Jerusalem Syndrome - Marc Maron [50]
I introduced the rabbi, and he made his way to the podium. He wasn’t moving as well as he had the day before. He was struggling a bit. He got up to the microphone and said, “It’s amazing that Marc is doing the same thing he was doing here when he was a kid.”
I interjected from the table, “Only now I won’t be sent to Mrs. Bromberg’s office.”
Without missing a beat, the rabbi said, “Not yet.” It brought the place down.
As I brought family members and friends up to pay tribute to Marilyn Reinman, I had a moment when I understood the power of the religious community. I imagined what it would feel like to try to obey the laws of God. To age, move through and share all the processes of life with a circle of people with common beliefs. To rally together and persevere in the face of adversity and evil. To help and hurt each other in the name of love. To be there for each other’s successes, failures, joys, and tragedies, then to try to fill your heart with the good moments and elevate them to a true, deep feeling of worthiness as a human being. To know you’ve done the best you can in the eyes of your peers and in the eyes of God. Most important, to try to fight against that moment of horrible truth when you look around and realize how utterly unfair it all is, as the injustice of time and disease slowly levels everyone. That’s where the idea of God really comes into play. It eases the move toward the ground. Believing in the grand plan can take the edge off if you let it, because it really doesn’t end well for anyone. Acceptance.
After dinner, a parade of old Jews and a few younger ones moved toward the sanctuary, where there were already about a hundred people seated. They had purchased tickets for just the comedy show. Gus was there, as were many people I had known growing up. While everyone was getting settled in their seats I was in the lobby wrestling with the yarmulke no yarmulke dilemma. I understood it was a house of God and it was customary to wear a yarmulke, but I thought, Why should I start following the rules now? The only reason I was really concerned was out of respect for some of the older, more religious people and out of fear of Mr. Ross.
I decided against the yarmulke because I realized that even though they are my people, the ritual trappings of Judaism did not harness my idea of the Almighty. It was enough respect that I wouldn’t be cussing. For one night God’s house was my house, and I was going to work that house. I was there for a specific reason—to make people laugh—and I did. From the first joke through the last story I entertained the audience. I wasn’t crass. I didn’t cuss. I rode the edge just right, and I was true to myself. I thought, That one was for my Grandma Goldy.
After the show everyone was very excited. Gus was smiling when he walked up to me and said, “You were great.” The evening had been a stellar success. Everyone had a good time and thirty thousand dollars was raised for the temple. I felt good about what I had done. Rosalie came up to me after the show beaming. “That was wonderful, sweetie. You were great. Everyone loved it.”
“Great. Thanks. I think it went well,” I said.
“Are you kidding? It was fabulous, and you know who loved it the most?” She was holding back the answer for a moment to let it build.
“Who?”
“The rabbi,” she said, smiling. “Marc, no one has seen him laugh for two years, and he was hysterical.”
That was all I needed to hear. Faith in the face of disappointment is only enhanced by laughter in the face of pain. That’s my belief. That’s my job. Whether it is a God-given talent or a reaction to something embedded in my heart I don’t know, but it filled me with