Can you tell a joke about the holocaust?
This is not a new one but…yes, of perhaps, though it helps if you are actually Jewish.
So Samuel dies and dies well. Peacefully at a very good age after a long life as a good and virtuous man. He moves quietly as we all hope to do from his final bed of pain towards that good, bright and white light until he finds himself in some remarkable kind of heaven. And it seems to be exactly like the right kind of heaven for him because after death he has become even less rigid in his ideas perhaps and more accepting. I’d be troubled by a heaven that rewarded rigid and bigoted religious fundamentalists. I’d prefer that they found a special kind of Hell.
So no, Sam finds himself surrounded by good Christians it seems and Muslims and Hindus and Buddhists and even atheists and agnostics all of whom seem strangely happy enough with their surroundings. And quite convinced that it meets their personal needs, beliefs and understandings because, it is a universal, one size fits all good souls kind of heaven after all.
And the departed Sam turns to what passes to him for a God, standing quietly, patiently beside him, a God who seems to be everywhere of course and even multiform in some sense.
“Welcome Samuel,” says the Lord and creator, with a broad smile and a slight echo.
“Thank you God for sparing the time to give me a personal welcome,” Sam replies nervously.
Not all my dear Sam,” God replied. “It’s nothing. No, it really is nothing because I can be all over the place at once, remember. Omnipresence. It’s terribly useful. I’m having a similar conversation right now as we speak with thousands of newcomers in hundreds of languages. I can even speak odd Swedish dialects or manage a nice Liverpool accent to make some of them feel at home. I’m inappropriately proud of that one.”
“That is quite a neat trick, Sir.”
“Not really a trick, and enough of the ‘Sir’, please Sam. Think of me a good friend rather than some kind of Lord.”
“Well, to be honest I was expecting someone a bit more...Abrahamic perhaps. White beard and flowing robes, that sort of thing.”
“A little stereotypical. Those renaissance artists have a lot to answer for. I prefer this image but I can change if you would feel more comfortable?”
“Not at all. Middle-aged banker in a pin-striped suit suits you quite well. And it works for me. What should I call you then if not Sir or Lord or…?”
“Most here just call me God as if it were a first name. That works.” his God went on; and he was very much Samuel’s personal God.
”Anyway Sam, you seem a little surprised by this heaven of yours.”
He waved an arm across the scene before them.
“Is it all much as you might wish it to be?”
They stared for a quiet moment at the busy city streets full of busy, happy and serene people enjoying their afterlives with no sign of a fluffy cloud or golden harp in sight. The music was that of a busy street, nothing particularly soothing or angelic. And people were eating street food from stalls, not ambrosia. It was very much like the place where Sam had lived and died but somehow, nicer, brighter, cleaner, quieter and friendlier. And the food did look good.
“It’s a neat trick God. But yes, I have to wonder how is it that all these very different people of different cultures, faiths and ideas seem to be quite happy with my personal heaven. Very odd indeed.”
“You’ve forgotten Sam that you now inhabit the spirit world. Heaven is for you at least partly a construct of your own spiritual imagination, and theirs. You are all seeing your own best possible world. That is the reward for a good life, well lived. Those like you have who the moral character and strength to create your own paradise.”
“And for those who did not and cannot?”
“Then their experience now is about as vile as they might have expected or can create for themselves.”
“Fair enough, I suppose. The perfect punishment then is self-punishment, a do it yourself type of Hell.”
“Indeed it is.”
Having settled his mind to this unexpectedly perfect afterlife, Sam experienced a sudden and rather silly urge.
“I feel that I can ask you anything, God so, before you have to go and I’m sure that you do, I wondered if I could ask an odd question? Can I tell you a joke about the Holocaust? One I’ve always wanted to tell but been a little ashamed to tell before.”
“Why not,” replies God slipping into perfect Yiddish with a London accent. “After all, you can do whatever you want right here and now and you wouldn’t be the first to attempt that one.”
So Sam nervously looks down at the small line of tattooed numbers on his forearm to raise his courage and then tells his master joke. The one he’s always been a little reticent to tell before, even to other survivors…
And his personal God replies, “Ah but I’m omniscient, all-knowing, so I knew that you would want to do that and I’ve heard that one before I’m afraid, many times. I choose not to be offended because, after all, I am God. But Samuel, to be honest, it has never seemed to me to be particularly funny.”
“Ah well, God”, replied Sam”, I suppose that you really had to be there.