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Belief and the City

by
February 4, 2022
HBO

In the final episode of what is hopefully only the first season of And Just Like That…, the series stepped into strange and foreign territory: the realm of belief. 

Sex and the City has touched on religion before. Charlotte had sex with a Chasidic folk artist and later converted to Judaism under the auspices of Rabbi Minsch. Miranda dated a lapsed Catholic who had to shower immediately after sex. Brady was—albeit reluctantly—baptized, and Samantha tried to fuck her neighborhood priest. 

In all such storylines, however, religion was merely a pretext for further exploration of the show’s main themes: sex and relationships. 

When Carrie cased Mr. Big’s church, for instance, she was decidedly uninterested in anything that might be deemed otherworldly.  “As I watched people leaving church,” she narrated, “I was amazed at how they looked. Valentino, Escada, Oscar de la Renta. What is it about God and fashion that go so well together?”

In this week’s episode of And Just Like That…, however, belief is put front and center—not as a pretext, but as a powerful theme in and of itself. 

First, there is the matter of Carrie’s reading lamp, which flickers on and off, prompting her to wonder if Big is trying to reach out to her from the hereafter. 

“Since when do you believe in the afterlife?” Miranda asks. “I thought we were on the same page about this.”

“Yes, we were,” Carrie answers, “but in light of recent events, I’ve changed my vote to undecided.” 

She knows that it sounds absurd to Miranda, and she plays it off as though she doesn’t believe too much in such things. Nonetheless, as the light above her bed continues to flicker, she struggles to deny a powerful intuition that Big is once again here with her. 

Belief is also a key element in the story of Rock’s They-Mitzvah. 

Despite lavish festivities and a fantastic trans rabbi, Rock refuses to go up to the bima at the very last minute, sending Charlotte and Harry into a panic. 

“I’m not doing it,” Rock says. “I don’t believe in it.”

As a future rabbi, I can’t help but take such a scene a bit too seriously, reflecting on all the ways in which Rock’s reaction is, while upsetting, perfectly understandable. After all, what are we (the Jewish world) really giving kids to believe in? If we think expensive parties, cash gifts, and cool, relatable rabbis are the answer—we are wrong. Thirteen-year-olds have strong convictions, and don’t like empty rituals. Harry’s attempt to bribe Rock into doing the ceremony with an Oculus shows just how deeply we misunderstand what would actually make a B-Mitzvah ceremony appealing to a principled, intelligent, and curious kid like Rock. 

When strong-arming and bribery fail, Charlotte takes the opportunity to read from the Torah herself, having the Bat Mitzvah ceremony she never had. In doing so, she proves that Judaism is more than something that parents foist on children. Jewish identity, after all, cannot simply be passed on to one’s children. It must be modeled. If it means nothing to the parents, it will mean nothing to the kids. When Charlotte shows her family just how much her Judaism means to her, Rock’s attitude softens, and they join their mother on the bima.

Meanwhile, Miranda is giving up a prestigious internship to follow Che to Los Angeles for the shooting of a pilot, prompting a B-Mitzvah bathroom showdown between Carrie and Miranda that completes the Carriefication of Miranda and the Mirandafication of Carrie. 

Their fight is a direct echo of the one they had years ago when Carrie was getting ready to follow Petrovsky to Paris. Now, however, the roles are reversed. 

“Miranda, I’ve known you for a hundred years,” Carrie says.

“And?” Miranda retorts. “Am I not allowed to change a little bit? Or a lot? Or change back again if I feel like it? Do I have to follow my own rigid rules until the day that I die?”

It’s here, in this scene, that the show’s many haters are revealed to be just that—haters. The constant sneering refrain that Miranda (and the other characters) had changed is revealed to be an utterly facile critique, one which confuses the show’s central theme for an accident of bad writing. Yes, Miranda has changed. Yes, she has become insufferable. Yes, we miss the old Miranda and yes, we hate Che. This, however, is how we are supposed to feel. In the show’s final episode, we see how very much the writers were in full control of this plotline. 

And they stick the landing. Like the entire series, the finale is somber, beautiful, profound. This is not to say that it didn’t have flaws. It did, but in a sea of lazy takes about “Woke Moments” and Che Diaz memes, I prefer to be an AJLT believer. 

Other Thoughts: 

  • Kudos to the show for doing a powerful and emotionally satisfying Samantha arc through text messages alone. 
  • This ending felt complete. I’ve clamored for a second season, but I no longer feel I need one. That said, I still want one. 
  • Best rabbi representation ever. 
  • Hot take: was the flickering light Stanford? I never bought that he was in Japan. Is he in the Upside Down? 
  • I’m terribly afraid that the negative press and terrible reviews will stop them from making a second season. That said, negative press and terrible reviews have never stopped them before. 
  • Rock may “not believe” in Judaism now, but in about ten years they’ll definitely be studying Gemara at Svara. 
  • How about season two starts with Che getting really into Peloton…
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Matthew Schultz is an author and rabbinical student based in Massachusetts. For takes on SATC, AJLT, and more, follow him on Twitter at @MatthewASchultz and on Instagram at @Matthew_A_Schultz.

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