The Year of Living Biblically Part 11

* The woman in a geisha outfit on the box of Celestial Seasonings tea.

* The photo of a cute chef with the unlikely name of Crescent Dragonwagon on the spine of a cookbook.

* The bosom of Julie's friend Sharon in a photo from our wedding, since said bosom is both ample and prominently displayed.

My censors.h.i.+p raids were actually pleasantly nostalgic. When I was a kid in the 1970s, my dad subscribed to Playboy, Playboy, which he got, as they say, for the articles. My mom did not approve. Whenever a new which he got, as they say, for the articles. My mom did not approve. Whenever a new Playboy Playboy would arrive, my mom would give me a black Magic Marker, and, while Dad was at work, we'd go to town on the latest issue. We'd scribble thick black bikinis on all of the Playmates of the Month and Girls of the Big 10. I liked this a lot. Too much. Mom eventually caught on that I was spending several minutes inspecting each photo before I censored it. So the raids ended. would arrive, my mom would give me a black Magic Marker, and, while Dad was at work, we'd go to town on the latest issue. We'd scribble thick black bikinis on all of the Playmates of the Month and Girls of the Big 10. I liked this a lot. Too much. Mom eventually caught on that I was spending several minutes inspecting each photo before I censored it. So the raids ended.

And these late-2005 censors.h.i.+p raids are about as effective. In other words, they are completely counterproductive. Every time I spot the masking tape, I'm reminded of what lies beneath. It makes me think about s.e.x more, not less.

Anyway, back to my job and l.u.s.t. Esquire Esquire is a tastefully lascivious men's magazine, but lascivious nonetheless. So avoiding s.e.xual imagery there is even more difficult than in my home. And it got worse a few days ago. My bosses decided that it'd be funny to a.s.sign me an article about a hot young actress. You know, tempt the Bible guy. is a tastefully lascivious men's magazine, but lascivious nonetheless. So avoiding s.e.xual imagery there is even more difficult than in my home. And it got worse a few days ago. My bosses decided that it'd be funny to a.s.sign me an article about a hot young actress. You know, tempt the Bible guy.

The actress I'm interviewing is named Rosario Dawson. And to be a properly prepared journalist, I have to rent her movies, which is a quandary in itself. Because from the looks of it, there's a good deal of wantonness and harlotry and coveting.

So I joined a movie rental service called CleanFlicks. A Utah-based company started by a Mormon man, CleanFlicks is the Netflix for the highly religious. It sends you sanitized Hollywood movies with the violence and s.e.x chopped out. Also, profanity, including "the B-words, Hword when not referring to the place, D-word, S-word, F-word, etc." (The S-word and F-word I know. But the B-word? The D-word? So many options. It's like working on a dirty New York Times New York Times crossword puzzle.) crossword puzzle.) A week later, I get a couple of DVDs of Rosario's movies in bright yellow envelopes: 25th Hour 25th Hour and and Josie and the p.u.s.s.ycats. Josie and the p.u.s.s.ycats. I pop them into my player. It is a confusing couple of hours. The CleanFlicks films are full of non-sequitur jump cuts and intermittent sound, like what I imagine a Voice over Internet Protocol phone call from Tanzania is like. (When I was finished with Rosario's movies, I couldn't resist ordering I pop them into my player. It is a confusing couple of hours. The CleanFlicks films are full of non-sequitur jump cuts and intermittent sound, like what I imagine a Voice over Internet Protocol phone call from Tanzania is like. (When I was finished with Rosario's movies, I couldn't resist ordering Kill Bill Kill Bill on CleanFlicks, because I figured it'd be about five minutes long. It actually broke the hour mark, but made no sense whatsoever.) on CleanFlicks, because I figured it'd be about five minutes long. It actually broke the hour mark, but made no sense whatsoever.) A couple of Rosario's movies weren't available on CleanFlicks--but they can be found on one of its compet.i.tors, ClearPlay. This is an even more sophisticated bowdlerizing service. You download the censoring filter from the internet and then plug that into a specially equipped DVD player. The beauty of ClearPlay is that you can customize which offensive material to block and which to let through. (Incidentally, CleanFlicks has since been forced to stop cleaning flicks; a Colorado court ruled that it was violating copyright laws by slapping fig leafs on the movies. But ClearPlay is still going strong.) I download the filter for one of Rosario's movies--Oliver Stone's Alexander Alexander--and it looks like I hit the sin mother lode. Take a look at what it's got: NonSensual/NonCrude s.e.x Talk Thematic s.e.xual Situation(s) h.o.m.os.e.xual/Lesbian Characters Implied Marital s.e.x Implied Premarital s.e.x Implied Extramarital s.e.x Revealing Clothing Some Suggestive Dancing Some Suggestive Dialogue Threatening Dialogue Intense Action/Adventure Intense Life/Death Situations Scary Moments Nongraphic Injury/Wound Intense Battle Sequences Alcohol Consumption Rape Topic Intense Thematic Elements Suicide Murder Topic Dysfunctional Relations.h.i.+ps In other words, Thursday night at Tommy Lee's house. (My friend David pointed this out; I can't make such comments myself.) I suppose CleanFlicks and ClearPlay mean well. But they weren't so helpful. I had the same problem as I did with my masking-tape endeavor. I was so focused on what they were cutting out, I probably conjured up far more sinful things in my mind than if I had just watched the suggestive dancing and thematic s.e.xual situation(s) all the way through.

I have made a covenant with my eyes; How then could I look upon a virgin? --JOB 31:1 --JOB 31:1 Day 107. I flew out to Los Angeles yesterday and drove to the hotel. I noticed that my sense of geography has changed. I paid attention to the locations of all the churches and synagogues in the same way that I used to pay attention to pop culture landmarks (Look, that's where they filmed the mall scene in Fast Times at Ridgemont High Fast Times at Ridgemont High)!

Today is my interview with Rosario. I arrive at our meeting place: an aggressively Californian cafe with organic root beer and whole wheat bagels. Rosario comes a half hour late, as is required by a secret celebrity handbook.

Things start off better than I expected. Yes, she's beautiful, with skin out of a Clinique ad, but she's wearing a bulky beige sweater and jeans. Very discreet, not overly revealing. Second, she seems unfazed by my project. This is L.A., after all, home to calf implants and Crispin Glover, so the strangeness bar is set pretty high.

And, finally, she is one of about three people thus far who claimed my topiary looked good. "I've always loved big beards," she says, adding cryptically, "When I was a kid, I wanted a beard of my own. I thought it'd be nice to stroke it."

So I am feeling good.

And then we start the interview proper. It soon becomes clear that my bosses could not have picked a worse celebrity for me to interview. She is the single most raunchy actress in Hollywood. She has absolutely no ClearPlay-like filter in her brain. Over the course of two hours, I hear about her grandmother's s.e.x life, her s.e.x life, her conception with a broken condom, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, her mom's R-rated piercings, her ex-boyfriend's bedroom noises, and on and on.

I feel like there are three people at this interview: Rosario Dawson, my regular old secular journalist self, and my biblical alter ego.

Every time she talks about the handcuffs you can buy at the Hustler store, my alter ego Jacob winces. Meanwhile, the secular journalist does a silent little cheer. Because I know that a racy quote from a beautiful woman is men's magazine gold.

I have two heads, two sets of eyes, two moral compa.s.ses. They're battling for supremacy. Maybe one will win--or maybe I can keep both. A friend of mine said that we shouldn't underestimate people's ability to hold totally contradictory opinions and be just fine with it. It's a uniquely human trait, like speech and blus.h.i.+ng.

Sustain me with raisins, refresh me with apples; for I am sick with love.

--SONG OF SOLOMON 2:5.

Day 109. Back in New York, I go out to lunch with Robbie Harris--the rock and roll professor from the Jewish Theological Seminary. I tell him about the racy conversation. And he makes a fascinating point: Maybe my secular self and Jacob were fighting each other for no reason.

I had always a.s.sumed that the entire Bible had an antil.u.s.t, protoVictorian point of view. And parts of it--especially pa.s.sages in the New Testament's letters from the Apostle Paul--do say that celibacy is the ideal.

But much of the Hebrew Bible, if you read it carefully, isn't really antis.e.x. Robbie directed me to the Song of Solomon, which is probably the bawdiest section of the Bible. It's a collection of love songs that contain, among other things, the B-word: "Your two b.r.e.a.s.t.s are like two fawns, twins of a gazelle, that feed among the lilies." And later again: "Oh, may your b.r.e.a.s.t.s be like cl.u.s.ters of the vine, and the scent of your breath like apples."

The Song of Solomon has sometimes been interpreted as an allegory about humans' love for G.o.d. And that may be one aspect of it. But, says Robbie, don't forget that it's also a paean to erotic love.

"But married love, right?" I ask. That's the traditional view, that the Bible sanctions husband-wife marital relations and nothing else. "They don't sound married to me," says Robbie. "They sound to me like young lovers hightailing it to the woods."

When I get home, I look up Song of Solomon 2:10-13, one of the pa.s.sages Robbie was referring to. It says: My beloved speaks and says to me: "Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away; for lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone.

The flowers appear on the earth, the time of singing has come . . . . . . Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away."

He's right. It does sound like a couple of not-necessarily-married kids off for a tryst in the wilderness. This is liberating information.

You shall not commit adultery. --EXO D U S 20:14 --EXO D U S 20:14 Day 110. The Bible isn't a free-love manual, though. Not all types of s.e.x are permitted. The Bible forbids b.e.s.t.i.a.lity and incest. It famously calls h.o.m.os.e.xuality an "abomination," a troubling (to put it mildly) notion that I'll talk more about later.

And, of course, it bans adultery.

But I should clarify: Adultery in the Hebrew Bible is not what modern Americans think of as adultery. It's a much narrower concept. Adultery means s.e.x with a married woman. Married women are not allowed to sleep around. They're off-limits. Married men, on the other hand . . . well, they have more leeway--as long as the woman who is the object of their l.u.s.t doesn't already belong to another Israelite man.

And I use the word belong belong on purpose. The ancient Israelite culture was pa.s.sionate about some forms of social justice, but gender equality was not high on the list. Women belonged to men. You can't sleep with a married woman because it's an affront both to G.o.d and to her husband's rights. And if you sleep with a virgin, you should make sure that her father is compensated properly. on purpose. The ancient Israelite culture was pa.s.sionate about some forms of social justice, but gender equality was not high on the list. Women belonged to men. You can't sleep with a married woman because it's an affront both to G.o.d and to her husband's rights. And if you sleep with a virgin, you should make sure that her father is compensated properly.

The compensation could take the form of paying off the father. Or you could take the woman off his hands and marry her.

Now here's the interesting thing: You could marry the woman even if you already have another wife. Polygamy was, if not the norm, completely accepted. The Hebrew Bible is packed with examples of polygamy. Jacob had two wives (and two concubines). King David had eight. Solomon holds the record with seven hundred wives. (Solomon's proverbs warn against adultery, which I find curious, since I can't imagine he had any time or energy for other men's wives.) Ashken.a.z.i Judaism officially banned multiple wives in the eleventh century, when the great French rabbi Gershom ben Judah laid down the one-spouse-only law. But you can still find a handful of Jews who want a return to the old days. As one propolygamy Jewish web page says: "Polygamy is a Jewish inst.i.tution. It is practiced, albeit underground, in Israel today. If the present trend to Orthodoxy among Jews continues, we can expect open polygamy to return soon."

Christianity hasn't had much polygamy in its history, with the famous exception of early Mormonism and a handful of outlying sects of fundamentalist Christianity that got a little b.u.mp in publicity when HBO's multiple-wives drama Big Love Big Love debuted a couple of years ago. debuted a couple of years ago.

One such sect is called the Christian Polygamy Movement. It is headed by an Arizona-based man named Pastor Don Milton. Most of his justification seems to lie in the fact that the great men of the Hebrew Bible had many wives. The New Testament, contrary to popular opinion, does not overturn this, he says.

Yes, the Apostle Paul did say that "each man should have his own wife and each woman her own husband" (1 Corinthians 7:2). But here's the catch: Pastor Don says the Greek word for own own in that sentence doesn't mean "one and only." The marriage is still a sacred covenant between one man and one woman. It's just that the man can have several simultaneous covenants--sort of like a psychologist and his clients. in that sentence doesn't mean "one and only." The marriage is still a sacred covenant between one man and one woman. It's just that the man can have several simultaneous covenants--sort of like a psychologist and his clients.

I call up Pastor Don and ask him, "If I'm trying to follow the Bible, and I'm interested in having a second wife, how do I convince my current wife that this is a good idea?"

Pastor Don pauses, then says, "You don't want to bring it up unless you have a prospective second wife."

"Why is that?"

"What if you tell your first wife and then never meet anyone that you wanted to be your second wife? You'll end up causing a rift in your current marriage for nothing."

In fact, Pastor Don continues, I might want to consider the preemptive strike--a strategy he's seen employed successfully over the years.

"You find a prospective wife, have a ceremony, and consummate the marriage. Then go back and tell the first wife that you have a second. There is conceivably a better chance that your first marriage will survive."

Isn't that a bit . . . sneaky and unbiblical?

"It can end up being more cruel to put a wife through a year, five years, ten years of worrying that you're going to take a second wife."

Pastor Don's tone is friendly, informal. His website has a lot of fire and brimstone, warning detractors that "You are required by it [the Bible] to confront me in person if you accuse me of sin, then with witnesses to the alleged sin (Deuteronomy 19:16), and finally before a Christian a.s.sembly worthy of wielding its authority over us." But on the phone, Pastor Don's tone is that of a married man giving his bachelor buddy some girlfriend advice.

I ask Pastor Don if I should tell the prospective second wife about the first wife. Definitely, he says. You have to. And the good part is, it might even be a turn-on.

"Some women are drawn to men who are bold enough to say they have more than one wife. It's a bad-boy thing."

I ask him if he has any other tips about making the first wife see the light.

"First, pray like you've prayed only when you're in trouble. Then bring her into Bible study."

Show her that the Bible doesn't forbid polygamy. And, in fact, the Old Testament heroes were often polygamous. "You have to get her to see that the men of the Old Testament were great men. David--he wrote the Psalms! And Solomon--he wrote the Proverbs. These are great men. Get that point across. Polygamy is not only acceptable, but it's fabulous, and these women [the wives] are holy."

In fact, says Pastor Don, the father of the human race probably had several ceremonies.

"I think Adam was the first polygamist. Here was the healthiest man in history with the healthiest s.e.x drive ever. And he had only one wife? Come on."

Pastor Don asks me if I have a prospective second wife.

"Well, I do like our nanny," I say. Des is, indisputably, adorable-- she's twenty-six and text messages me things like "gud am," which take me five minutes to figure out (that's "good morning," for all you overthirty people out there). Julie agrees she's ideal, and has given me permission to have an affair with her, a la Curb Your Enthusiasm. Curb Your Enthusiasm. Of course, Julie gave me the offer only because she knew there was no chance Des would ever be interested. It's like giving me permission to become a linebacker with the Miami Dolphins. Completely moot. Of course, Julie gave me the offer only because she knew there was no chance Des would ever be interested. It's like giving me permission to become a linebacker with the Miami Dolphins. Completely moot.

"What religion is she?"

"She's Catholic."

Pastor Don exhales loudly. Catholics are tough to crack, he says. On the other hand, if I ever do marry Des, I have a good line of reasoning when I tell Julie.

"You can tell her that you can stop paying the nanny. Save on the price."

At one point, Pastor Don's voice rises, and I imagine on the other end of the line, his face is red and a vein has popped up on his forehead. He is talking about the persecution against polygamists. He is furious that they would put polygamists in jail--next to criminals and h.o.m.os.e.xuals.

Yes, h.o.m.os.e.xuality. Apparently, polygamists aren't so tolerant of other types of s.e.xual behavior.

You shall not steal. --EXO D U S 20:15 --EXO D U S 20:15 Day 111. When I'm jotting down tips on how to land a second wife, it's clear that the pendulum has swung too far into the Bible's crazy territory. I need to refocus. Get back to basics. The Ten Commandments. So I'm going to delve into the Eighth again: Thou shalt not steal.

Actually, many modern biblical scholars think that the word steal steal is a mistranslation. A closer word would be is a mistranslation. A closer word would be kidnap. kidnap. You should not kidnap people and force them into slavery. This would be easier to follow. I could do that for a year. But it also feels like a cop-out. You should not kidnap people and force them into slavery. This would be easier to follow. I could do that for a year. But it also feels like a cop-out.

So I'm going to stick with the traditional on this one, especially since there are plenty of other "do not steal" commands in the Bible (such as Leviticus 19:11).

I informed Julie that I can no longer raid the Esquire Esquire supply closet for manila folders for personal use. I've also stopped with the wireless piggybacking--we've seen what that can lead to. supply closet for manila folders for personal use. I've also stopped with the wireless piggybacking--we've seen what that can lead to.

And today I clamp down on some attempted theft at Starbucks. We are out for a walk: Julie, Jasper, and Julie's stepdad, who looks and acts exactly like George Burns. We stop for a coffee at Starbucks, and Jasper grabs a handful of straws from the counter. He's got a straw fetish. He loves to unwrap a dozen or so at a shot, perhaps thinking that the next one will have a special surprise, maybe a w.i.l.l.y Wonka-like invitation to tour the straw factory.

"No, Jasper. Just one."

Starbucks doesn't have a strict straw policy. But I think there's an implicit contract--you are supposed to take one straw for every beverage.

Does Starbucks need my money? Not so much. But the Bible's command is absolute. It doesn't say "Thou shalt not steal except for small things from multinational corporations with a faux Italian name for medium. medium." It says, "Thou shalt not steal." There's no such thing as "petty theft."

"Just one," I repeat.

"Let him take 'em," says Julie's stepdad.

"No, we're supposed to take only one. Otherwise it's stealing." "Let him take a few. It's not stealing."

"What if I took five thousand straws in a Starbucks every day?" I say. "Would that be stealing?"

"Well, there's got to be a relative--"

"Why? Why should it be relative?"

"Well, look," says Julie's stepdad. "One murder is OK. But fifty murders isn't OK."

I'm stopped short.

"Got you there, huh?" he says.

I'm not sure how to answer a man who has stolen my argument. Jasper screams and grunts and points for about forty-five seconds. I stand my ground; I've got to ratchet up that justice-to-mercy ratio. Finally, I give him a napkin to rip up, which calms him down.

I could have rationalized the straws. That's one thing I've noticed this year. I can rationalize almost anything. For instance, I could take the utilitarian approach: The amount of pleasure it gives Jasper outweighs the couple of cents it'll cost Starbucks. Or I could argue to myself that, in the end, it helps out the struggling straw industry.

Same with when I stole the internet connection in my apartment building; I could have rationalized it by saying that I was using the internet to learn about G.o.d and make myself a better person.

I have a tendency toward ends-justify-the-means thinking. But this year isn't about that. It's about following the rules. Strictly. To the letter. And seeing what happens.

I know of only one other person who follows the "no stealing" commandment to the letter. My dad. Whenever we're on a road trip, he refuses to pull over at any old Holiday Inn or McDonald's to use the bathroom. Not unless we buy something. Otherwise, he says, we'd be stealing their soap and paper towels. So I feel like I'm honoring my father here as well.

She quickly let down her jar from her shoulder, and said, "Drink, and I will give your camels drink also." --GENESIS 24:46 --GENESIS 24:46 Day 114. Mr. Berkowitz, the man who inspected my wardrobe for mixed fibers, is still calling. He wants to meet up and pray with me, but I've been busy with my own biblical duties and my own prayers, so I've been dodging his calls.

This morning, he leaves me a message at eight-thirty.

"h.e.l.lo, Arnold," he says. (He calls me by my real name, Arnold; I must have told him about it once, and it somehow stuck.) "It's Bill Berkowitz. It's very important that you call me back."

I get nervous. Very important? That sounds bad. Maybe he's got a kidney stone and needs help getting to Mount Sinai Hospital. I phone him--it turns out he's going to be in my neighborhood and wants to pray with me at my apartment. Well, how can I refuse a house call?

Mr. Berkowitz arrives a couple of hours later, and he's as disheveled and kindly as ever. He comes bearing gifts: books and candles for the Sabbath.

"Can I get you anything?"

"A cup of water, please," he says. "Oh, and it has to be bottled water, please."

Oh, yes. I'd heard of this. A few rabbis in Brooklyn had made a controversial ruling declaring New York City tap water nonkosher. They said it contained tiny multicellular organisms that could qualify as forbidden crustaceans. Which is why, if you want to make a lot of money, you should open a Poland Spring concession in Crown Heights.

I look in the fridge. We have bottles of Dasani, but Julie refills them from the faucet. Tap water in Dasani clothing.

"Can I offer you anything else?" I ask. "Maybe juice? Soda?" "No. Water."

Here I face a dilemma. The poor guy has schlepped several miles from Was.h.i.+ngton Heights in a thick black coat and black hat. No doubt he's parched. And the Bible tells me to ease my fellow man's suffering.

So I decide: What he doesn't know won't hurt him. And lots of rabbis say the tap water is fine to drink. Everyone will be happier.

I pour him a cup from the bottle.

"Thanks," says Mr. Berkowitz, as he lifts the cup to his lips, then puts it down to tell me something about the Sabbath. I'm not sure what he said. I'm too busy staring at that cup. He does it again, like the clueless husband in a forties noir noir film who keeps almost--but not quite-- sipping the poisoned milk. film who keeps almost--but not quite-- sipping the poisoned milk.

Finally, before he can actually drink, I lunge.

"You know what? I think this may be refilled with tap water."

Mr. Berkowitz is grateful. He puts the cup on the table gingerly, like it's filled with hydrochloric acid.

I just couldn't do it. What if, on the off-chance, Mr. Berkowitz is right? What if the water would have tainted his soul? I couldn't take the risk, even if his body will suffer.