Year of Living Biblically One Man's Humble Quest to Follow the Bible As Literally As Possible

Introduction As I write this, I have a beard that makes me resemble Moses. Or Abe Lincoln.Or Ted Kaczynski. I've been called all three. It's not a well-manicured, socially acceptable beard. It's an untamed massthat creeps up toward my eyeballs and drapes below my neckline. I've never allowed my facial hair to grow before, and it's been an odd andenlightening experience. I've been inducted into a secret fraternity ofbearded guys -- we nod at each other as we pass on the street, giving aknowing quarter smile. Strangers have come up to me and petted my beard,like it's a Labrador retriever puppy or a pregnant woman's stomach. I've suffered for my beard. It's been caught in jacket zippers and beentugged on by my surprisingly strong two-year-old son. I've spent a lot oftime answering questions at airport security. I've been asked if I'm named Smith and sell cough drops with my brother.ZZ Top is mentioned at least three times a week. Passersby have shouted "Yo,Gandalf!" Someone called me Steven Seagal, which I found curious, since hedoesn't have a beard. I've battled itch and heat. I've spent a week's salary on balms, powders,ointments, and conditioners. My beard has been a temporary home tocappuccino foam and lentil soup. And it's upset people. Thus far, two littlegirls have burst into tears, and one boy has hidden behind his mother. But I mean no harm. The facial hair is simply the most noticeable physicalmanifestation of a spiritual journey I began a year ago. My quest has been this: to live the ultimate biblical life. Or moreprecisely, to follow the Bible as literally as possible. To obey the TenCommandments. To be fruitful and multiply. To love my neighbor. To tithemy income. But also to abide by the oft-neglected rules: to avoid wearingclothes made of mixed fibers. To stone adulterers. And, naturally, to leavethe edges of my beard unshaven (Leviticus 19:27). I am trying to obey theentire Bible, without picking and choosing. To back up: I grew up in an extremely secular home in New York City. I amofficially Jewish, but I'm Jewish in the same way the Olive Garden is anItalian restaurant. Which is to say: not very. I attended no Hebrew school,ate no matzoh. The closest my family came to observing Judaism was thatparadoxical classic of assimilation: a Star of David on top of our Christmastree. It's not that my parents badmouthed religion. It's just that religion wasn'tfor us. We lived in the twentieth century, for crying out loud. In ourhouse, spirituality was almost a taboo subject, much like my father'ssalary or my sister's clove-cigarette habit. My only brushes with the Bible were brief and superficial. We had a next-doorneighbor, Reverend Schulze, a kindly Lutheran minister who looked remarkablylike Thomas Jefferson. (By the way, Reverend Schulze's son became an actorand, oddly enough, went on to play the part of the creepy priest onTheSopranos.) Reverend Schulze told great stories about college sit-insduring the sixties, but whenever he started talking about God, it justsounded like a foreign language to me. I attended a handful of bar mitzvahs where I zoned out during services andspent the time trying to guess who had bald spots under their yarmulkes. Iwent to my paternal grandfather's funeral, which was, to my surprise,presided over by a rabbi. How could the rabbi eulogize a man he'd nevermet? It was disconcerting. And as far as childhood religion, that was about it. I was agnostic before I even knew what the word meant. Partly, it was theproblem of the existence of evil. If there is a God, why would He allow war,disease, and my fourth-grade teacher Ms. Barker, who forced us to have asugar-free bake sale? But mostly, the idea of God seemed superfluous. Why dowe need an invisible, inauJacobs, A. J. is the author of 'Year of Living Biblically One Man's Humble Quest to Follow the Bible As Literally As Possible', published 2007 under ISBN 9780743291477 and ISBN 0743291476.