Week 1: When you pray, move your feet
I do so much more than pray.
I ask questions. I turn critical eyes to the texts. Once upon a time, I thought that no one could say anything that someone else hasn’t said in the last coming-up-on-5800 years, but there is always something new to discuss under this sun. Why did God stop speaking to Abraham after the sacrifice of Isaac? How did he adjust to no longer directly hearing God’s voice? How does that apply to me, who grew up wondering why God was so present in the Torah but so seemingly absent in my life?
On the rare days when I question his existence, I am no less religious for it. I come from a tradition where God does not silence discussion or debate. If he should pop his head in and express his opinion, the other side of the debate takes it as an invitation to continue defending its viewpoint, not to stop arguing because God settled the issue once and for all. If I feel unwelcome in synagogue for one reason or another, I find my own way. I go to a park as distant from the city as I can, separate myself from my iPod, and celebrate the world.
Most importantly, my faith is about building a better world. I started as a child by picking up coins and dropping them in light blue tzedakah boxes for the money to go toward planting trees. I keep going now as I take cases representing domestic violence survivors. When I see injustice, I try to maintain my childlike reaction of “this is horrible! What can I do about it!” instead of giving way to cynicism and accepting the inequity. I don’t always succeed, but I do try. I concern myself with this world, not any sort of world to come.
I have a duty to repair the world. To be kind. To take action. To respect. To love. To inspire those things in others so they can repair the world, too. To join my faith with my unending need to be a better person.
I ask questions. I turn critical eyes to the texts. Once upon a time, I thought that no one could say anything that someone else hasn’t said in the last coming-up-on-5800 years, but there is always something new to discuss under this sun. Why did God stop speaking to Abraham after the sacrifice of Isaac? How did he adjust to no longer directly hearing God’s voice? How does that apply to me, who grew up wondering why God was so present in the Torah but so seemingly absent in my life?
On the rare days when I question his existence, I am no less religious for it. I come from a tradition where God does not silence discussion or debate. If he should pop his head in and express his opinion, the other side of the debate takes it as an invitation to continue defending its viewpoint, not to stop arguing because God settled the issue once and for all. If I feel unwelcome in synagogue for one reason or another, I find my own way. I go to a park as distant from the city as I can, separate myself from my iPod, and celebrate the world.
Most importantly, my faith is about building a better world. I started as a child by picking up coins and dropping them in light blue tzedakah boxes for the money to go toward planting trees. I keep going now as I take cases representing domestic violence survivors. When I see injustice, I try to maintain my childlike reaction of “this is horrible! What can I do about it!” instead of giving way to cynicism and accepting the inequity. I don’t always succeed, but I do try. I concern myself with this world, not any sort of world to come.
I have a duty to repair the world. To be kind. To take action. To respect. To love. To inspire those things in others so they can repair the world, too. To join my faith with my unending need to be a better person.