Is Religious Literalism Dying?

When it comes to religion, I'm a pretty extreme non-literalist. I pretty much take nothing in our sacred texts literally. I certainly don't see the story of Creation as scientifically, historically accurate, for example. In fact, I've often said that if there is a single accurate historical fact in the Torah, it's by accident. From what I've learned, the Hebrew Bible starts in with semi-reliable history somewhere in the book of Kings (somewhere around Kings David and Solomon).

This non-literalism extends to God, as well. I certainly don't believe, in any literal way, in the God presented by the Torah — I don't think that there is a being "out there" with whom we can have conversations and arguments. I don't even believe in most of the not-quite-as-literal images of God I read about, such as "God as energy." Most people, if they heard me talk about what I do believe, would pretty much write me off off as an atheist (it happens all the time when I bother to get involved in on-line discussions). I'm not an atheist, but I certainly don't believe in anything like what almost everyone means when they use the word, "God."

I've made this comment before, but I've long wondered how unusual I am, when it comes to this. I know that I am far from unique — there are many people in religious life who believe, and disbelieve, much as I do (have you heard about Art Green and his book Radical Judaism? It might be worth a read…). But, I don't have any sense about how widespread this kind of religious thinking is. Am I part of an insignificant, fringe movement with no real impact on the wider religious world? Or, do I represent a significant minority? And, more importantly, and more interestingly, do I perhaps represent a growing minority? Whatever the numbers are currently, is this worldview becoming more prevalent? Does this kind of non-literal spirituality represent a future, or the future, of religion?

Daniel Dennett seems to think so. In a recent article in Religion Dispatches, he discusses the future of religion in the Internet Age, and believes that there's just no way that religions and religious people will be able to continue to hold to anything like biblical literalism when the scientific counter-truths are so readily available:

I don’t see how the traditional credal models of religion are going to be able to withstand this sort of epistemological pressure. I think that we see trends even in traditional evangelical churches that are moving away from doctrine and more into allegiance and ceremony and letting people be more relaxed about what they actually believe.

Dennett isn't writing off religion completely. We still have a lot to offer, so long as we remember that our job isn't to be bad science. But, I especially love that he points out (which I may have mentioned once or twice in my time, as well) that, in some ways, science can beat religion at its own game:

To the extent that religions are very much engaged in enriching lives with meaning, with ceremony, and even with a sense of mystery and awe, that’s all good. I think the problem comes when they think that they have to put their awe-inspiring myths in competition with the equally – or I would say more – awe-inspiring discoveries of science.

I mean, if religion is in the Awe business, then which of these is actually more Awesome (in the original, religious sense of being awe-inspiring)?

1. An all powerful Being who can, by definition, do anything, created us one Friday morning with full intelligence and consciousness, or
2. A bunch of molecules randomly got together and, over time, figured out how to recombine in ways that allowed for intelligence and consciousness to emerge, which would then be used to try to figure out that process that led to their creation?

I dunno. I can understand that first one. But, the second? It blows my mind, just trying to think about it. It's pretty damn awe-inspiring! Science doesn't have to lead to less religion. If we believe in the power of awe, then it can actually lead to more!

But, that's an aside (albeit one that I love). The real question is whether we are at the start of a revolution in religious thought. Can old orthodoxies long survive in a world with effectively unlimited access to information? Or, are the ultra-fundamentalisms that are so prevalent today nothing more than rear-guard desperation moves, doomed for failure, sooner rather than later (as a certain Art Green describes them)?

I don't think anyone really knows the answer. But, I'd love to hear your opinions. And, more to the point, I'm going to enjoy watching the actual answer unfold!

Rationalist Religionists - lonely minority, or silent majority?

I was sent an article by a Rabbi by the name of Geoffrey Mitelman. In it, he describes his belief that it is possible to be religious, while being fully rational. Based on the short article, I think he means that in the same way that I would—not as a claim that standard religious beliefs are, themselves, rational. Rather, that it's possible to believe in a religion which doesn't require us to believe anything that isn't rational. That we can acknowledge that part of our religious traditions aren't rational, and were developed in a time quite different from our own. Saying that to be religious is to believe all those things would be like saying that to be scientific we have to accept the science of the 1800s. Knowledge and thinking progress, and that has to be true in religion, too.

What's really interesting, to me, is the e-mail conversation which he has with an author (Hank Davis) who feels that religion isn't very rational. Millman lays out his beliefs, and the author responds:

... If you were even remotely typical of the clergy, I would change my view and probably would never have written Caveman Logic. But you're not ... you're probably way to the left of center in your own denomination. In short, I'd like and admire you as a friend, but I can't imagine you as a spokesperson for either religion or the clergy. You speak for what it might have been had it gone right. But it didn't ...

[Your point of view is] sadly, about three standard deviations to the enlightened side of average.

You know, it's something I've wondered myself. Obviously, the kind of religion in which I believe, about which I preach, isn't the one we read about in the press. And, it often feels like I'm a distinct minority—that the world is made up mostly of people who are either quite literalist (and therefore, I'd say, not fully rational) in their beliefs, or self identified atheists. That the number of people who love religion, who try to be religious, but attempt to be rigorously rational at the same time is very small, indeed. But, I wonder if that's true. Maybe the silent majority of our world (or country?) are more like me than I think?

 

Don't know if anyone out there has an opinion, or can shed some light on this. But, I do think it's an interesting question.

 

Israeli Society and the Occupation

If you read my posts, or my Facebook feed, it's pretty clear that I am biased when it comes to Israel. I have a pretty clear point of view. I firmly believe that Israel is strongly in the right when it comes to the ongoing conflict with the Palestinian Authority. I firmly believe that the Palestinian people's refusal to accept the right of Israel to exist as a Jewish state is the fundamental reason for the conflict, and that things that Israel has done, such as building and expanding settlements in the Occupied Territories, may exacerbate the situation, but can't realistically be blamed for the existence of the conflict. I still fundamentally believe all of that. But, like I keep saying, I'm trying to keep an open mind, and open eyes, and read pieces and opinions from those who see things differently.

Today, Sarah Posner has a piece up called "The Ghosts and Illusions of the Occupation." I usually disagree with what she writes about Israel--she often seems to blame Israel where I think that Israel is the one being treated unfairly (e.g. she probably thinks that the Occupation is one of the primary reasons for the ongoing conflict). But, this is a piece, along with a few others I've seen in a similar vein, which has important things to say about Israel. Because, even if I'm right, and there's nothing that Israel can do to end this conflict--that no concession or compromise will ever make the current Palestinian leadership serious about a peaceful 2-state solution--that doesn't mean that Israeli society doesn't have some real soul-searching to do:

Sharon Abraham-Weiss, executive director of the Association for Civil Rights in Israel wrote this week, “It is clear that the current tension does not exist in a vacuum. Alongside the complex security situation, Israeli society has undergone a significant shift in recent years where it has become increasingly radical, nationalistic and antagonistic to ‘the other.’”

(Still, though, hope: Elisheva Goldberg reported hundreds of Israeli Jews paying their respects to the mourners for Mohammed Abu Khdeir.)

“The current bleak situation is strengthened,” writes Brooklyn College historian Louis Fishman, “by the fact that there is a total lack of will by the Israeli state to promote co-existence and to educate the Jewish population about the national minority within them, that they too have a legitimate right to the Land. In fact, while the current government plans at allocating money to strengthen Israeli ties with the Jewish diaspora, there are none for creating a safe haven for its non-Jewish citizens.”

Let me beat this dead horse--I firmly believe that if every single Israeli were to simultaneously and sincerely declare their love for Palestinians, it would not end the conflict. I am not blaming Israel for what is happening*. But, that doesn't mean that Israel doesn't have a growing problem with how it views and treats Palestinians, both inside and outside the country. And that doesn't mean that that view doesn't have real consequences.

* And, as an aside, even if you do blame Israel, if you think that makes constant rocket attacks, fired from civilian centers, aimed at civilian centers, a reasonable or "understandable" thing to do, then I think you're pretty far gone, morally speaking.

First of all, there's the issue of how these Palestinians are treated, right now. Especially those who are Israeli citizens deserve, without question, equal treatment. If Arab neighborhoods get worse schooling, worse utility service, worse police protection (and, I'm not sure that they do, but I hear it enough that I tend to believe it), then that's a problem. I don't accept that kind of treatment for minority and/or poor neighborhoods in America, and I don't know why it would be ok in Israel, either.

And, then there's the matter of the future. Even if, like me, you don't think that the conflict is resolvable right now, that doesn't mean that it will never be. Forever is a long time, and I have hope that, even if peace isn't achievable now, even if it's not achievable in my lifetime, that doesn't mean that it's never achievable. Jews and Muslims are similar in that we've both seen that history is long, and what is impossible today seems like it was inevitable, down the road. Our stories attest to the possibility of the impossible. But, if we demonize the Palestinians in the minds of Jews, and if we embitter the lives of Palestinians, giving them reason to demonize us, then we make that future much less attainable.

I always take these reports about Israel's malfeasance with a grain of salt, because they are often later shown to be exaggerated, or unfair, or outright lies. But, sometimes they're true. And while I still maintain that Israel didn't cause this war, it's still in Israel's interest, to say nothing of it being moral, to do whatever it can to help bring it to an end, and to help prevent the next one. You can plant the seeds of peace, even while waging war. It's not easy. But, we are a people who believes in the possibility of the impossible.

Pray for the peace of Jerusalem.

Don't Mind the "Othering"

I'm spending the day at a "Clergy Convening" hosted by Faith In Florida, a Community Organizing group. The idea was to bring together clergy from various religions and backgrounds from all across Florida, and to let us start talking about, and making stronger connections in pursuit of, Social Justice. Although the organizers are dedicated to making sure that this group is as diverse as possible, for this particular gathering, it isn't completely so. Out of about 30 participants, I am one of four white people in the room. And, I'm the only Jew. I am, in other words, a distinct and visible minority here.

There have been a few moments of "othering," as it's known in some circles--some moments when I was clearly, albeit probably accidentally, marked as marginal. As not being fully of the group. There were a few comments from other participants about "people who look like us." In context, those were clearly references to African-Americans, and so at least for those moments, I was not being included in "us." There were also several prayers which invoked Jesus, and always in the first person singular, as in "we pray in Jesus's name.*"

* I did have to laugh especially at the one which began with several comments about coming together in unity, in all of our various forms and believes, and then went on to refer to us all turning to Jesus!

I obviously noticed these things, or else I wouldn't be writing about them. But, they didn't bug me very much, and that's what I'm really writing right now – why I wasn't particularly bothered by being "othered" a couple of times today. In part, it was just a question of proportion. I'm surrounded by people who are made to feel "other" on a regular basis – on a daily basis for some of them, I would imagine. To get overly sensitive about a moment or two when I was forced to experience a minuscule portion of their regular life seems awfully snowflake-ish of me, and I just decided to not take it too hard, basically.

But, it was more than that. What dawned on me was that, for me, this momentary marginalization was precisely that — momentary. It had absolutely no impact on my life, beyond this current moment. But, for most of the other people in the room, when they are marginalized, it's almost always one piece of a larger pattern of much more severe, and much more impactful, marginalization.

In other words, I was made to feel like I wasn't 100% part of this group for a brief moment or two. But, when I walked out of the doors of our little conference room, I went back to being a white man in America, which is a pretty damn privileged thing to be. I've got all the freedom, access, and power which comes, unearned, with my identity. But, when they are made to feel "other," it's not only the moment itself, but a reminder of the constant marginalization and disempowerment with which they live in our wider world.

Think of it this way – how hard is it to not have lunch? Well, that entirely depends on how long it's been since you've eaten. If you eat three meals every day, skipping lunch is not a big deal. If you regularly go hungry, and haven't had a decent meal in a couple days, then skipping lunch is probably a very big deal, indeed. And, it's pretty obnoxious of that first person to complain, especially to the chronically hungry person!

People sometimes complain about reverse-racism, and I'm not as dismissive of it as some people are. Treating anyone badly because of their race (or gender, or sexual orientation, etc) is never a good thing, and our society will be better the more of it we can eradicate. But, it's nice to remember that any racism, or any marginalization that I may endure is, because of the life I lead, always minor. And, ignoring it turns out to not be very hard at all, and actually feels pretty good.

Arizona

OK. I’m going to get into a topic which can easily turn ugly. If you can’t talk about things like Arizona’s recently passed immigration law without getting strident, nasty or crazed, then please stop reading now. There are some wonderful baseball blogs to occupy your time. And, yes, for the record, this is a non-Jewish post, so if you only care about my thoughts regarding Judaism…well, those baseball blogs are really, really good.

Still here? Good. Deep breath. Let’s continue.

As most of us know, Arizona just passed a law which states that if a Police Officer is “reasonably suspicious” that a person might be an illegal immigrant, they can (in fact, they must) check that person’s papers to verify their legality.

Not surprisingly, the liberal voices in the media started protesting immediately. The New York Times has called on President Obama to nullify this law, as an act offensive to Civil Rights. The New Republic has argued that this law is really all about irrational hysteria and political posturing. And, of course, John Stewart has weighed in, mocking Arizona all around.

To a liberal, such as myself, the arguments were obvious – this is an open invitation to racial profiling (which is, I believe, illegal, although I hear different opinions about what that actually means), to oppressing minority groups, just because they share a physical appearance with other people who are coming into our country illegally, and to creating a kind of Police State, giving the police the power to harass whomever they want (which circles back on the profiling argument, since no one is worried that that Arizona police are going to start harassing blond men in Polo shirts). There are also some side arguments, such as the legality of a state enacting immigration laws.

Then, yesterday, The New York Times ran an Op-Ed by Kris Kobach, one of the authors of the legislation. Kobach offers a cogent, calm rebuttal of the major claims being made against the law*. In response to the “racial profiling argument,” he argues that “Reasonable Suspicion” is a well defined term, legally speaking, and that the law expressly prohibits using race as the sole determinant of suspicion. There’s no real danger of the problems being floated by the law’s opponents, he claims. There is nothing to actually worry about, if you use logic, rather than rhetoric. If you oppose the law, then it’s well worth giving this short piece a read.

* Major kudos to the Times for being willing, as they often are, to give space to someone who’s views expressly contradict the stated editorial opinion of the paper.

Well, that leaves a bleeding heart liberal, who tries to stay fair-minded and avoid knee-jerk reactions (such as myself) in a bit of a quandary. As is often the case, both sides actually seem to have a point (if you want to read a wonderful sermon sermon I gave on Yom Kippur on this, check this one out).

I tried to do some poking around on the ol’ Intertubes, to find some reasoned, balanced arguments. Something which would analyze the claims being made by both sides. Something that was addressing the arguments from the other side, rather than just talking past them. Hard to find.

Then, it dawned on me. I may not have many readers, but they surely are the smartest bunch of people out there! So, I’d ask them for an opinion.

My instinct is that, while Kobach’s arguments sound logical, they’re not realistic. Saying that “Reasonable Suspicion” cannot legally, and therefore will not, lead to Racial Profiling might work on paper, but will never actually hold up in the real world. Arguing that all that this law is doing is creating a framework of enforcement around established law (that is, it’s helping police illegal immigrants – who are, by definition, here illegally) and isn’t about any kind of racial battle is naive (at best), given the type of nasty, racist rhetoric which has been part of this debate. In other words, when people talk about “those people destroying our country” and such, and then claim to be unbiased – well, let’s just say that I view that claim of neutrality with a bit of suspicion.

So, what do you say? Knowing that I’ve got some lawyers and academics and thinkers and good people and smart people looking at this, what do you think of the law? Of Kobach’s defense of it? Of my reaction to it?

Please keep in mind – this is a call for rational, respectful debate. Disagreements are, as always, welcome. Respect and decency are mandated.

Truly looking forward to your opinions.

AntiSemitism at the ATM

I had a strange experience a couple of days ago, and I honestly can't figure out how I'm supposed to feel about it.

I was at the ATM, minding my own business. At the time, I was wearing my kippah (yalmuke)*. A person got in line behind me - I don't think I noticed it at the time. When I was done, I walked away, and gave the next guy a friendly "all yours." I noticed that he was a bit of a hard looking guy - muscled up, spiked piercings. Driving a mammoth pick-up. Nothing unusual these days.

Then, without saying a word, he started goose-stepping towards the ATM.

I couldn't really believe I was seeing it. Part of me wondered if he was just being goofy - maybe he wasn't really throwing out Nazi imagery at me. But, even though I can't be sure, it doesn't seem likely that it was random, or meaningless, does it? No, it's probably safe to say that, for whatever reason, he was directing it at me.

And, like I said, I'm really not sure what to think about it. I so rarely encounter overt Anti-Semitism any more. When I was a kid, it was not uncommon for someone to throw pennies at me, or to use "Jewish" as a generic negative term ("That's so Jewish" was often used just like "That's so lame"). It never really got nasty - I was never assaulted, our house was never vandalized (unless you count some shaving cream on Halloween). But, it was around, and needless to say, I hated it. But, it's been a long time since I've seen that kind of thing. I obviously tend to run in circles where Jews are well accepted, and I think that this kind of prejudice (not just against Jews) just isn't as accepted as it once was. Happily, this goose-stepping jerk was an anomaly in my life.

In the end, I really don't make too much of it. It was just one jerk. It didn't hurt me the way it used to (one of the advantages of growing older, and getting more comfortable with myself). I wasn't scared (I didn't really expect to get assaulted in broad daylight, in a busy bank parking lot). More than anything, I think I was sad, and a bit confused. It's not like I don't know about Anti-Semitism. But, deep down, I don't get it.

What I really want to know? What was going on in that man's head that made him not only hate Jews, not only hate me (if you can really hate someone you don't even know), but also feel the need to express it in that way? What did it do for him?

Maybe I'm overanalyzing an ultimately meaningless moment, but what was so wrong with that man's life, or with that man, that he gained some kind of satisfaction by pretending to be a Nazi in front of a Jew he didn't even know?

Maybe this is just a more mature kind of sour-grapes, but as I'm writing this, I'm starting to realize a big part of how I feel about this ridiculous act of Anti-Semitism. I don't know why he felt the need to do it. But, it honestly made me glad that I'm me, instead of him.

---

A quick epilogue -- I'm writing this in the waiting room at a car place. While I was working, a guy came in from the shop and politely, and a bit shyly, asked me why I wear a kippah - what it symbolizes? I explain that it was just a sign of respect towards God that I wear when I pray or study*. He said he's always wondered, and thanked me for taking the time to explain it.

*I'm supposed to wear it when I eat, too, but I don't always. Another blog, I guess...

Always good to remember, and be thankful, that our goose-stepping friend is in the minority.

A Liberal Jew - and proud of it

I just came across a bunch of articles which I had put aside to blog about, but never got to. They're old, but still relevant, so now I've got some excuses to do some more blogging…

Here's the first one—it's an article by Alex Sinclair, about Liberal Judaism (which, for those who don't know, can more or less be defined as non-Orthodox Judaism), and it's one of those articles that says something that I've been trying to say for years: not only do liberal Jews need to be more comfortable with, and proud of our version of Judaism, but we have to be clear about some fundamental facts, as we see them:

Liberal Judaism makes a powerful claim, and the claim is that Orthodox Judaism is, at its core, wrong. Orthodox Judaism is built around a narrative that contains a foundational error: “The Torah was written by God and given to Moses on Mount Sinai”. This statement, and the orthodox religious narrative that emerges from it, has been disproven by generations of Biblical scholars, archaeologists, sociologists of religion, and historians. These scholars have demonstrated “beyond a reasonable doubt,” in the late Rabbi Louis Jacobs’ words, that the traditional, orthodox understanding of Jewish history is false. The origins of Judaism are much more complicated than that.

Liberal Judaism is, in my opinion, and in the opinion of many (all?) leaders of Liberal Judaism, correct. True.

I don't expect everyone to agree with me, but all of us who are liberal religionists need to make it clear that we are at least as sure in our beliefs as our more conservative (not to be confused with “Conservative Jews,” who are, ironically, liberal jews) brethren. I am not a Reform Jew because I don't have the commitment, or energy, or knowledge to be an Orthodox Jew. I am a Reform Jew because I believe that Reform Judaism comes closest to the Truth.

Sinclair argues that there are three reasons that Liberal Jews are not more vocal about this: first of all, we fool ourselves about how dangerous it is to let the Orthodox control the conversation. I'd say that this is more true in Israel (where Sinclair is writing) because of the overlap of the religious and political worlds, but it's true here, as well. First of all, we all know that our religious and political world aren't actually so separate in America these days (or, I guess, ever). But there's also a religious danger to this—it leaves many Liberal Jews feeling as if they are “less Jewish” than Orthodox Jews. It drives many people who would benefit greatly from a modern, open, rational Judaism towards a less fulfilling (for them) version of Judaism, because they believe it to be "more authentic." It's not, ulitmately, as pressing as questions of settlements in disputed territories or ceding control of marriage to religious extremists, but it's still real.

The second reason that Sinclair gives for our meekness is our desire for Jewish unity:

A second reason that we allow the orthodox narrative to hold center stage is our own fear of Jewish disunity. We tread on eggshells for fear of saying that others’ opinions might be “wrong” or “false”. We nod our heads when we hear absurd and historically ridiculous statements spouted by orthodox friends, because we believe in everyone’s right to their own opinion, and because we want to be nice. We think it’s important to be united as a people, so we swallow our pride and allow the orthodox narrative to become the default Jewish position.

He makes an interesting point, but I'm not really sure how much that still a relevant motivator. Sure, we may shy away from confrontation in social settings, but I'm not sure that it's a big deal when we're talking more seriously. Or, maybe it is, and I'm in the minority on this one.

His third reason is, to me, the most interesting, and troubling. He says that we fear that, even though we believe in Liberal Judaism in principle, it might lead to assimilation and the loss of Judaism:

The third reason we tolerate the orthodox narrative as default is because we are concerned about assimilation, and deep down we wonder if the narrative, even if it’s false, might help stem the tide of Jews leaving the Jewish people.

I've touched on this before, because I really do find it troubling: it is not unreasonable to believe that orthodox religion has more staying power than liberal religion. That orthodoxy, of any sort, might be more effective, by many measures. I wouldn't say that it's a closed argument, but there is a lot of research which seems to say that more extreme groups are more and more successful, while more liberal, open groups will tend to dissipate and fade away.

I'm not going to give up on my convictions and become Orthodox just because it's a good “business plan” or anything like that. But, it's an issue that we can't ignore: what if Liberal Judaism, as powerful as many of us find it, isn't sustainable?

In the end, it's probably a question which has to be ignored, on some practical level. All I can do is live the most sincere Jewish life that I can, and try to express to others why I find this version of Judaism so powerful, so sacred, and so true. I may be a practicing a kind of “boutique Judaism” that will never have mass appeal, or that will eventually be put out of business by “big-box Judaism.” But, I really don't believe in their product, so I guess I'd better keep selling mine.

Al Cheit – For the sins which we have committed…

Yom Kippur is upon us, and, of course, the dominant theme of the day is teshuvah – repentance. We are supposed to consider our sins and then (ideally, having already apologized to those whom we have wronged, and done our best to make restitution) confess them.

In addition to whatever private confessions we might be making, the liturgy contains repetitions of two communal confessionals. The longer of the two is the Al Cheit – it’s a long list of sins which we have committed*. Very often, that list feels a bit – this isn’t quite the right word – generic. It’s just a laundry list. Some of the sins resonate, while some don’t. Some I know I’ve committed. A few I know I didn’t. Many – well, I guess it depends on definitions and such. Anyway, the point is that, very often, for some of us, these public confessions feel a bit pro forma.

* It’s an interesting aside about what it means to confess in the plural – what it means to confess that, for example, we have gossiped, or that we have been stingy with tzedakah. For another time…)

In an attempt to get us to approach the vidui (the confessional prayers) with a bit more kavannah (focus and intention), The Forward, a Jewish magazine, asked various Jewish thinkers to propose some new sins to add. What sins should we be thinking about, as we prepare to ask God for forgiveness? It’s an interesting list, and well worth looking at before Yom Kippur begins on Friday night.

There’s a pretty good range of ideas here. The sin of pigeonholing other Jews:

Were all of us to make an effort to truly see one another — not challenge or change or even “bring closer,” but simply see, in the light of good will and ahavat yisrael — and connect in whatever way we can, we would begin to atone for a dangerous blindness that has plagued the Jewish world for too long.

And the sin of Tolerating Intolerance:

We belong to a small minority, once reviled for our beliefs. In our not so distant past, some Americans wanted to deny us the right to worship where and how we wanted. We had to plead our case to the larger public to win what we now assume to be our non-negotiable entitlement.

And more. Which of these speaks most strongly to you? What would you have added, had you been asked to contribute?

G’mar Chatima Tova – may you be sealed in The Book of Life.

Rational Religion - Still not just for Jews

This past summer, I wrote a little bit about Christians who take a rationalist view of religion. I remember being very happy to read the article which led to that post, because it made me feel a little bit less lonely. Very often, it seems that being a rational religionist is a minority position. The religious people that we see in the press tend to be extremists—that's not surprising; most people who get press coverage tend to be extremists. But, it's easy to start thinking that most people in this world who are religious take an extreme, fundamentalist view about religion. You know—the Bible is the literal, perfect, unchanging Word of God. Anyone who deviates, at all, is a sinner, and is bound for hell. And, most of the atheists who get press coverage are reacting to this kind of extremist religion. They are, in a manner of speaking, extremist atheists. I don't mean just that they are extreme in their atheism (although, many are), but that the religion that they reject is an extreme religious. No one, it often seems, is speaking up in favor of, or even against, moderate, liberal religion.

This (false) sense of religious isolation is heightened by a quirk of my profession. Not surprisingly, I meet a relatively large number of people who want change religions—they come to me to convert. Which pretty much means, by definition, that they're not happy with the religion with which they grew up. So, they often tell me what they didn't like about that religion. And, something I've noticed since moving from Canada back to the states (I'm not sure if it's the States, or the part of the States in which I live) is that the most common complaint is the extremism, and lack of rationality in that religion. This is all a long-winded way of saying that I hear many people complaining that the Christianity of their youth was irrational, and therefore unacceptable to them. Given that, in my daily life, I don't have a lot of other interaction with Christianity, it can start to create a skewed view of their religion: Judaism is, at least potentially rational. Christianity is, inherently, a rational. I don't really believe that, you understand. It's just that it sometimes starts to feel that way.

Which is probably a big part of why I love coming across another article about rational Christianity:

In the world of Christian scholarship, for example, to read the Bible literally is regarded as absurd. To call the words of the Bible "the Word of God" is more than naïve. No modern person can still believe that a star can wander through the sky so slowly that wise men can keep up with it, that God actually dictated the Ten Commandments -- all three versions, no less -- or that a multitude can be fed with five loaves and two fish. No modern person understanding genetics and reproduction can believe that virgins conceive, nor can those who understand what death does to the human body in a matter of just minutes still view the resurrection as the resuscitation of a deceased body after three days.

The author of the article, it has to be noted, isn't just an academic. He is an Episcopal priest—a bishop, actually. I'm going to go out on a limb here, and assume that he is a sincerely religious, devout men. He takes his religion seriously. He believes. But, he doesn't believe uncritically. He doesn't accept every word as unfailingly true. He doesn't believe that rationality needs to (or can) take a backseat to faith.

Christianity is, I believe, about expanded life, heightened consciousness and achieving a new humanity. It is not about closed minds, supernatural interventions, a fallen creation, guilt, original sin or divine rescue. I am tired of seeing the Bible being used, as it has been throughout history, to legitimize slavery and segregation, to subdue women, to punish homosexuals, to justify war and to oppose family planning and birth control. That is a travesty which must be challenged and changed.

You don't have to be Jewish to be religious and rational. You just have to be rational. I've always known that, but it's nice to be reminded. And, it's nice to have company.

Israel, Apartheid and Antisemitism

A few weeks ago, I posted an article on Facebook about how Roger Waters, musician and former member of Pink Floyd, had once again been accusing Israel of being an Apartheid regime and so forth. I can't find the exact posting (why, oh why, do you make finding these things so hard, Facebook?), But if you search for it, it won't be hard to find something of the sort. Waters is a long time opponent/attacker of Israel, and he's lobbed around the Apartheid slander before. The article and my comments about it referred to Waters as an anti-semite. One of my most thoughtful friends wrote me privately, asking about that.

He had done some searching of his own to find out what Waters really believed and stood for. And he found that Waters claims that he isn't the least bit anti-Semitic, but that he vigorously opposes Israel's various racist policies. Isn't it possible, Waters claims and my friend asks, to be a critic of Israel, even a harsh critic, while not being anti-Semitic? It's a reasonable question, and I responded to him briefly in private messages, but promised a bit fuller of a response. Well, better late than never…

It's important to start with some understanding of the overall situation, because that frames the larger discussion. Although Israel, like probably every single country in the world, most certainly including the United States, has issues with discrimination, calling it an Apartheid state is simply ridiculous. Michael Oren, Israel's former ambassador to the United States, wrote a fantastic op-ed about this recently. He reminds us that Apartheid was a systematic legal framework intended at keeping a white minority in a place of political, social and economic dominance over the black majority. It was a pervasive system of segregation.

Compare that to the State of Israel. Arab/Muslim citizens of Israel have full rights. They can vote and form their own parties (and they often do). I believe it is still the case that there has never been a Knesset (Israeli Parliament) without representatives from those parties. There have been (and, I'm pretty sure, currently are) Arab judges on the Israeli Supreme Court. And, of course, Arab citizens are allowed to petition the court in the same way that any citizen would be, and they use that right to great effect (which is a very good thing, by the way). The Israeli Basic Laws (their rough equivalent of a Constitution) guarantee religious freedom and that freedom has been well protected (if not perfectly so) by the Israeli government. Here's one example: when Jordan controlled the Old City of Jerusalem, Jews were forbidden from entering it. But, when the Israelis recaptured it in '67, one of the first acts of the government was to declare that the Muslim holy sites, including and especially those on top of the Temple Mount, would remain accessible to Muslims. When, in the late 80s and early 90s, there started to be large amounts of conflict on the Temple Mount between Muslims and Jews, the Israeli government took the extraordinary step of banning Jews from going up there, and so preserved the ability of the Muslims to pray peacefully on the Mount.

I could go on, but I think the point is fairly clear. Calling Israel an Apartheid regime is nothing less than ludicrous. Of course there are counterexamples — of course there have been instances were Israel has acted in ways which do not reflect equality and religious freedom. Many times, Muslims have used the Supreme Court to find redress against such policies, and they've often been successful. I'm not claiming that Israel is a perfect icon of openness and acceptance; I am claiming that Israel is a vibrant democracy in which its Arab and Muslim citizens quite literally have more rights and freedoms than they would have in possibly any single other country in the Middle East.

I'll also admit that the situation gets muddier in the Occupied Territories, which have been so occupied since that '67 war. Reasonable people can debate whether Israel has acted largely fairly in those territories, or in which instances it has or hasn't done so. But, I maintain that Israel finds itself in a completely untenable situation — it occupied territory as the result of a war which it didn't start. And, although it's settlement policy admittedly hasn't made the situation better, there has never been a clear path for Israel to get out of those territories — there's never been an honest partner for peace, or a safe, sane way for Israel to withdraw. Israel hasn't been a perfectly moral occupier, but I'm fairly sure that such a thing isn't even possible. Israel has been far, far more moral than most countries would have been in this situation. Criticisms of Israel and its policies are legitimate, but labeling them as Apartheid is not — it's an attempt to delegitimize and demonize the country by analogizing it to one of the worst, most immoral regimes in our lifetimes.

And that brings us to the question of anti-Semitism. As I've said, of course it's possible to criticize Israel and/or its policies without being anti-Semitic. I've certainly been critical of some of those policies, as has just about every Zionist I know (when and how we are willing to air those opinions is another matter). But, when I say that we have to think about the larger context, what I mean is that we have to be aware that Waters' comment was not an isolated one. Israel is, seemingly on a daily basis, accused of Apartheid. Accused of genocide. Accused of human rights abuses. And so on. Israel, far and away the most moral, rights-based country in the Middle East, is portrayed in the public sphere as the pariah of that region. The United Nations General Assembly has made a hobby of condemning Israel at an extraordinary rate — at some point in its history, Israel has been the target of more official condemnations than the rest of the world, combined. Either Israel is actually worse than China, North Korea, Sudan, and all the rest of the vicious, human rights abusers in the world, combined, or Israel is being treated unfairly.

And so, if it's obvious that Israel is being treated unfairly, then we have to ask why it is being treated that way, and why so consistently? Why are press reports so often slanted against Israel (I can't tell you the number of times I've seen a headline such as, "Israel attacks refugee camp," only to have to read to paragraph 13 in the article to learn that the attack was in response to multiple rockets being launched from the camp)? I'm really not the type of person who finds anti-Semitism in every dark corner and under every rock, but I'm pretty sure that anti-Semitism has something to do with the ongoing horrifically unfair treatment of Israel in the wider world.

It's always tricky to jump from the big picture to a specific instance. Like I said, I firmly believe, and can easily defend the view that anti-Semitism plays into Israel's unfair treatment, writ large. And, it seems clear to me that Roger Waters' comments about Israel fit into that larger pattern. But, I do have to admit that I have absolutely no way to know whether Roger Waters is truly anti-Semitic, in his heart. Is it possible that he has simply been misinformed about many of the actual facts of the situation? Is it possible that he does know the facts, but has a radically different interpretation of them than I do, for reasons which have nothing to do with his overall view of Jews? Of course, it's possible. It would be ludicrous of me to claim otherwise. I've never met the man, and most assuredly never will. I do not know him at all. So, on one level, it's fair to criticize me for calling him anti-Semitic; how can I possibly know such a thing?

But, fair or not, I'll maintain my strong suspicion. When someone repeatedly uses the same arguments in language that the more obvious anti-Semites use, it certainly makes me suspicious. When someone attacks Israel in ways which are so clearly disproportionate to any misdeeds it may have done, using heinous language (such as calling them Nazis), it makes me suspicious. When someone continues to single out Israel over other countries which deserve the criticism so, so much more, it makes me suspicious.

No, I don't really know whether Roger Waters is anti-Semitic. But, I know that his views are. I know that his words are. And, that's probably the more important thing to know.

Pray for the peace of Jerusalem.

Free speech, even for those with whom we disagree

So, here's the small chain of events:

1. Peter Beinart has a long history of speaking out against certain policies of Israel, and of those who support those policies. He recently published a book, The Crisis of Zionism, summarazing and expanding on those views.
2. As a result of that book (and of his other writings), Beinart is often called anti-Zionist, an Israel hater, and more. Those who support him are treated similarly.
3. Paul Krugman, an economist and writer for the New York Times recently mentioned in his blog that he doesn't want to talk about Israel right now, because his comments against the current government and its policies are sure to evoke a vitriolic overreaction. I can't find the original article to link to it, but it's referenced in...
4. An open-letter by Jeremy Ben-Ami to Krugman, in which he begs Krugman to not stay silent:

 

Mr. Krugman, I understand this sentiment. As the President of J Street, the pro-Israel, pro-peace lobby, I am followed closely by my own personal buzzsaw. I know that the cost of speaking up about Israel can be so dear that many hundreds of thousands of Jews choose instead to stay silent or disengage from Israel entirely.

But as you rightly point out, Israel’s present path affects not only Israel, but all Americans and Jews everywhere.

Which is why I would like to invite you to reconsider your decision. I invite you to not let a vocal minority silence your voice. You are a Nobel prize-winning economist and leading American thinker whose contribution to the marketplace of ideas on so many issues is such an asset to this country’s democracy. I invite you not to let their smears cause you to sit this one out.

...

Because only when everyone – especially those who already have a megaphone – stands up, will the smears and attacks lose their power. Only then will brave men like Peter Beinart receive the fair treatment you so clearly think they deserve.

I've been critical of Beinart, J-Street and that entire school of thought (which, I believe, unfairly and destructively places too much blame on Israel in a misguided attempt to find balance in blame). But, let me say, just for the record, that on this issue I agree, 100%, with Ben-Ami. I agree that Beinart is brave, in that he is willing to say things which he believes to be true, and for which he knows he'll be excoriated. I don't agree with much of what he says, but he believes it, so he says it, and he faces the consequences.

I also hope that others, like Krugman, will speak. I hope he'll try to convince those of us who disagree with him, but are reasonable, and open to thoughtfulness about it. And, I hope that no one who claims to love Israel will think that the best way to show it is to drown out others who love it, too.

Duck Dynasty and Hiding Homophobia

This is one of those times when I wonder if this is going to come out right...

You've probably heard about the recent controversy surrounding the show Duck Dynasty. In case you're new to this, Duck Dynasty is a show about a self-described "white-trash" family from Louisiana who got rich from making duck-calls. One of the characters, the patriarch Phil, recently got himself into hot water with some comments he made about homosexuality. You can probably guess them--it's ungodly. It's just like bestiality. And so on.

Let me be perfectly clear: these views, and these comments, are disgusting. Irredeemably so. Anyone who knows me knows (I hope) that I'm a strong, vocal supporter of LGBT equality, and I find these kinds of views repellant. So, I'm not about to say anything which undermines that--no, "It really wasn't that bad, was it?" Yes; It is that bad. No, "Everyone's entitled to their own religious views, right?" Sure--you're entitled to them, and I'm entitled to find them repulsive.

At the same time, I want to express some discomfort with the fact that A&E, creators of the show, suspended Phil. I'm not saying that it was the wrong decision (it was probably exactly the right decision), but that there's an aspect of it which doesn't sit well with me.

This has become a fairly regular, and depressing, pattern. Some star says something awful about gays, or African-Americans, or some other group, and there is (appropriate) outrage and disgust in reaction, and then the show, or team, or some other authority suspends them. Again--on one level (the most important level, I'd think), that's good. That's what I want. I'm fine with them being punished for airing these toxic views.

But, at the same time, I can't get away from the feeling that we're, intentionally or not, hiding these kinds of hatreds and bigotries away. We're not eradicating them, we're just pushing them off camera.

Stereotypes of this kind of person (rural, hillbilly, etc) being what they are, fair or not, was anyone surprised by what he said? Even if it hadn't come from someone who looks like he does, would anyone be surprised that someone thinks this way, and is willing to say it? It's not exactly an obscure, minority position, if you know what I mean. By suspending him, by removing him and his views from the show, nothing in reality has changed; we're now just seeing a falsely sanitized version of that world.

And, if we keep doing this, aren't we just doing the same on a larger scale.

Again, I'm not suggesting that A&E should have done something differently. I know that punishing these views, that labeling them as unacceptable and refusing to honor (or reward) someone who spews them is the right thing to do, and is (maybe more importantly) part of how we define, as a society, what is unacceptable. That's one step towards eventually eradicating those views. But, at the same time, pretending that those views aren't out there, wiping our hands of any connection with them and getting back to our entertainment feels--what? Too easy?

A&E did the right thing. But, somehow I'm left feeling like there's more to the story than just that.

Can Rabbi Art Green Save Judaism?

A few weeks ago, a study was released by the Pew Research Center, and it offered all sorts of bad news about the Jewish world. And, it also spawned a seemingly endless stream of reaction from that same Jewish world. Some see it as a sign of impending disaster. Some see it as a technically flawed study*. Some see it as a potentially interesting data point, but nothing all that new, actually.

* I can't find the link right now, but the argument was, basically, that Pew compared current data to a 10-year-old study that used extremely different methodology. Therefore, any downward trend that it claims to find is extremely suspect.

Rabbi Arthur Green had a slightly different reaction, and it will surprise no one who knows me that I find it compelling. For those who don't know, for years, and with increasing intensity in the past few years, Rabbi Green has been constructing a fairly radical vision of Judaism. It's one which I find intensely compelling and which, quite frankly, has become the single largest piece of my own religious foundation. So, I'm clearly biased when I read his reaction to Pew. But, the upshot is that he thinks that his vision of Judaism might be the answer to the challenge posed by the report.

Rabbi Green's theology, and the Judaism which flows from it, is doggedly rationalist, and it's intensely Universalist. And, Green believes that it offers a version of Judaism which could potentially speak to the millions of Jews who find that a more classic theology, and religion, no longer fits them. Essentially, he's claiming that it's no surprise that university educated Jews who are fully integrated into the Modern world aren't impressed with Judaism which is based in a supernatural God, exclusivist claims to the truth and so on. If we can just offer them something which is spiritually compelling, while at the same time 100% consonant with the world around them, maybe they'll come back.

I deeply, deeply hope that he's right. I'll admit that I doubt he is–at least to the degree to which we might really hope. Even Green admits that his new theology isn't going to completely reverse the seeming flood of Jews who are leaving Judaism. Personally, I wonder if his theology/Religion would even appeal to enough people to significantly impact the Jewish world. I'd like to think it might, but that seems incredibly optimistic.

But, ultimately, I base my religious belief and practice not on what I think will be most popular, or most effective in drawing in the masses. I base my religious belief and practice on what I find to be true and holy. And, I don't think I've ever come across anything that feels more true and holy than the God which Green describes with such passion and clarity.

Whatever you think about its potential impact on the wider Jewish world, Green's article is worth reading if only because it offers a wonderful synopsis of his outlook:

Mystical religion by its very nature shifts the focus of attention away from the positive/historical and inward toward the devotional/experiential. The question is not: “Do you believe that God created the world, and when?” but rather “Do you encounter a divine presence in the natural world around you?” and “What does that encounter call upon you to do?” We are not concerned with “Did Israel hear God’s word at Sinai, and how much of the Torah was given there?” but rather “Can you feel yourself standing before the mountain as you hear the words of Torah?” The “events” of Israel’s sacred narrative are read here as myth rather than history, but their voice is made more powerful rather than less as they call forth deep personal engagement and commitment. The God of this religion is not the commanding Other who rules over history, but rather the still, small voice from within that calls upon us to open our hearts and turn our lives toward goodness, even in the face of terrible human evil and the inexplicable reality of nature’s indifference to our individual human plight. This sort of new mystical or Neo-Hasidic piety turns toward the natural world as a source of inspiration, seeing existence itself as an object of wonder and devotion. It finds the miraculous in daily life and tends to focus its religious energy on the building and celebration of human community.

It's interesting —I was recently talking to a colleague who describes himself as completely rational, and followed that up by saying that the mere mention of anything "mystical" shuts him right down. "Mystical," to him, equals "non-rational." That certainly isn't a minority view. To most people, "mystical" means wacky New Age spirituality. Well, I'm fairly proud (arrogant?) of my own rationalist credentials, and I can't find a single thing that Art Green says which doesn't pass muster for me, in terms of his rationality. For me, Green describes a God and a Judaism which are deeply, profoundly powerful, and which challenge, but never ask me to deny, my mind.

I don't know that Green's Radical Judaism, or his radical Judaism, can really change the world, or even the Jewish world. But, it's had a heck of an impact on mine.

Check out the article, and tell me if you agree.

The Practice of Prayer--Rosh Hashana, 5780

The Practice of Prayer

Rosh Hashana, 5780

Rabbi Jason Rosenberg

Shana Tova.

            Let me ask you something. Why are you here today? I mean that as a serious question. Why did you decide to come here today? Some of you just answered in your heads something along the lines of, “Well, it’s Rosh Hashanah. I have to be here.” But, unless you’re a kid, you didn’t have to be here, at all. The truth is that you had plenty of choices of how to spend your morning. And, we know that in part because so many people are making choices different from this one. More and more people are not joining synagogues, and many who are members of synagogues choose not to attend services, opting for work or school, instead. I’m not saying this to shame them, at all, just to point out that you really did have other options about what to do with these few hours. So, why are you spending them here, doing this?

            It’s especially worth asking because this is a pretty difficult day, and Yom Kippur is even more so. High Holy Day services are long. And, more importantly, they are philosophically and theologically difficult. The prayers of the season talk about God literally deciding who is going to live and who is going to die during this next year. Writing down in a book what our fate will be, but giving us one last chance to change that decree, if we just pray hard enough. It’s incredibly difficult for many of us, maybe most of us, to take this idea literally. It’s pretty hard to even take it seriously. Do I really think that God is making a list? Do I really believe that, based on how fervently I pray today, I might be able to get God to change the column in which I find my name scribbled down? No. I don’t believe that we’re here to change God’s mind. I don’t believe that we’re here to change God, at all. Through our prayers, we’re here to change ourselves.

            A 17th century sage, Rabbi Leona Medina, taught that we should understand prayer as if it were a boat. Imagine a person standing in a boat, holding onto a rope. The other end of that rope is anchored to the shore, and that person is pulling on the rope, pulling herself in. If I am standing some distance away, and if I completely misunderstand how physics works, I might mistakenly believe that that person is actually pulling the shore towards herself, not herself toward the shore. They look pretty much the same. Of course, they are not the same. When we pray, it sometimes looks like we’re trying to pull God towards us. Really, we’re always trying to pull ourselves closer to God.

            It’s what we might call a “devotional practice.” It’s a practice which is meant to increase our love of, our closeness to, God. If the God language is confusing or off-putting to you, as it is to many of us, then it’s a practice which is intended to make us more aware of holiness in this world, and in ourselves.

            That language of holiness, rather than of God, is important. Some of us believe in God, and some of us don’t. Many of us have questions. That’s all a good and important discussion for another day. But, for right now, if you don’t believe in God, or if you aren’t sure, just ask yourself if you believe in holiness. Do you believe in the possibility of transcendence? Have you ever had the vague, unnerving, unnamable sense that something larger than yourself, larger than the simplest reality that we see around us, was happening? I’m not talking about some mystical, astral plane. I’m just talking about a way to see this world, but to see it suffused with meaning.

            That’s one of the great insights of Judaism. We don’t actually need to believe in God, per se, to pray, and to pray honestly, and deeply. In fact, people who think that we do might have it exactly backwards. We don’t pray because we believe. We pray because doing so helps us to believe. And, when I say “believe,” I don’t mean that we are trying to accept a reality that we don’t think we really agree with. I don’t mean that were trying to trick ourselves into thinking that there’s actually some Being who once created the world, and who is deciding our fate today, if that’s not what we really already believe. I’m using “believe” in the sense which the Hebrew conveys, which is the sense of being aware of, and connected to, a holiness which seems to suffuse reality, and transcend our selves, and our sense of the ordinariness which dominates most of our waking hours.

            That’s the key. Our awareness of the sacred. Rabbi Art Green defines the sacred as, “an inward, mysterious sense of awesome presence, a reality deeper than the kind we ordinarily experience.” This world can either be “just this world.” Or, it can be a place of astounding beauty, and power, and meaning. A sunset can simply be the result of the rotation of the planet, which it is. Or, it can be beautiful. Or, it can be more than even that. It can move us in our deepest places, the places which, for lack of a better word, we’ve always called “our soul.”

            Who here doesn’t want to be moved like that? Who here doesn’t need to be moved like that? The world around us is so broken, so damaged and so damaging. We read the news and we see story after story of human cruelty and indifference. We see environmental disasters and hear ominous reports of more to come. Disease, hatred, evil, anywhere we look. It sometimes feels as if the world is on fire, and many of us suspect that, when it doesn’t look like that, it’s only because we’re not paying attention. If we have any awareness, and the least bit of sensitivity, we will see so much pain.

            Sometimes, we need to see the world that way, because that’s real. We can’t hide from it. But, sometimes we need to be able to see the world not just as it is, but as it could be, as well. Sometimes we need to see ourselves not just with our myriad flaws and failings, but with our endless, holy potential. Sometimes, we need to search for the hidden sparks of holiness, buried in the ashes which too often fall around us.

            Last night, I told the story of some artists trying to paint a picture of true peace. The best of them wasn’t a perfect, idyllic scene, but rather a picture of a mother and her baby, huddled against and protected from a raging storm. In a storm tossed world, each one of us needs to find a sanctuary from the storm. We need some space for peace. Not permanently — I am not suggesting that we hide away from the world, and that we pretend that everything is all right. This isn’t about being a Pollyanna; it’s not about hiding from our obligation to engage with the world, to make the world better. But, we do need a sanctuary to which we can retreat, from time to time.

            We need that sanctuary in part because we need to restore ourselves. We need to restore our strength, and we need to restore our hope. This world is so terrible that it can lead to despair. We need to recharge, and just feel good again, if we want to keep doing the hard work that the world is calling us to do.

            But, we also need this sanctuary from the storm in part because we deserve it. As human beings, beings created betzelem Elohim, in the image of God, beings created to be just a little bit less than divine, we deserve to lead lives of meaning, to lead lives of blessing, of happiness. Lives of dignity. The world is set up in a way which makes this just so difficult, and so unlikely. If we just go about our way, let life and the world unfold as they will, we’ll almost never have the opportunity to explore the transcendent. To search for, to encounter, the sacred. Days will turn to months will turn to years will turn into a lifetime, and we’ll have lived it without ever having fully lived a single day of it.

            We deserve, and we need, a space in which we can ask ourselves the deepest questions. What really matters in this life? What was I put here to do? What kind of impact am I having on this world, and what kind of imprint in my leaving with my life? That’s how I want to go through this world, asking myself those most essential of questions. Usually, I don’t. I’m pretty sure I’m not in the minority with this. Life is so busy and overwhelming. Even in a job like mine, ostensibly focused on holiness, I can go days, weeks, without ever asking myself those sacred questions. I can live a life unconcerned with holiness. It would be quite easy to do so. But I don’t want to. So, how do I do that? How do I get myself to focus on those questions, and that holiness?

            In a word, prayer. Prayer is a way — not the way, but a way — to move ourselves. To change ourselves. To pull ourselves closer to that shore. Prayer and religion mean something different to each of us, but whatever it means to you, it got you here today. Something in you is calling you toward religion, or you’d be somewhere else right now. You may not be able to fully identify or name it. But, it’s there, inside of you. Why are we here if not to make ourselves somehow better? “Better” doesn’t only mean “more moral.” It can also mean better functioning. More fulfilled, more fully realized. That’s what we’re here to do. That’s what prayer is supposed to help us do.

            It’s not easy. It’s not always clear exactly how prayer can actually accomplish this. Especially if you read the translations — what they’re saying can sometimes feel very remote from anything meaningful. Just coming into the room, sitting down, and singing along isn’t going to do much for most of us. This isn’t magic, and it’s not even medicine — it doesn’t work just because you take it in. It takes work.

            So, how to do it? How do we pray in a way which might actually move us, inspire us, change us? There isn’t a single way, of course. But, think about taking time during services some Shabbat, or some holy day, picking one prayer from the prayerbook, and approaching it like a poem. Read it, slowly and closely. Ask yourself what it means, and then ask yourself what it stirs inside of you. If you can’t find a prayer which resonates that day, look at the alternative readings. In our weekly siddur, and especially in our High Holy Day mahzor, there are some truly stunning pieces of spiritual writing. Read them. Use them.

            Try sitting down, closing your eyes, and listening to the music as deeply as possible. Feel what happens when you let yourself sing along without worrying about what anyone else is thinking. Or, just take a few moments to breathe — use this time as a meditation practice. There isn’t one right way to do this, and what works for me might not necessarily work for you. Which means that we have to be willing to try a few different things to see what clicks. Try coming by some Shabbat morning when there isn’t a bar or bat mitzvah, and our services are small, friendly, and more personal. Drop in for our monthly Making Prayer Real sessions before services. It’s just a group of us willing to take an hour to think about and talk about what’s going on inside of us when we try to pray.

            I’ve come to realize that physical exercise is an almost perfect metaphor for spiritual exercise. In part, that’s a reminder that none of this “religion stuff” is required. Nothing is mandated, and nothing is forced. If you don’t want to get physically stronger, then you don’t have to go to the gym and lift weights. Not working out most certainly does not make you a bad person. There’s no penalty for staying home, other than not getting the potential benefits. If you don’t want to come and pray, then you really don’t have to come and pray. It doesn’t make you a bad person, and you’re not going to miss out on a place in the afterlife because your Shabbat attendance wasn’t sufficient.

            But, if you’re looking at the brokenness around you, and asking how you can deal with the overwhelm that you feel, this could help. That’s what we’re here for, or, at least, it’s what we’re supposed to be here for. And, you’ve got nothing to lose by trying — there are no negative side effects to prayer. It’s no guaranteed magic bullet, either, but then again, nothing is. The only way to know if it will work is to try it. Tsemah HaShalem Li-Tzevi teaches that God is like a source of water, and prayer is a pump. When we first start to use it, nothing happens.

Then, we might get a tiny trickle. It’s going to take at least a little while to really get things moving. God is always there. Holiness is always on tap. But, if we want to draw anything from it, we’re going to have to try. Don’t be surprised when it doesn’t work at first. Giving up when our first attempts at prayer don’t give us the results that were looking for is a bit like someone going out for their first run and saying, “Well, that felt terrible. I’m never going to do that again!” This is a discipline which, if we’re willing to stick with it for a little bit, truly can transform our lives.

            And, don’t forget that there are ways to do this outside of the synagogue, as well. Some of us need the gym, some prefer to work out on our own. If you’re not sure which is right for you, come talk to me — I’m happy to help you create your own spiritual workout plan.

            But, get started, because this is the perfect time to start. Today, Rosh Hashanah, is the birthday of the world. The anniversary of the world’s creation. Our sages, and our prayers, tell us that God did not create the world once, 5780, or 6 billion, years ago. God creates the world anew every day, every moment. We, too, have the ability to re-create the world, at least our own world, the world that starts within. Every day. Every moment. Today is the first day of your life. As it always is. Let’s make this first day, and every day which follows, a holy one.