Over the past few weeks, I've been reflecting on cultural appropriation. Over Halloween, I saw someone dressed as a Tufts Daily columnist. I didn't approach the student, but I was deeply offended.
This week, we're dealing with 2 Kings 5. Naaman, which is one of the best names of all time and will be the name of my first born, is an army commander. The problem is that he has an undescended testicle, I mean, leprosy. His wife's servant tells him to go to the prophet Elisha who can cure him. When he gets to the prophet's house, a messenger comes out and says, "Go, wash yourself seven times in the Jordan, and your flesh will be restored." Naaman says, "Nah, man, that ain't right. I travel all the way here and Elisha sends out a messenger who tells me to just go in a river?" He leaves and complains to his servants, but they say to him, "Dude, just jump in that goddamn river." So Naaman agrees and dips himself in the Jordan seven times. Miraculously, his flesh becomes "clean like that of a young boy." Am I the only one who feels weird about that description?
So, what's the modern-day equivalent of leprosy? I guess leprosy. But I'm going with mononucleosis.
You wake up one morning with no energy and your lymph nodes are the size of Nebraska. You think you might have mono and try to remember all the people you've hooked up with during the semester. Then you realize you haven't hooked up with anyone. You go to Health Service anyway and they run some tests. It turns out you've got mono. The doctor tells you to get plenty of rest, avoid alcohol, but then you say, "Hold up, Doc, I think I know what to do." The doctor says, "Just listen to me for a second." You shake your head and say, "Don't worry, Doc. I've got this under control," and walk out the door. That night, you go to the Charles River and dip yourself in it seven times. You feel absolutely horrible and think you might die. You call your friends to pick you up and when they get there they ask, "Why didn't you listen to the good folks at Health Service?" You say, "They told to me to avoid alcohol. What kind of advice is that?"
That night, you sleep it off and the next morning you go back to Health Service. "You did what?" the doctor asks. "I was just following the Bible, Doc." you reply. "Isn't that what you're supposed to do, Doc?" The doctor says, "First of all, stop calling me 'Doc.' Second of all, that was possibly the stupidest thing you could have done." You finally listen to what the doctor says: you get plenty of rest, take some ibuprofen, drink a lot of fluids, avoid alcohol, excessive masturbation and start to feel better.
Four weeks later, you go to a party at DTD and talk to a cute girl by the bar. You comment on the fish tank and it turns out she's a pescetarian. Things are going great. But then you ask yourself, am I still contagious? You start to think back to the Bible. Nah, man, you tell yourself, don't think about Naaman. You hear the doctor tell you, "Wait at least six weeks." You wait two more weeks, see her again at an incredible party at 288 Boston Ave., sparks fly and she gets mono because you can be contagious and not know it. But you bring her chicken soup and leave a note on top: whatever you do, don't take a dip in the Charles.
Ben Zuckert is a senior who is majoring in political science. He can be reached at Ben.Zuckert@tufts.edu.
