Growing-Up Jewish

I've been thinking lately that Judaism is not made for kids. This hypothesis is counter-intuitive to many. Since there is a tendency in this country to educate children in the ways of Judaism, and then allow them to somehow become disconnected from everything Jewish when they grow older, many people assume that there is nothing for adults to connect to in Judaism.

If adults do connect to Judaism, as in the community I grew up, it is generally an intellectual endeavour to get to obscure and hidden messages beneath the surface, where reading a basic Jewish text from the Bible or even the Talmud is insufficient, and it requires something deeper, something further. I am not saying that those further studies are meaningless, they are certainly not. However, I have come to the conclusion that the basic practice of Judaism has been wrongly labeled as childish and unsophisticated.

I have been preparing and have begun teaching the book of Samuel 1 to 6th grade girls. While the stories are engaging, and mostly understandable, reading the text over as an adult has brought me to the realization that the Bible is hardly for children. It is full of stories about honor, war, politics, true love and loyalty-- all of these themes understood only minimally in childhood and much, much more fully in adulthood.

Similarly, going through the Jewish holiday of Yom Kippur at the age of 23 brought me to an understanding far surpassing what I could have felt and thought at a younger age. It is only through life experience, and different kinds of interactions with varieties of people, confronting real responsibilities and experiencing real loss can people actually relate to so many of the messages of the day. Surely, some parents will try to teach their kids about responsibility and the like, but it has been my experience that life is most poignant when experienced first-hand.

Granted, I stuck it out with my Jewish education longer than most do, and I come from a place where people are engaged in the intellectual pursuit of Jewish texts and history, but I feel the at this point in my life, the Bracha of Shehechiyanu can take on a new meaning-- that G-d had brought me to this time and place where I can grow emotionally in my relationship to Judaism-- and to Him.

Chag Sukkot Sameach!

Certainty on Days of Judgement

I have been encountering Jews lately who feel Jewish enough to identify themselves as Jewish and to celebrate the High Holidays. I think that it is wonderful that people feel that Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are un-intimidating enough that despite leading inactive religious lives the rest of the year, many people feel comfortable enough to join us all in Synagogue and Temple on Rosh Hashanah, and to send New Years greetings to one another.

I also find this phenomenon somewhat ironic, since the time is traditionally when we crown G-d our King, and reaffirm our commitments to Him for the rest of the year. We reflect on our errors, and we commit to returning to G-d and fixing our ways. For someone to affirm commitments to a religious institution from he is largely unfamiliar and usually unaffiliated, the holiday must have a strange flavor. However, the fact that this time exists for this group is fantastic, in my opinion. I think it allows many people a chance to explore religious questions and issues that go ignored on a regular basis.

I encountered a person on facebook a couple of weeks ago, who, when I reminded him that Rosh Hashanah was coming, proceeded to share a full account of his feelings towards Judaism and his reflections on Temple, Sunday School and his Bar Mitzvah. He discussed an effort to escape conventions, repetitive rituals like prayer and grace after meals that become meaningless and also his frustrations with Jewish-mandated limitations of sexuality.

This past Rosh Hashanah I spent a lot of time talking to some Jews who are college and post-college aged, all involved in the process of questioning communal and traditional assumptions about convention and reconsidering them. We talked about blurring gender lines, and we talked about the soul, spirituality and reincarnation. One of the college students is a musician, and he said that his inspiration comes from John Cage, who questions all of our assumptions about what "music" means. He thought we should live life-- and try to detract from all the meaning-making.

I come to this from a sheltered-ish life, of a modern orthodox, wholesome Jewish home where I was never exposed to cross-dressing, hallucinogenics, or even Jews from other denominations. I've seen much more in recent years, having traveled to more places and sought out some things, but I haven't seen that much. I come with a rather limited perspective, and yet I find that the way traditional Jewish practice has been laid out for us, while not perfect, can be extremely meaningful. I have been in shuls where I didn't like the set-up of the balcony-women's section, and I didn't know a person there, and was not greeted by anyone new, but despite my alienation and bad feelings, when it came time for Kedusha, I could not help but feel inspired by the Prophet's words. I see the angels singing praise to G-d and I forgive the Jewish people for all their sins and all our insularity and unwelcoming qualities.

I hear about people doubting G-d's existence, or metaphorising Him into something that is not a being separate from man, and I hear where they're coming from. But then I feel the clean air outside and I see the sun peaking glaring rays through the clouds in a blue sky, and I feel His presence. I don't have an easy time forcing the religious experiences of every holiday. I think that Rosh Hashanah is a hard holiday to get into, with all it's paradoxes and dichotomies. But when I hear the shofar blasts, it is difficult to be unaffected. There is a power to the practices inherently, and they are what keeps us going.

One of my first days at work, I was running around like crazy all day-- busy planning lessons and preparing materials and games, and I did not have a second to stop. I bring my sixth graders to mincha every day, and at that mincha, I was so grateful for this prayer that cuts directly into the middle of our day. I opened up the siddur, and I knew I wouldn't have gotten a chance to talk to G-d-- but that that was exactly what I needed to do. The Brachot flowed from my lips the way they always do, but my in my heart, they meant something unique. This strengthened my commitment to praying prayers that are very repetitive. I don't think I would have been able to construct an appropriate prayer, but when the time comes for the Bracha that is on-topic, I'm there, and I know that G-d is listening.

Just some reflecting on the "meaningless rituals" that I've heard so much complaining about lately. If anyone has different experiences or thoughts, your comments are welcome, as always.