam."
    "Not a chance. Three times she shoplifted, and she lied at least once, and then there was all that coveting. She's had it."
    "Orbaum, Samuel."
    "Was he the one who --"
    "Yup."
    "And --"
    "That's him."
    God frowned. "Let's take a look at his file."
    "All of it? That's 15 volumes."
    "Don't bring me his life story, Fishblatt, just this year."
    "That is this year."
    "Gevalt."
    Fishblatt scanned the pages and started chuckling. "You know what this guy did? Organized a New Year's Eve party."
    "So? I've heard worse."
    "On Erev Rosh Hashana."
    "He could go to hell for that."
    "Seems he wouldn't mind that. Says here he doesn't care where he spends his eternity, as long as it's not with the haredim. If they're right, he said, then they're going Up and he's going Down, which is not the worst thing. But he seems to think he's right, and all the haredim are going to hell."
    "I take it he's not religious."
    "Nope. Not a good word here from any reputable rabbi."
    God shrugged. "Then that's that. This Orbaum's had it. Next?"
    Fishblatt took off his glasses and looked at the Lord. The Lord knew that look: Fishblatt was soft on this sort of guy.
    "Speed it up, Fishblatt, it's getting late. If we don't start inscribing names soon..."
    "I'm not so sure about this Orbaum, your Mightiness. He just had major dental work. Cost a fortune. It'd be a shame to give him the thumb's down. Give him a chance. One more year."
    "What, you think he's suddenly going to change? Did he daven even once?"
    "Best I can tell, the last time he said a prayer was before the moon landing."
    "See?"
    "But it says here he believes in God."
    God was moved. "He does?"
    "Oh, yes! He appreciates everything you've done. He just doesn't think you need his approval."
    "Hmm. Humility. I like that."
    "He knows you're busy. All these believers, beseeching you night and day, crying, wailing, breast-beating, asking favors, making promises, cutting deals -- this Orbaum doesn't want to be a noodge."
    "Considerate, eh?"
    "Yeah. Well, no, not entirely, to be honest. You see, he writes, he works for a newspaper..."
    "A journalist?!"
    "Yes."
    God's patience with Fishblatt was running thin. His tone turned sarcastic. "Do we have very many journalists inscribed in the Good Book?"
    "No sir. Not yet. But --"
    "But what?"
    The heavenly secretary swallowed hard. "But ... he's, well, very good about environmentalism. You know, saving water, recycling paper. He never litters."
    "Did he put on tefillin even once?"
    "No. Said he couldn't find them. But on the other hand, he didn't murder all year. That's more important, if you ask me."
    "Did he go to shul?"
    "No, but he promised he would, after the Moshiach arrives. Anyway, he's morally opposed to frivolous praying."
    "What does that mean?"
    Fishblatt shrugged.
    "Did he indulge in malicious gossip?"
    "Regularly. But --"
    "You know how I hate gossip, Fishblatt."
    "But that was his job. You know, anti-government gossip. Saying nasty things about politicians."
    "Oh. That's different. God, how I hate politicians."
    Fishblatt liked the way He took His own name in vain. It made him so, well, human.
    "How does he stand on the Big Ten?"
    "No other known gods. Graven images, zero. Vain name-taking, zero."
    "Did he honor his parental units?"
    "They've provided a sworn affidavit that he was a good boy."
    "And the thou-shalt-nots?"
    "He did his best."
    "In other words, he didn't do so good."
    "Just a bit of coveting."
    "That's it. To hell with him."
    "Aw, ease up, this is the '90s. So he ogled the lady next door. Have you seen her in those skimpy tee-shirts she wears when she's hanging the laundry? If ever there was a case of extenuating circumstances, this is it."
    God grumbled. This was a design fault in Basic Man. He goofed, and he knew it. "OK. I'll pretend I didn't notice. How about the mitzvot?"
    Fishblatt winced. "Don't get mad. Promise."
    "Tell me!"
    "There was a problem with kashrut."
    "That's it. I've heard enough. Pork? Lobster? Cheeseburger? Don't tell me, I don't want to know..."
    "It was a donut. He ate a jelly donut on Pessah. He says he got mixed up, thought it was Hanukka. But he made up for it. On Hanukka, he ate matza."
    "So how many mitzvot did he observe?"
    Fishblatt went through the file and counted them up. "One, two, three ... uh, four. That's it. Four."
    "Four?! What about the other 609?"
    "Well, uh, he did other mitzvot that aren't even listed. He gave soldiers lifts. He only bought dolphin-safe tunafish. And he never honks in a hospital zone."
    "And by you this is enough to get into the Good Book? Fishblatt, you're becoming kindly in your old age. A thousand years ago, you'd have this guy burning in hell for shaving."
    "Nah. He wouldn't look good in a beard." God allowed himself a smile, and Fishblatt knew he'd won. "So. Can I put him in the Good Book?"
    "Alright. But in pencil. Who's next?"
    Fishblatt checked down the list. "Ordonez. Rey."
    "Who's he?"
    "Plays for the New York Mets. Shortstop."
    "Jewish?"
    "Unlikely."
    "Did he have a good year?"
    "Not bad. He hit .249 with 12 homers."
    "Pass. Next?"
    "O'Sullivan, Aryeh."
    "Another journalist?!"
    "Yes, but..."