![]() When I went to high school, I took my first philosophy class and decided God was a crutch I didn’t need. I would cry too, but I don’t know whether I was crying out of a budding religious fervor, or simply because he was. When the ark was opened during the service, he would bow and begin to cry. My grandfather was very religious and sometimes I would go to synagogue with him on Saturday mornings. He didn’t want the military-industrial complex to eat my brain and convince me war was okay. The Vietnam War was beginning to rev up and he wanted me to see bullet holes firsthand. When I was thirteen, in 1965, he took me to Saigon to show me what war was. I grew up in a middle-class Jewish family, laced with the magical overtones of an eccentric father. ![]()
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