ME: What's that thing on your head, Dan?

DAN: It's called a yarmulke.

Jewish men are supposed to wear them.

ME: Why?

DAN: It says so in the Talmud.

ME: I see. Why don't you eat pork?

DAN: In order to obey God's dietary laws, Jews may not eat pork, or any other meat that was once attached to cloven hooves.

ME: Why not?

DAN: It says so in the Talmud.

ME; Interesting. And What's the deal with this Passover thing?

DAN: Passover is when Jews celebrate the exodus from Egypt. We prepare a ritual feast and eat it along with recitation from the Haggadah.

ME: Why?

DAN: It says so in the Talmud.

Ifelt that I was beginning to grasp the complexities of Jewish thought and culture. Perhaps my engagement with the Other was reaching its climax. "Thank you," I said to Dan. "Through your careful explanations, I feel like I have finally experienced Harvard's diversity."

"But Mike, "Dan replied, "you're Jewish too." I realized that he was correct, and that, in fact, we had gone to the same Jewish summer camp in New Jersey. Memories of my past crises of faith came flooding back to me, such as the time Yasser Arafat crashed my Bar Mitzvah, and the time I tried to sue my parents to return my foreskin. So much for my epiphany. I had met the Other, and he was me. At least Ahab got to fight a whale.

I've temporarily halted my search. My frustrated efforts have left me spiritually drained, unable to continue my relentless self-examination. Also I have a big midterm coming up. Don't think that I've given up for good, though. No stone will be left unturned by my ontological quest for being. (Well, if it comes to going to an a cappella concert I might wait until grad school.) I'm not going to graduate from this place until I've had a consciousness-altering encounter. I'm probably not going to graduate from this place anyway, because I forgot to take Expos. If you can help me find the Other, drop me a line. Time is running short.