In Defense of Dennis

I know Sam Harris may well have legitimately “won” last week’s debate with Prager. But frankly, I find it hard to get interested in arguments about whether or not God exists. (It seems utterly pointless, since we can’t prove a thing either way, we’re all alone in our singular lives/experience, and we’re all going to come to our inevitable, too-soon end anyhow.) And despite the fact that I think his politics are abhorrent, his alignment with evangelicals creepy, and his white coif unacceptable, I will always be, de-facto, on Prager’s side. Why, you ask? Because I owe my existence to Dennis Prager. My highly assimilated, religiously ignorant parents met Prager in the late seventies at a family weekend at the Brandeis-Bardin institute outside of L.A. Simply put, he completely changed their lives. And precipitated mine. “Do you want your grandchildren to be Jewish?” he asked a group of highly assimilated, religiously ignorant Jewish couples, as he was apparently wont to do in those days. Well, thought my folks, sure we do! At the time, they had two little boys. Prager went on to point out that if they did, in fact, want Jewish families, they’d have to actually live Jewish lives. Like, observe Shabbat and shit. Wow, thought my unblemished young parents. Judaism! We should totally get on that! Prager also overtly encouraged them to have more children. They returned home, had a giggly Shabbat dinner, began to observe Jewish holidays, joined a temple, and conceived me, possibly not in that order. (Sometime thereafter, the whole family imploded rather horrifically, an inevitability for which Prager can absolutely not be blamed.) Anyway, thanks, man. Most of your political opinions are retarded, but whether or not God exists, I’m glad to be alive. (Anyone else out there whose existence hinges on Prager’s proselytizing? Wanna form a club and send him a group photo or something?)