Michael keeps stroking her hair, his face nuzzled into it so he can enjoy her comforting scent. What she says surprises him a little—that she doesn't understand—but every Jew has their own personal God. He learned that a long time ago.
“I, uh... Actually, that's how I feel,” Michael says. “How you put it sounds a little romantic—” and when they'd talked about belief in God, he'd said ‘belief’ sounded a little romantic, too, “—but I think God is something like the physical world. The... the existence of matter, acts of creation. For me, it's the only explanation, it's logical, because... you know, destruction isn't divine. I don't give a fuck what God supposedly did in the Torah.”
He lies there quietly for a moment.
“I'm not saying you're wrong. I mean, there's no answer, and you're really smart, smarter than me.”