This really gets me.

‘You keep saying it all the time! “People are different”, “we’re the chosen ones”—I’m sick of this!’

A vertical line creases his forehead, but he keeps his voice level.

‘Yeshua, a thirteen year old boy should know better than yell when talking to his father. You’re too emotional, and emotions cloud your judgement.’ He pauses for a moment, and I swallow hard. He is right, I’m making a fool of myself. Yelling never makes one’s arguments more convincing. ‘People are indeed different, this is a fact of life,’ father continues calmly. ‘In a way, they’re more animals than people. The ability to think is the characteristic of a human. They don’t want to think because they can’t.’

‘Is that so? Have you tried to teach them?’ With a great effort I manage to keep my voice down.

‘We have indeed,’ he nods. ‘It never worked. They don’t want to look for their own answers, they prefer to have them ready-made. They don’t want science, they want a religion.’ The words come out measured and quiet.

I hate this very calmness. I hate the absolute certainty of the elders. They always think that they know better. But do they?

‘So, that’s what you gave them, a religion?’ I’m all shaking inside, so I speak deliberately slowly.

‘That’s what they are willing to take. That’s what they want. Even when we give them science, they still manage to turn it into religion, for they enshrine the knowledge they’ve got instead of striving to expand it.’

I take a deep breath and fold my arms on my chest.

‘All right. If they want a religion, I’ll give them a religion. But it will be a good religion. I’ll do away with all that nonsense about superiority and how to sacrifice your goats and cut your hair. I’ll give them a religion that will encourage them to be kind to each other and to strive for understanding. Let there be God if they need him, but let there be one God for all. Because we are all human.’