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There are roughly forty students at the Arava Institute of Environmental Studies on my kibbutz. For the most part they are very unwashed, unshaven, and unrealistic in their goals to repair the world through sustainable agriculture and water preservation. Because I’ve been camping out on their roof pretty frequently, it appears that by process of osmosis I have begun to adopt some of their customs, the most notable being my recent decision to experience what is known as The Salt Water Flush.
In case you haven’t been reading up on the latest health-nut crazes, I’ll try to illustrate it in a somewhat agreeable light. The Salt Water Flush is a method of flushing waste out of your digestive system by drinking one liter of nearly saturated salt water while fasting all day and pretty much letting your bowels run wild. The basic premise behind it is that the salty solution bypasses the kidneys because of some scientific mumbo jumbo about equilibriums and densities, thereby working its way through the intestines like a rabid Pacman with a fire hose. You can tell that I was a premed for an entire semester.
Since the workweek here is Sunday to Friday, Shabbat was the only available day to rid my body of all its toxins and buildup. It’s best to do this operation with a companion who can remind you that your stomach pain and - for lack of a better word - fiercely turbulent diarrhea are not caused by cancer or kidney failure or even gonorrhea of the liver, so I recruited two friends to join me. We drank the solution at about half past eight in the morning, the time of day when your body is most receptive to undertakings of this nature. Sheri’s stomach was the first to act up, so she retreated to our bedroom while Sam and I writhed around on the lawn in pain for twenty minutes, at which point he decided that it would be best to return to the privacy of his dormroom to avoid any unnecessary awkwardness. I sat on my bed and read a book to pass the time.
A few hours went by. Sam returned to inform me that the salt water had staged a fantastic performance on his body. My roommate made five separate trips to the bathroom and narrowly avoided drenching herself in vomit. I continued to sulk in solitude, curiously awaiting what surprises would later emerge from my body. Fifteen years of chewing gum buildup, perhaps? The missing piece from Max’s Lego space exploration fort? A tiny sphere of Mercury? A hairball? I’ll spare you the suspense and just skip to the ending – nothing.
The hunger strike is supposedly over as soon as you sense that the process is complete: something along the lines of listening to your body and being in tune with the content of your digestive tract and eating when you truly feel ready. By dinnertime my belly was politely informing me that it was indeed hungry, and, besides that, I had long since given up on the whole “detox” idea. I ventured into the dining hall for the first time since the night before, while the other two continued to reap the delightful benefits of an intensive stomach cleanse in their respective bathrooms. Sheri expressed some vocal annoyance at my alleged “good fortune” since I managed to avoid producing anything worse than a few mild stomach cramps throughout the whole ordeal, which made the disappointing outcome even more vexing. I was the one who wanted to flush out my insides in the first place! Proper sabotage, I tell you.

Clearly there are two explanations at play:
1. I’m half-robot. If I can withstand an entire liter of salt water with a concentration formulated to replicate blood and force its way through the intestines, thereby restoring your stomach to the state of a five-year-old, then clearly my digestive system is not that of an ordinary human. It is possible that I’m made of some kind of synthetic material, perhaps similar to an indoor plumbing system or a jet engine.
2. My body is completely pure of all toxins, waste, and sin, therefore containing nothing that requires to be flushed out in the first place.

Everyone else thinks I’m just having a delayed reaction, and I’ll suddenly get the runs while I’m hiking or riding a bus or interviewing for a job. Really, I think they’re just jealous of the immaculateness of my body and soul.