Jerusalem Syndrome - Marc Maron [37]
I was itching to get on the road.
Going on the road as an adult was a much different experience for me than it was when I was younger. Your Bohemian crew turns into “My wife and I and another couple.” It’s very humbling and much more predictable, as is much of adulthood.
The first day out we drove through the desert of the Holy Land. It’s all desert. It was beautiful. The first stop is the Jordan River, where Christ and many people bathed early on; the mighty River Jordan mentioned in many an old spiritual melody. I should make it clear at this point that I’m no biblical scholar. I have random facts about random places, some not even true. I choose to get my information secondhand, as opposed to from a reliable source. It’s more interesting that way and I’ve never liked doing homework.
We decided to bathe in the River Jordan ourselves. I was up to my waist, walking against the current. The camera was wedged into my face. I was thinking that camcorders should really come with an accessory that clamps the camera to your head, like a cybernetic digital claw that interfaces your consciousness with the machinery of the camera and sends the footage directly from your brain to your home computer via the Internet. Then you could use your hands, eat, and you would never need to stop taping. You know they’re working on it up at the campus.
I was in the water, zooming in on the reeds. I was panning along the river’s edge, I was shooting upstream, I was looking for babies in baskets, I was looking for some indication that I was on the trail of God. I got nothing. I did get a God tone, though, but that was easy to get in Israel.
We were all standing in the river talking when the strangest thing happened. A Hasid came floating down the river wearing his pants, shoes, tallit, pancho, and yarmulke, laughing. He got about thirty feet upstream from us, saw us, pulled himself to the side of the river, and climbed out, then disappeared into the bushes. This happened with about twenty Hasidim. I thought for a moment Maybe that’s where Hasidim come from, a spring in the Jordan River. We were baffled until we saw a few of them in the bushes gawking at Kim and Oriella, who were wearing bikinis, and we realized they’re not allowed to look upon women so scantily clad. It was a bit bizarre to see their excited faces with their payes dangling, peering through the reeds until we’d spot them and they’d scurry off and reappear about thirty feet downstream from us, emerge from the bushes, and get back into the water and continue floating.
I just couldn’t believe they were wearing their yarmulkes in the river. Why do they wear them all the time? We get it. They’re Jews. Maybe it’s so God doesn’t lose them in a crowd. “Where are the good Jews? Oh, there they are, with the hats. In the bushes, oh, those are a few bad good Jews. I’ll make note of it. I’m so glad I thought of the hats. I’m a genius. I am God.”
We all got out of the river and dried off. We were walking along the path beside the river to go back to the car when I heard a bunch of male voices yelling playfully from the water. I knew it was them. I turned on the camera and did a voice-over. “We are stalking the Hasidim in the wild. This is where you may find them, along the banks of the River Jordan.” We turned a corner on the path and there they were, about forty of them hanging from the trees, splashing in the water. It was a great shot.
“Where are we going now?” I asked as we all climbed into the