Looking back...
Something I wrote four years ago:
At this point in my life, I am not certain where I will go or even what I will do, but I do I know where I have come from. This uncertainty does not bother me however, for I have been given a gift whose value cannot be measured in terms of any earthly goods. I speak of my heritage, of Judaism. I speak of the pride in our accomplishments, our endurance, and our diligence. When I was little, I had a choice between learning the ways of Christianity or studying the traditions of Judaism. I admit, being as young as I was that I probably didn’t put as much thought into that decision as it might warrant. Even at that age though, I guess I felt some innate connection to my ancestry.
And so I was shuttled off to Hebrew school every Sunday at nine o’ clock. I proceeded with all the due diligence that any seven-year-old is willing to muster towards academic endeavors. I learned little of religion in those first years, managing to have my head stuffed with historical facts, linguistics, and symbols of the faith; all of which I just as diligently and promptly forgot each and every Sunday when the bell struck noon. The only word that comes to mind from that time is tradition: sacrosanct and patently unquestionable tradition.
You see, I had grown increasingly discontented with my faith, or perhaps it was my lack thereof, I’m still not sure. My reason was simple; I had learned about the Bible, the Torah, Ten Commandments, and the Talmud; Israel, Palestine, the whole spiel…anything and everything that seemed important for a good Jew to know. But there was only one problem: I didn’t feel Jewish. By the time my Bar Mitzvah came around I was ready to call it quits as soon as the reception was over-had to make sure I got all the presents first and see all the relatives after all. It wasn’t until I went to Confirmation that Judaism evolved from a mere heritage to something more for me.
Maybe I went because I thought that all those questions, about G-d, life, religion, would be answered. They weren’t, in fact, each was made more complex by what I learned that year. Yet, I reveled in that complexity, which was a result not of supplementary historical facts or esoteric bits of wisdom, but of a deeper understanding of “not what Judaism is, but why it is”. A wise man taught me that it was not only good to question the basic tenets of my heritage, but that it was actually encouraged. The words of the Tanakh may be immutable, but they are open to interpretation.
For me, it has always been difficult to accept the Torah as the word of G-d, so you can imagine my surprise when we were asked to look at the Torah and make of it what we could. I was amazed at the sheer range of interpretations present when we read a story so assumedly “basic” as that of Genesis. My confirmation class disagreed on many things, even as to whether or not the snake was evil, or if any of it actually occurred. Yet, despite all of this, we could all agree that regardless of the veracity or origin of these tales, the morals and ideas they represented could be used as a guide to our own lives.
That was my first encounter with this odd thing known as faith. It doesn’t really matter, the nature of the Tanach, that is, so much as what we do with that body of collected wisdom, ideals, and concepts. My explorations in faith did not stop at this. As I immersed myself in being Jewish, in going to Israel, participating in community activities, I realized that I had touched only the tip of the iceberg. Faith is more than just believing in a religious body of literature, it is a commitment, a devotion to oneself, to others, to the world at large; it is tikkun olam. You may not believe in G-d, religion, or even a better world to come, but if you just believe in yourself, your community, and humanity in general, then we are one step closer to a better world. This is what Judaism has taught me, and for that, I will be forever grateful.
At this point in my life, I am not certain where I will go or even what I will do, but I do I know where I have come from. This uncertainty does not bother me however, for I have been given a gift whose value cannot be measured in terms of any earthly goods. I speak of my heritage, of Judaism. I speak of the pride in our accomplishments, our endurance, and our diligence. When I was little, I had a choice between learning the ways of Christianity or studying the traditions of Judaism. I admit, being as young as I was that I probably didn’t put as much thought into that decision as it might warrant. Even at that age though, I guess I felt some innate connection to my ancestry.
And so I was shuttled off to Hebrew school every Sunday at nine o’ clock. I proceeded with all the due diligence that any seven-year-old is willing to muster towards academic endeavors. I learned little of religion in those first years, managing to have my head stuffed with historical facts, linguistics, and symbols of the faith; all of which I just as diligently and promptly forgot each and every Sunday when the bell struck noon. The only word that comes to mind from that time is tradition: sacrosanct and patently unquestionable tradition.
You see, I had grown increasingly discontented with my faith, or perhaps it was my lack thereof, I’m still not sure. My reason was simple; I had learned about the Bible, the Torah, Ten Commandments, and the Talmud; Israel, Palestine, the whole spiel…anything and everything that seemed important for a good Jew to know. But there was only one problem: I didn’t feel Jewish. By the time my Bar Mitzvah came around I was ready to call it quits as soon as the reception was over-had to make sure I got all the presents first and see all the relatives after all. It wasn’t until I went to Confirmation that Judaism evolved from a mere heritage to something more for me.
Maybe I went because I thought that all those questions, about G-d, life, religion, would be answered. They weren’t, in fact, each was made more complex by what I learned that year. Yet, I reveled in that complexity, which was a result not of supplementary historical facts or esoteric bits of wisdom, but of a deeper understanding of “not what Judaism is, but why it is”. A wise man taught me that it was not only good to question the basic tenets of my heritage, but that it was actually encouraged. The words of the Tanakh may be immutable, but they are open to interpretation.
For me, it has always been difficult to accept the Torah as the word of G-d, so you can imagine my surprise when we were asked to look at the Torah and make of it what we could. I was amazed at the sheer range of interpretations present when we read a story so assumedly “basic” as that of Genesis. My confirmation class disagreed on many things, even as to whether or not the snake was evil, or if any of it actually occurred. Yet, despite all of this, we could all agree that regardless of the veracity or origin of these tales, the morals and ideas they represented could be used as a guide to our own lives.
That was my first encounter with this odd thing known as faith. It doesn’t really matter, the nature of the Tanach, that is, so much as what we do with that body of collected wisdom, ideals, and concepts. My explorations in faith did not stop at this. As I immersed myself in being Jewish, in going to Israel, participating in community activities, I realized that I had touched only the tip of the iceberg. Faith is more than just believing in a religious body of literature, it is a commitment, a devotion to oneself, to others, to the world at large; it is tikkun olam. You may not believe in G-d, religion, or even a better world to come, but if you just believe in yourself, your community, and humanity in general, then we are one step closer to a better world. This is what Judaism has taught me, and for that, I will be forever grateful.