Three Reasons Not To Read This Book
Temperatures on Pluto can reach as low as -400 Fahrenheit, so you'll want to pack your winter sweater. Unless you want pneumonia for six weeks like your cousin Barbara.
ACCORDING to a centuries-old Jewish custom, would-be converts to Judaism must be rejected three times before beginning the process of conversion. It wasn’t the recruiting department’s best campaign. But there's no denying the message: Being Jewish isn't all dreidel and whitefish salad. It's serious business. And if you’re thinking about signing up, you can’t just kinda wanna; you have to totally wanna. In fact, your level of wanna must be such that you’ll take no for an answer not once but thrice.
Same basic idea with A Jew on Pluto.
If you’ve ever found yourself conflicted about, confounded by, or disconnected from Judaism—heck, any religion—then I think you'll enjoy this book. While it follows the travels of one Earth Jew and his own kooky tug-of-war with Judaism’s gravitational pull, my goal is that you’ll recognize your story, hear your big questions, and discover—in ways that are authentic to you—that you’re far from alone in the universe. I do hope you’ll come along.
But maybe you shouldn’t.
A Jew on Pluto explores questions about Judaism—heck, religion in general—in ways that might make you uncomfortable. And not in the my abs will thank me later way. More the I’m deeply and inconsolably offended way. And that’s not good for anyone. Let’s avoid that.
To that end, I invite you to complete a brief questionnaire called “Three Reasons Not To Read This Book.” If you’re still here after three solid rejections, excellent. If not, that’s OK. Really. I hope we can still be friends.