Throughout our lives, we are often too busy, or too tired, or too lazy to pay attention to the details that surround our being, our essence, our existence.

We focus on the narrow details in the center of our frame — often missing the importance of the big picture.

We pay little attention the edges of the picture — thinking the edges are insignificant.

We ask:

“Why waste my precious time taking it all in?”

“Why take the time to see the beauty that surrounds us?”

“Why smell the roses?”

So when I see the painting, The Death of  Pharaoh’s Firstborn Son, by Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema, I only study the Pharaoh’s youthful face, his nemes and  his hollow eyes as his dead firstborn son is draped over his lap.

I think:

“Here’s a gem to accompany my Passover story.”

“How many times has my pinky tasted Manischewitz as my voice blasts the name of the last plague in Hebrew as well as English?

Makat B’chorot — Plague of the firstborn — Dip — Taste

“What are the words in Exodus:

‘Every firstborn son in Egypt will die, from the firstborn son of Pharaoh, who sits on the throne, to the firstborn of the slave girl, who is at her hand mill, and all the firstborn of the cattle as well. There will be loud wailing throughout Egypt—worse than there has ever been or ever will be again.’”

But I fail to take the time to study all of this masterpiece.

I wiki Alma-Tadema; I love learning about his life.

His parents want him to become a lawyer. But at 15, he breaks down, physically and mentally. His doctors diagnose consumption and predict — a short life. This diagnosis allows Lawrence the time to draw and paint. And when he recovers, he decides to become an artist.

Here’s an artist whose paintings I have never seen.

Here’s a painter whose name I have never heard.

And when I visit Amsterdam’s Rijksmuseum, I do not see his biblical masterpieces.

Now on Net, I peruse his whole art collection; my eyes climax.

And then my eyes force my fingers to return to The Death of  Pharaoh’s Firstborn Son.

They want to study the painting’s details.

Readers: Take a minute and enlarge the painting, preferably on your desktop (put curser on painting, click on the plus sign) and study this painting’s details.

Pretty amazing.

What  new details did you catch on your second look?

Did you see?

1. The queen’s unseen face buried into her son’s chest, while her finger’s interlock with her son’s ;
2. The son’s silver necklace with a hanging medallion resting against his chest;
3. Two marble incense urns emitting sweet smoke. FYI — Alma-Tadema specialized in painting marble;
4. Moses and Aaron observing the Pharaoh in mourning (Aaron looks like the Angel of Death);
5. Three oil lamps emitting touches of light;
6. Two musicians playing long oboe-like instruments;
7. Members of the Pharaoh’s court with their hands in prayer;
8. Egyptian hieroglyphic symbols;
9. The glass medicine bottles.

Have fun looking?

Great!

Now remember: Take some time to study life’s details.

It’s worth it.

“Why am I writing this short story?”

To educate my readers?

To entertain them?

To make them laugh or cry or think?

To try to make sense of the world?

Or is it in the words of many authors, “Because I have to.”

Or is it because I love my fan’s praise and adulation?

Am I addicted to writing, just as Tevya was addicted to talking to G-d.

Who knows?

But I love Tevya’s–-Fiddler on the Roof—monologues with the Deity:

“Am I bothering You too much? As the Good Book says… aaahh, why should I tell You what the Good Book says?”

I laugh.

G-d laughs.

“Sometimes I wonder, when it gets too quiet up there, if You are thinking, “What kind of mischief can I play on My friend Tevye?”

I relate.

G-d smiles.

“It may sound like I’m complaining, but I’m not. After all, with Your help, I’m starving to death. Oh, dear Lord. You made many many poor people. I realize, of course, it’s no shame to be poor… but it’s no great honor either. So what would be so terrible… if I had a small fortune?”

I laugh out loud.

G-d ponders the question.

“I know, I know. We are Your chosen people. But, once in a while, can’t You choose someone else?”

I nod in agreement.

G-d laughs.

Wow, Tevya talks to G-d as an equal.

What audacity!

He loves the Almighty and considers G-d his friend.

A friend Tevya trusts and has faith in.

A faith that allows him to carry on.

A faith that allows him to do wonders.

Tevya asks Almighty questions and patiently waits for answers.

I picture Tevya sitting on a log, talking and waiting; I remember a story from the Good Book.

The one about Sarah, who in her old age (post- menstrual), laughs at Yahweh when she hears the Almighty say to Abraham, “I’m coming back about this time next year. When I arrive, your wife Sarah will have a son.”

Since Sarah laughs at G-d, I venture that there’s little harm in trying to make the Deity laugh.

Then it hits me like a thunder clap.

I write to make G-d laugh. To make G-d smile. To make G-d giggle.

What an epiphany!

What audacity!

Having G-d as my audience, I’ll never know if my humor hits the mark.

No rejections. No frowns. No critical comments. No likes. No shares.

I’ll wonder, “Is the deity too busy to read my blogs?”

Nah, the Almighty has a large funny bone.

Look at these three examples:

1. Orthodox rabbis thinking that they were delegated the authority to determine who is a Jew;
2. Donald Trump;
3. The way G-d laughs at our plans. (Think Covid)

I already hear the self-proclaimed protectors of the deity yelling and texting their displeasure:

“Why do they publish this crap?

“This short story is a sacrilege! A shonda! A total disgrace! Quelle horror!”

“This worthless nobody is making a mockery out of our holy traditions!”

“Excommunication is too good for this scoundrel. He should be kicked out of our tribe.”

“The writer of this story is meshuggah.”

“The Lord shall punish the author of this blog. Purgatory awaits him.”

“Religion is serious a business. It’s not a joke. It’s nothing to laugh at.”

“By the way, who appointed you, a lowly writer, the assignment to make G-d laugh or smile or giggle?”

To which I respond, “G-d.”