Whether they are Reform or Orthodox, all religious Jews are literally on the same page: we all read the same section of the Torah every week, broken up so that we read the entire Torah (i.e., the first five books of the Hebrew Bible) every year. Each Torah portion is named after its first word or phrase. We finished the Torah, this year, on October 10, and started it again in Genesis this past Saturday.

Genesis begins with “In the beginning,” which in Hebrew is Bere’shit, so that is what we call it. Four years ago, I’d started writing a little essay on Sundays, a personal reflection on that week’s portion. Because I couldn’t find anyone interested in publishing these, that didn’t last too long. But I thought I’d share the one I wrote on Bere’shit with you. Even if you’re not religious, I think it speaks to something about the nature of creativity and otherness. Or maybe it will leave you cold. I don’t expect every post to hit home with every reader.

This week’s Torah portion, Bere’shit, contains one of the oddest and funniest scenes in the Torah. In Genesis 2:18-21 we read, “The Lord God said, ‘It is not good for man to be alone, I will make a fitting helper for him.’ And the Lord God formed out of the earth all the wild beasts and all the birds of the sky, and brought them to the man to see what he would call them; and whatever the man called each living creature, that would be its name. And the man gave names to all the cattle and to the birds of the sky and to all the wild beasts; but for Adam no fitting helper was found.”

Now this, to me, clearly indicates that HaShem* may not have known exactly what it was He’d created when he made Adam. The issue of God’s omnipotence and omniscience, as well as the entire question of how we can have free will if God already knows everything we will do—that I will leave to theologians. But taking a purely literary or theatrical approach to the passage, there is no doubt that HaShem is, at this point, a bit confused about what he might have on His divine hands, if He seriously thinks that He can find Adam a suitable mate from all the animals in creation.

It’s a scene I’d love to see the old Monty Python crew perform (John Cleese as God, of course, and Michael Palin as Adam). “All right then, Adam, let’s get you some company, my boy. Giraffe? No, no, too tall. A tiger, perhaps? Erm, might be a bit dangerous, that. Sheep? No, you’re not from New Zealand, are you … Bother, I’m not quite sure what is going to work here …” And when He does finally decide He’d better just make another human, He creates her from the original model, as though He’s not quite sure what might happen if he tried that “breathing life into dust” thing again.

To suggest that God may have been a bit unclear about the nature of His creation is not to take away from His authority or wisdom. Parents, and artists, can all attest to the “shock of the new,” the awareness that this thing you made has a life, and a spirit, entirely of its own. I think this is what’s going on in Parashat Bere’shit, and it shed light, for me, on why, perhaps, God created us.

Here’s what I think: I think He wanted to be surprised. Look at verse 19, in which God brings the animals before Adam not just to see which might make him a suitable mate, but “to see what he would call them.” What’s he gonna do? That’s what God is asking Himself. I feel a sense of play, of experiment, in HaShem at this point. What will Adam make of all of this? It’s the same delight you see in a parent giving her baby a new toy. Will he like it? Will he be afraid of it? Will he do something utterly surprising and funny, and take my breath away with delight?

Of course, as the Canadian folk singer Jane Siberry so wisely noted, “Everything Reminds Me of My Dog.” And I suspect having gotten a new dog—on Simchat Torah, no less—is strongly influencing my reading of this passage. Milo pleases me when he obeys me. But he delights me when he surprises me—by doing something so purely and ineluctably him, that for all my superior wisdom and learning I could never have predicted it. When he jumps straight up in the air, almost as high as my shoulder. When he decides for his own obscure canine reasons that he must, right now, protect us from the evil, menacing bunch of bananas lying on the kitchen shelf. When he puts the side of his head on the floor and rotates himself around in a circle like Curly from the Three Stooges. His obedience pleases me, his affection warms me, but his ability to surprise, to always be the unique creature that he is, breaks me out of myself and into sheer joy.

So obey God. And love God. But just as importantly, always, always be yourself and hope that somewhere up there He is laughing in delight at you.

*HaShem is Hebrew for “The Name,” and is one of the ways we refer to God. So please, people, if you’re trying to be all interfaith and tolerant, stop writing things like “Whether you pray to God, Allah, or Yahweh …” For one thing, Allah is God. It’s the Arabic word for “God.” Arab Christians pray to Allah, too. It’s not like some whole different character. For another, no one prays to Yahweh, at least no Jews do. If you want to come up with a Jewish way of saying “God,” it’s “HaShem.” We don’t say “Yahweh,” and we don’t say “Jehovah,” either, except when we’re quoting “Life of Brian.”

That post on “Alfred Hitchcock Presents” was supposed to run today, not yesterday; I got the date wrong when I set it up. So no post for you! If you don’t get over to the Miss Conduct blog much, you might want to check out this question that I posted yesterday — it’s generating some excellent discussion.

Oh, wait, I’ve got a little sumpin’ sumpin’ for you. In the fine internet tradition of Friday Dog Blogging, here is one of Milo. He has stolen something very important and is looking very guilty.

Do you think this is his way of saying he wants a little two-legged brother or sister? Not gonna happen, little man!

(Note to any concerned dog lovers: this happened shortly after we got Milo. He gave up the pills immediately without a fight, as we have trained him to do. We do NOT normally leave medicines where he can get them, and he developed common sense about living a in a house very quickly and won’t try to play with anything that isn’t one of his toys.)

UPDATE: The video’s up of Wednesday’s “Chronicle” segment on inventions. Here’s the whole story, and here‘s the segment with Mr. Improbable — and Milo! (In this segment, Mr. Improbable is teasing Milo with a broom so that he will bark and demonstrate the effectiveness of Bow Lingual, the dog-to-human translation device. Don’t worry. Milo had fun.)

[From Wednesday] If you’re a Boston local, tune into Channel 5′s “Chronicle” tonight at 7:30. They are doing a report on inventions. Mr. Improbable will describe some Ig Nobel Prize-winning inventions, and Milo will demonstrate a few, including Bow-Lingual and Clocky.

“Mad Men” starts this weekend, and I can’t wait. I may have to, of course, at least until it shows up on iTunes, because Mr. Improbable and I don’t have cable. But I think you can get it on iTunes 24 hours after it airs. In the meantime, here‘s a good article in Vanity Fair to whet your appetite–and a “Which Mad Man Are You?” quiz. Look who I got!

… well, I do have ideas. They got that part right. (Actually, unlike a lot of viewers, I don’t hate Peter Campbell. I think there is a possibility of redemption in him–and he is a hard worker, with good ideas. My prediction is that whatever happens to his character this season, his realization that he fell in love with a plain-looking, working-class Catholic girl on the basis of her brains, wit, and ambition will fundamentally change him as a person. Also, my ex-boyfriend is distantly related to Vincent Kartheiser. Is that a weird #lameclaimtofame or what?)

I never did enter the contest to win a walk-on role. I saw some of the entries and mine was nowhere near as well done, and I didn’t have time to do another photo shoot. Kind of a shame, as I have several good vintage or vintage-look dresses, including one Little Black Dress that is cut exactly like the one I chose for my avatar. (It seems that about half my Facebook friends have “Mad Men” avatars as their profile pictures. It is to spring ’09 what Shepard Fairey-izing yourself was to fall ’08.)

For your amusement, here’s the photo I did take:

Not bad, but it’s not great. The book is bigger than my face, and my hands, which are 1) not my best feature and 2) not manicured in a 60s style, are too prominent. (Also, I just noticed, it looks as though my left breast is about six inches higher than my right one, which–peeking down shirt to check–no, it isn’t.) All in all, if that was the best I could do, there didn’t seem to be much point to entering.

But you remember yesterday, how I said Milo had the total early-60′s look? Seriously, check out little Doggie Draper:

Exact same facial expression. Exact. Although that is not the expression Milo would have on his face if his chair were slowly filling with water, I tell you what.

Comments open for all “Mad Men” fans! Don’t worry about spoilers–if I don’t want to see them, I won’t look.

This article in the New York Times tackles an issue of burning social import: do dogs and their owners look alike?

The research, apparently, is as mixed as the heritage of the beloved Milo. Milo is an exceedingly good-looking little fellow, and my immediate reaction upon seeing the headline “Some Dogs Look Like Their Owners” was, “I wish!” My brains and Milo’s looks and general adorability would be a potent combination indeed. And there would have been no question of me winning that “Mad Men” contest, either: Milo is the epitome of sleek, understated early-60s design. Peep this handsome little man:

Does your dog (or cat) look like you?

More interestingly, do you see your dog or cat as being similar to you in personality or life story?

Milo’s black-on-white spots aren’t the only thing he has in common with a Rorschach test. As I wrote on his first Gotcha Day, “I know you grew up in a suburban backyard, without many friends, and that once you were old enough you got bored and lit out for something more. I could identify …” I also identify with Milo’s hatred of the heat, his neuroticism, his distrust of strangers, his love of Greek yogurt and olive oil, and his fastidious grooming.* Mr. Improbable, if asked to describe some of his favorite things about Milo, would probably note his boundless energy, his curiosity, his athleticism, his friendliness, and his love of being laughed at.

I don’t think this is accidental.

Research** suggests that people do see their pets as being similar to themselves in personality, and that the more similar you think you and your pet are, the more you like your pet, and the more you think your pet is better than other pets. (This would explain the wholly objective observation that Milo is, in fact, the Best Dog in the World.)

What about you? Do you think your pet resembles you, either physically or psychologically? How do you feel about that? Do you identify with your pet’s positive or negative qualities, or both? (I listed all positive ones for Mr. Improbable, but I’m sure he sees some of his own flaws in the little guy as well.)

*I generally take a lot of care with my appearance, but before any major event my beauty preparations really ramp up. You can imagine what having my first book come out, and “Today Show” appearances and all that, did to me. I–being, as noted, somewhat neurotic–tortured myself over this for a while. Was I betraying my principles? Or was I making a rational decision to invest in my appearance as a career asset? Were the pedicures and retinol and facials an expression of self-love or self-hatred? Then it occurred to me: when I get nervous, I groom myself. I am not the only animal that does this. There didn’t seem to be any need to pathologize or politicize it nearly as much as I was.

**El-Alayli, A., Lystad, A.L., Webb, S.R., Hollingsworth, S.L. & Ciolli, J.L. (2006). Reigning Cats and Dogs: A Pet-Enhancement Bias and Its Link to Pet Attachment, Pet–Self Similarity. Basic and Applied Social Psychology 28 (2) 131-143.

Scene: The neighborhood playing field. Milo is getting his morning exercise and meeting some little girls in the neighborhood. He then does the other thing I bring him out in the morning to do.

Little girl: Does he do doggie doodie a lot?

Me: Yes. Considering how small he is, I’m always surprised how much poop is in him.

Little girl: My baby brother’s like that too.

… featuring, of course, the incomparable MILO! This is the second of two promotional videos that Mr. Improbable and I put together for the book. Yes, it’s got that “not ready for prime-time” feel, but aren’t Milo and I cute?