Regardless of the fallacies depicted in scripture, I suggest this particular “miracle” means nothing in the overall greatness of the Christian Savior. He walked on water, huh? So what? If he walked on a bed of hot charcoals like African tribesmen, now that would be impressive. And at least there is hard evidence of people walking on burning charcoal…
“Hey everybody! Look at me! I’m walking on water! Aren’t I the best?” said Jesus to his disciples.
“Pffff. That Jesus,” whispered the disciples. “What a show off.”
Walking on water after calming a storm and is like doing a salsa dance after scoring a touchdown; it’s just too much.
Now back to my story and theory.
Sitting in 100-degree weather without a shirt or hat, I became increasingly ill from the sun and the thought of pointless acts of divinity. When I returned back to my grandparent’s house, my mother saw the painful look on my face and declared that I needed immediate medical attention; but of course, not from a hospital doctor. Instead, my mother – like every other Jewish mom – thinks she genetically inherited an advanced medical degree.
“Ariel, sunstroke is a very serious condition,” my mother said. “We have to alleviate your symptoms immediately.”
In Hebrew, my mother explained the situation to my English-less grandmother. My grandmother, suddenly anxious, raced to the bathroom with my mother and brought back a plastic box full of medicine. They emptied it onto the kitchen table.
In front of me were pills and remedies and vitamins and antibiotics and fluids and, above all, expressions of worry from both my mother and grandmother. They forced me to take one pill from each bottle on the table. With a glass of water, one by one I washed 10 pills down my throat.
Twelve hours later I didn’t feel better. I actually felt worse, and my eyes began oozing out green stuff; it had the look of snot but the feel of lotion. If it were only creme-colored, I’d mistaken it for Aveeno lotion – the same stuff I masturbate with. Just the sight Aveeno gets me excited sometimes; like a dog salivating at the scent of steak. Thankfully I didn’t get a hard-on from the sight of this ooze coming from my eyes; would have made for an awkward moment in front of my mother and grandmother.
What was my mother’s reaction to the green crud in my eyes? She reached back for – you guessed it – more pills!
“Mom, put the pills away!” I said with resilience. “Let’s try letting time heal me instead.”
“No, Ariel,” my mom vehemently rebutted. “You have to give the medication at least three days to work.”
Arguing with a Jewish mother about pills is like trying to hold in a poop for 48 hours; it’s uncomfortable, you’re not going to win, and it will end up a mess. I took the pills just to ease her anxiety, and 12 hours later I still didn’t feel any better.
Whether the medication owned by Jewish mothers actually cures illnesses is irrelevant. I believe researchers develop these pills to make the Jewish mother feel good about herself when she force feeds them to her children. The goal of the medication is to relax the Jewish mother’s mind. If Tylenol told the truth, their advertisements would sound something like:
Tylenol: Hey, our pills won’t cure your child’s illness, but at least you’ll feel better thinking that it does.
Forty-eight hours later without having taken a pill I started to feel much better. But did my mother think that time was a better healer than pills?… Of course not. Because that would defy the archaic and ancient Jewish-mother logic implanted by the marketing schemers of the pharmaceutical industry.