In 1958, while preparing for my bar mitzvah, I was committed to the Jewish religion. I even thought about becoming a rabbi. It seemed like a good job.
I believed in God. It made sense. How could this amazing world exist without one?
Parallel to my religious activities was my family life, which was dominated by my mother, a very controlling person. She had rules that had to be obeyed without question or argument. I found this to be extremely frustrating. Like a tea kettle has a spout to let off steam, I needed one, too. But, I didn't.
Rarely, I reached a point in which I blew up, had a temper tantrum. They were always at home and I was allowed to act out until I calmed down on my own. But nothing changed. The rules remained and they had to be followed, without recourse. (Bill Gates had a similar problem with his mother. They went to therapy. We didn't.)
One night, and I don't know how I got there, I found myself in the sanctuary of the Congregation Adath Israel on East Third Street in Oswego. I was older, in high school, and fed up with the regimentation I was facing from my mother. I couldn't stand it anymore. I was literally standing in the dark pleading for God's help. There was no reply.
Eventually, my father came to take me home. I realized it was hopeless. Nobody was listening to me. There was no God.
A few years later, I escaped, left home for college. I finally gained freedom from the prison of my mother's restrictive rules.
While at Penn, I came across the French writer Voltaire who said, "If God did not exist, it would be necessary to invent him." That I could relate to.
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