A childhood memory of religious paranoia and performative certainty becomes a flash of real unease. Steve Mada’s piece captures the moment fear is handed down as truth.

Though Messianic Judaism isn’t inherently end-times-oriented, it frequently appeals to those with an apocalyptic bent. Many of the non-Jewish members of our “congregation” were drawn toward the Messianic Movement’s eschatological implications. Jacob, also a “recovering Messianic Jew,” recently reminded me of an unsettling example of this.

Our youth group was once hastily ushered into a classroom by Russell, a peer’s parent. He claimed to have been in some elite military unit sworn to secrecy (years later we learned he was a pathological liar and dangerous felon). After he’d commandeered the group’s attention with fierce glaring, he asked us kids, “What are you going to do when the government outlaws Christianity?”

My parents never seemed too concerned with—or even interested in—such apocalyptic ideas, but didn’t overtly dismiss them either.  As far as I knew, they implicitly trusted Russell.

Behind Russell stood a card table, covered by a black-and-orange Orioles’ blanket. He dramatically unveiled various assault-style weapons which we all agreed were the coolest things we’d ever seen. He let me adjust the front bipod legs on a French sniper rifle. When I closed one eye and peered into the telescopic sight, I saw Jenny’s face grotesquely magnified. I stepped back, instantaneously unenthused.

By Steve Mada

Litro Magazine

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