Christians often have the impression that atheists somehow hate Yahweh, the God of the Bible. We don’t, and we can’t, because we do not believe there are any gods to hate, even if we wanted to hate them.
Actually, in a sympathetic way, I find the character of Yahweh quite likable. Like most of the ancient gods, he’s an exaggeration of humanity, with both his good side and his foibles written larger than life. He’s just mucking along, trying to get his relationship with humanity to work out, but is met with failure after failure: he fails to keep Adam and Eve in the dark about good vs. evil; he’s so upset by his sons interbreeding with human women to create the hybrid god-man race know as Nephilim, that he decides to eradicate everyone but Noah and his family; he frees the Israelites from Egypt, but when their scouts are intimidated by the forces of Canaan, he pouts and has them remain nomads for forty years until most of the responsible adults are presumed dead; he establishes the reign of kings, starting with Saul, but that idea turns out to be a mixed bag; etc., etc., etc.; at long last, he inseminates Mary to become his own son, and sacrifices himself to himself to take advantage of a loophole in his own law of sin and death–but even this convoluted gesture failed to resolve his problems with mankind; he promised to come again and set everything straight within the lifetime of the apostles, but that didn’t happen either; two millennia later, it still hasn’t happened; those to whom he speaks, once respected as prophets, are regarded as lunatics today. What a compellingly tragic figure is Yahweh.