Lockdown Drills

Here's an email I just sent to the principal of my daughter's school:

Ms. Holloway,

My daughter, Talia Rosenberg, is an 8th grader at Walker Middle Magnet. Today, I received the notification from you that there is another Lockdown Drill this morning. I'd like to take a moment to express my opposition to these drills.

Although school shootings are horrific, and far too common, it's also clear that they are statistically low on the scale of actual threats to our children--the odds of any one of them actually being in an active shooter situation is miniscule. But, the effects of drills such as these are being scrutinized, and it's unclear if they actually provide any benefit, even in the unlikely event of an actual incident. There is, however, mounting evidence that there are real and significant negative psychological effects on students who participate in these drills. In short, we're quite possibly having a meaningful negative impact on our kids by ineffectively training them to deal with something they are unlikely to ever face.

I'm sure you've seen all of this research (and more), and I have a feeling that you aren't in control of how often, or whether, you perform these drills. And, I'm also sure that, were you to announce an end to them, you'd face an enormous backlash from some of the parents. So, I do understand that, even if you agree with my position, you're in a tough spot. That being said, I thought it was important for you to hear from at least one parent who feels this way.

Wishing you a safe day, and a happy holiday season.

Jason Rosenberg

It's not an original thought, but there's a culture of fear which pervades our society, and it's not harmless. We're being trained, in subtle and not so subtle ways, to move through the world as if it were a place of constant danger.

There is of course, danger in the world; anyone would be a fool to suggest otherwise. But, I think it's also manifestly true that the world is often described, and treated, as if it were far more dangerous than it actually is. We could skip the vast majority of the precautions we take in life, and be just fine.

That wouldn't be a problem--better safe than sorry, after all--but we have to realize that every measure that we take to make ourselves safer also has unintended consequences. And, we have to at least think about balancing out those consequences with the actual benefit that we get.

It's an easy target, but how many billions of dollars have been spent, and continue to be spent, on increased airport security since 9/11, and how much safer are we, actually? How much better off would we be as a society if that money were spent on, say, food for the hungry, or enrichment programs for the underprivileged, or, if you're more conservative than I am, tax reduction? What is the real opportunity cost of the expanded TSA?

I remember reading, years ago, about a report on child safety. It seems that because of a perceived increase in child abductions (which was largely fueled by an over-zealous, and more nation-wide media) parents were keeping their children indoors at far higher rates. But, as a result of this, childhood health was plummeting, because kids were spending less time riding their bikes and playing games on their friends' lawns, and more time watching TV and playing video games. We made our kids safer from a barely-existent threat, and gave them diabetes in return.

We have a sheriff's deputy outside our synagogue whenever we have kids in school, or whenever we have services on Shabbat. What message does that send to a person who is trying to attend synagogue for the first time? What does it say to a person of color who is entering our building, and who may have a very different relationship with law enforcement than I do? What is the cost, both financial and personal, of having armed security outside our building, and what actual benefit do we get from it?*

* I've actually asked a few of our (wonderful) deputies this question. Each time, I've been told that there is close to zero benefit in terms of actual safety. Maybe there is a deterrent factor for the random bad-actor, but there is no meaningful increase in security against a determined assailant from having 1 or 2 deputies on duty.

Of course, we need to be prudent. We need airport security. We need to keep our neighborhoods safe. We need to have serious, mature discussions about what measures, at what cost. I just wish we'd actually have those discussions a bit more, and a bit more calmly than I've usually seen them take place.

And, I sure wish my daughter's school would stop pretending that scaring her is making her safer.

The One Who Sets Me Free

A bit of a long, somewhat rambly exploration of God’s nature, and the reason to be religious. What else is there to do on a Friday afternoon…?

Nehama Leibowitz was a 20th century Torah scholar — one of the greats of her generation. Her commentaries on the weekly Torah portion were some of the most interesting, challenging pieces we read in rabbinical school, and are remarkable (among other reasons) for their combination of traditional text-learning and modern, thoughtful approach. She’s worth checking out if you want a bit of a challenge.

Early in my career as a rabbi, I often used her teachings — sometimes for sermons, more often for adult education. Over the years, I’ve turned to her less and less, partially because I realized that her dense, esoteric teachings tend to appeal more to rabbinical types than to laypeople, and partly because I tend to overuse my favorite sources (as I’m sure that any of our regulars will attest to), and then, after a while, try to find other sources to keep things fresh. Anyway, I was studying with a new friend/colleague today, and we decided to look at some of her teachings.

She always finishes with “Questions for Further Study,” and one of those questions for this week’s Torah portion, Vaera, concerns a tiny linguistic variation, which might hint at a larger, philosophical idea. In Exodus 6:6, God says:

I am Adonai, Who is bringing you out from under the burdens of Egypt.

And then, in the very next verse, God says:

I am Adonai your God, the One who brings you out from under the burdens of Egypt.

There are two differences here. First of all, the second verse adds “your God” to God’s name. And, there’s a subtle shift in the Hebrew which I tried to (hopefully accurately) capture as the difference between “Who is bringing you out” and “the One who brings you out.” Why the difference?

The first version, “Who is bringing you out,” is using the phrase to talk about something which God is doing, at this very moment. But, it’s only at this moment. The second phrase has a bit more of a sense of God’s identity. “Bringing you out” isn’t just something which God does at some given moment. “Brings you out” is something which God does, regularly. Or, more to the point, it’s part of who God is. It’s like the difference between “I’m going to play baseball” and “I’m a baseball player.” The first describes an activity of the moment; the second says something about identity.

God is “bringing you out from Egypt” at this moment. But, more importantly, God is the God who, regularly and reliably, “brings you out from Egypt.” The first speaks only of the current moment; the second also hints at a future promise.

And, that might explain the other difference — the inclusion of “your God” in the second verse. Because, it’s only when we recognize God as the One who will, in some ongoing way, take us out of Egypt, that God becomes “our God.” We don’t follow God because God freed us once. We follow God because God frees us. Always.

I’m putting a (possibly too) fine point on this because it speaks to something fundamental about how I see Judaism, and (I guess) all religion.

Some people promote religion based on what it has done — you should be religious because of what God did for us. You should be religious because of what religion meant to your parents, or to theirs. You should be religious because of something which happened when you were young. And so on. I’m not going to argue the logic or morality of this. Instead, I’m going to argue the effectiveness of it. Or, to be more precise, the lack of effectiveness.

Look, I can give you all sorts of history-based reasons to be religious. I might even believe some of them (although, many would be hollow arguments coming from me, to be honest). But, I won’t bother, because I don’t expect that many of them would be particularly effective. People just don’t get involved in religion because of abstract arguments and “should’s,” which are just thinly masked guilt trips. People get involved in religion if religion brings something to their lives. Arguably it’s always been this way, but especially in our modern (postmodern, to be precise) world, this is the reality. People are not going to get deeply involved in and connected to their religion simply because someone tells them it’s a good idea, or because they have some historical, or genetic, or vestigial obligation to do so. People are going to get deeply involved in and connected to their religion if, and only if, it has a profound impact* on them. Only if they believe, even if it’s metaphorically, that God sets them free.

* EK—if you’re reading this, I changed that from “profoundly impacts them” for you…
Is this selfish? Is this just a religious version of “what have you done for me lately?” Maybe. Probably. Yet, I guess that it is. But, I think it’s fair, and it’s honest. The various versions of “you should” that people use to try to get other people involved religion just don’t work, at least not for most people I encounter (and, from the bit I read about it, not for those who are my age or younger, generally speaking). Either religion speaks to me in my situation in a deep and meaningful way, or it’s just not going to be compelling enough to me to spend my time and money on it.

Maybe I’m comfortable admitting all this because I do believe that religion, and God, have had an enormous, positive impact on me. And, that they can for many others, too. That, although I highly doubt that God literally set our people free from Egypt, I know that God has, metaphorically, but nonetheless transformatively, set me free in many ways.

My God is a God who sets me free. Yesterday, today and tomorrow.

Arm Everyone?

In the wake of yet another school shooting, we've all been seeing a lot of the typical "If others had guns, this wouldn't have happened" arguments. The NRA makes it, constantly. Various politicians and political commentators love it, too--"the only thing that stops a bad guy with a gun is a good guy with a gun." The solution to our problem is not more (or better enforced) gun regulations--those don't work, anyway, because criminals don't follow the law! No, the solution is to arm more people, so that they can stop the bad guys.

First of all, we have ample evidence that gun laws do have a positive effect. States which have enacted them show a decrease in gun-related crime. Of course some people will ignore the law, but it's simply not true that the laws don't keep the guns out of the hands of some criminals. We have data on this; we don't need to guess.

As for the "arm everyone" argument, there is much to say against it. First of all, there's the false assumption that lots of people with guns in an active-shooter situation will reduce the death-toll. Untrained, panicked people are very likely to kill innocents. Can you imagine if a bunch of armed people in a darkened, frenzied movie theater (where some shootings have taken place) tried to shoot back? Plus, if multiple people have guns, how do you even know who to shoot? Am I shooting the shooter, or another concerned citizen? For that matter, how do the cops differentiate between "mass murderer" and "person trying to help" when they get to the scene? One former military person who was armed and was at the Oregon shooting kept his gun holstered for precisely this reason--he didn't want to be killed by SWAT when they showed up.

But, here's the biggest problem with the "Only a good guy with a gun" argument. It's missing the larger reality. All of this rhetoric says nothing about what arming more people does to our safety on the 99.99999% of the days in which we are not faced with an attempted mass-murder. The more guns there are in the room at any time, the more likely one is to be used in an altercation, or to be discharged by accident. My standard is not "how likely is my child to die at school if a mass-murderer shows up?" but "how likely is my child to die at school on any given day?" Even if more guns would cut down on the mass murders (a dubious claim), they would almost certainly increase other deaths. That seems blatantly obvious to me.

I've used this metaphor before--I can imagine a situation in which wearing a seat belt makes it more likely that I'll die (driving into water, for example). But, on any given car trip, wearing the seat belt makes it more likely that I'll live. Focussing only on the rare exceptions only serves to hide the larger, more common truth.

If our goal is to survive a day, then I'm pretty sure that giving more people more guns is not the way to go about it.

Iran

I've been very reluctant to write or speak about the Iran Deal. I spoke about it one Friday night, but I deliberately avoided saying anything about whether I think it's a good or a bad deal.

There are a few reasons for that. First of all, I'm a rabbi. I'm not an expert on international relations, nuclear inspections or anything of the sort. If you are turning to me to learn about the quality of this deal--about how effective it's going to be in keeping the bomb out of Iran's hands--or about how it fares in this respect compared to other options, then, quite frankly, you're being a fool. I know a lot of Rabbis who have come out in favor or in opposition to this deal, on its technical merits, and I find it terribly uncomfortable. Why would anyone expect a rabbi to have good insight into that?

In general, I tend to be cautious when speaking about non-overtly religious topics (even though I acknowlege that it's impossible, and wrong, to completely avoid them, as there isn't a clear distinction between religious and non-religious topics, especially when it comes to politics, which is often where morality gets implemented in our society). But, I am even more cautious when the topics are so terribly complicated. And, they don't get much more complicated than this one.

I've read intelligent, compelling articles which argue that this deal is a disaster--for Israel, for America and for the world. That it puts us in very real, possibly existential danger. I've read intelligent, compelling articles which argue that, given the circumstances (the crumbling sanction regime, the obvious unwillingness of the US to engage in a protracted military campaign, etc), this is a surprisingly good deal. It's not perfect (what negotiated deal ever is?), but given the reality in which it was negotiated, it's very good. I've read intelligent, compelling articles which argue that it is, in fact, an incredibly strong deal. That it got everything that could have realistically been asked for, and that it does a good job of keeping us safe for longer than any other available option.

And, the reality is, I really don't know who is right. And, neither do you.

If serious, committed, deeply knowledgable people disagree so greatly, then it's hubristic, possibly ridiculously so, to claim absolute assuredness about the topic. That doesn't mean that we shouldn't try to understand, and that we don't have the right, and maybe the obligation, to form opinions. But, when various organizations are coming out with strong, often strident statements of support or (more commonly, from what it seems) condemnation and opposition to this deal, my primary reaction is one of disbelief. Disbelief that this religious and/or community organization thinks that I care, or that I should care, about their positions. Many Federations are coming out against the deal. What do they know about the relevant details of the various options for inspection and verification? Some Rabbinic organizations are coming out in support of it--what makes them experts in complicated, multi-lateral negotiated nuclear treaties? And so on.

But, what I find even more frustrating is the way in which the pundits, professoinal and amateur, deride those who disagree with them. Because in this case, we're all very much on the same side. We don't all agree, of course, Many of us strenuously disagree with each other. But, fundamentally, we're all on the same side on this one. We all want the same thing. No one--literally no one that I've read or heard--wants Iran to have the bomb. No one thinks that it's just a small problem if they do get it. Everyone wants to live in a world without a nuclear Iran.

Where we disagree is about strategy and tactics. Some people think that it's realistic, and therefore necessary, to guarantee a permanent, or at least long-term, non-Nuclear Iran. And, if that's the case, then this deal fails. But, some believe that to be a pipe-dream. They believe that, realistically, the best we can hope for is a long delay in Iran's acquisition of nuclear power, and the possibility, remote though it may be, of other changes taking place during that interim period. And, holding out for an impossibly extreme deal is equivalent to not seeking a deal at all, and actually gives Iran a faster path to the bomb.

For the record, that's closer to my point of view. I'm terrified of a nuclear Iran. No one has to list off all of their bad traits for me; I'm aware of them. But, I also believe that if recent history has proven anything, it's proven that the US does not have unlimited capacity to affect or control the world. Holding out for a deal which permanently removes all nuclear enrichment capability from Iran while also getting them to agree to stop supporting terrorists while ceasing with all of the death-to-American and death-to-Israel rhetoric? That's the functional equivalent of not negotiating at all.

But, am I sure? Do I know if there might have been a better deal, even if there wasn't a perfect deal available? No, of course I don't. Do I know if a different administration, or a different negotiating team, might have gotten more meaningful concessions out of Iran? Of course not. I'm willing to listen to those arguments, but when they come in the form of context-unaware, invective-laden diatribes, I'm a lot less interested in what they have to say. Because, I basically never trust the judgment of anyone who claims to be absolutely sure about a complicated topic.

And that is precisely what I've learned in my rabbinical studies.

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!

Awe Deprivation

I came across an interesting article in the New York Times last week. It was about the importance of Awe. If you've heard me speak more than a few times, you know how important this topic is to me. Awe is one of the core religious emotions and impulses*--it's at the foundation of most of our authentic religious/spiritual moments, and an integral part of all religious life.

* The other two are need and gratitude. This is all summed up in the pithy statement (which I first heard from Rabbi Rick Block) that there are only 3 prayers in the world, and they're all 1 word: "Please," "Thanks," and "Wow." Everything else is just a wordier version of these.

Of course, if you've heard me speak more than a few times, you've also heard me quote or reference Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel more than a few times, too. And, no one does a better job of talking about awe than Heschel. More than anyone I've ever come across, Heschel is almost obsessed with awe--with experiencing it, with trying to express it, and especially with trying to get people to seek it out, and to embrace it. In fact, it was probably his writing about awe, more than anything else, which really drew me to him.

This article, though, adds a nice perspective to this ongoing conversation. First of all, it confirms, scientifically, the effect that awe can have on us. They actually do awe-based experiments, and show that people are nicer to each other after experiencing awe. It reminded me of a lesson I learned from Jay Michaelson who taught that one of the universal criteria for authentic mystical experiences is an increase in kindness. If you have what you think is a mystical experience, and you don't feel kinder towards others when you're done, then you didn't have an honest mystical experience. True religion and kindness are inextricably joined together [insert diatribe against cruel, evil religious extremists here].

The article also tries to think a bit about why awe is so powerful. What it comes up with isn't so shockingly new, but it's worth thinking about. Awe is, by definition, an awareness of our own smallness as compared to the greatness of God, or the world, or one aspect of the world (think of the feeling we get when standing at the edge of the Grand Canyon, or watching a massive storm roll in). That sense of smallness leads pretty smoothly to a realization that our own needs are, ultimately, pretty inconsequential. And that makes it much easier to be open to the needs of others around us. The greatness of the world makes it seem much less important to focus on the needs of little old me!

But, it's the last point in the article that might be most worth thinking about. Because, if awe is so important (and, I'm pretty sure that it is), then we should think seriously about how much awe we're getting, and how we can get more:

You could make the case that our culture today is awe-deprived. Adults spend more and more time working and commuting and less time outdoors and with other people. Camping trips, picnics and midnight skies are forgone in favor of working weekends and late at night. Attendance at arts events — live music, theater, museums and galleries — has dropped over the years. This goes for children, too: Arts and music programs in schools are being dismantled in lieu of programs better suited to standardized testing; time outdoors and for novel, unbounded exploration are sacrificed for résumé-building activities. 

We believe that awe deprivation has had a hand in a broad societal shift that has been widely observed over the past 50 years: People have become more individualistic, more self-focused, more materialistic and less connected to others. To reverse this trend, we suggest that people insist on experiencing more everyday awe, to actively seek out what gives them goose bumps, be it in looking at trees, night skies, patterns of wind on water or the quotidian nobility of others — the teenage punk who gives up his seat on public transportation, the young child who explores the world in a state of wonder, the person who presses on against all odds. 

All of us will be better off for it.

If your religion (or whatever else you have in your life, if you're not religious) hasn't been helping to lead you to more awe, then it's been failing you. Go see some art. Go out in nature. Find something awe inspiring, and just take it in.

Pursue those goosebumps. They're the sign of an encounter with something, or some One, worth knowing.

Praying In Sports

I started to write this, I remembered that I'd actually written about it once before, not that long ago. It's kinda long and rambly, and not exactly what I wanted to say today, but if you're really interested, you can read it here.

Anyway… Somehow, in our Talmud class yesterday, we found ourselves talking about people who pray during sporting events. It's a pretty easy target — most people I know, religious or not, love to pick on people who do this. "Do you really think that God cares about the outcome of a football game? Doesn't God have bigger things to worry about?"

Actually, I do think that God cares about the outcome of a football game.

Now, if you know me at all, then you know that "God cares" is a metaphorical term for me. I don't mean it literally. I don't believe for a moment that God cares about things the way that you and I care about them. I don't believe in a God who has a personality, preferences, moods, or even an independent, verifiable existence, while we're at it. But, in a symbolic, poetic way, I do believe that "God cares" about certain things. It's not all that different from if I said, "Mother Nature cares if you litter." You would never think that I meant that in a literal, human-ish to kind of way, but you'd probably understand what I meant by it, more or less.

Well, whatever you mean if/when you say "God cares," then it's probably fair to say that God cares about everything. God is, pretty much by definition, unlimited. Infinite. Encompassing all things. If God cares about anything, and God cares about everything. Do we really think that, literally or metaphorically, God has a limit on attention span or bandwidth?

I think it's pretty ridiculous to claim that praying can actually affect the outcome of a sporting event. I think it's pretty ridiculous to imply that God takes sides in these things (well, maybe, maybe not). But, as a devout non-literalist, when I ask for things in prayer I'm trying to express a need. I'm trying to express my sense of dependence on something, or some One, outside of myself. I'm trying to remind myself to be humble about what I accomplish, and to not take what I have for granted.

And, I'm pretty sure that I can do all of that, even during a football game.

The Hope

I posted this on Facebook, but I wanted to take a moment and expand on what I was thinking.

A few days ago, 106 retired generals, Mossad directors and national police commissioners signed a letter to Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, urging him to engage in a diplomatic process with the Palestinians. They say that it's realistic to pursue what everyone that I know called, until recently, the obvious and almost inevitable framework for peace: a return to a modified version of the '67 borders with negotiated land-swaps, a reasonable resolution to the Palestinian refugee problem and so on. Not only is it realistic, they say, but it can be pursued without putting Israel's security at risk.

It's important to note what they're saying, because many who are against negotiating with the Palestinians will make an argument that is a bit of a red herring here. Many will say that there is no realistic chance for peace because the Palestinian leadership doesn't really want peace. That they engage in a peace process only as a tactical way to engage in the larger battle against Israel. Therefore, we shouldn't negotiate at all.

And, you know what? They might be right. It's a very reasonable reading of recent history to suggest that the Palestinian leaders have no real desire for peace. What they want is nothing less than the total annihilation of Israel. I actually tend to think this way — it seems pretty clear to me that the Palestinian leadership has been an impenetrable barrier to peace for long as I can remember. It doesn't matter what Israel offers or says, because there isn't an honest partner who is listening. As much as I am disgusted with Netanyahu's approach to settlements and such, I don't think he's actually made peace less likely in the near future, because there was no chance of it to begin with. To use an inappropriately lighthearted metaphor, how ardently I pursue Heidi Klum has nothing to do with whether I will ever go on a date with her, because she just isn't interested in me. I can be the sweetest suitor in history, or I can be an obnoxious jerk; either way, we're not having dinner.

But, what if I'm wrong*?  What if there is a chance for peace? What if there's a silently growing groundswell of peace-lovers among Palestinians, which only needs an opportunity to actually show itself? What if, given the right conditions, more moderate leadership might actually find a foothold?

* About the Palestinians. I'm pretty sure I'm right about Heidi Klum.

What if, even if there isn't a chance now, even if there isn't a chance in the near or mid-term future, there's a chance for peace somewhere down the line? What if Israel's actions now will have no bearing on the possibility of peace in my lifetime, but will have a very large impact on whether we can achieve peace in the next generation?

And, this is where I get back to that letter, what if we have nothing to lose by trying? I mean it when I say that I firmly believe that nothing that the Israeli government can offer will bring peace in our day. But, am I sure? Of course not. How could I possibly know that? Even if I had inside information, which no one reading this does, I couldn't be 100% sure. And, if it's true that we can pursue that faint possibility of peace without harming Israel's ability to defend itself, then why, in God's name, wouldn't we do that? What can be lost by seeking peace, even when it's exceedingly unlikely?

And, that brings me to the other point which I vaguely referenced in my FB post--the surety with which most of us talk about this issue. As anyone who knows me knows, I resist any attempt to be sure when uncertainty is called for. To making our world seem simple and understandable when it's actually complicated and inscrutable.

If you say to me that there is no chance for peace, if you say to me that Israel can't even explore peace without putting itself in grievous danger, then I'll just point you to this letter. Because 106 men and women who dedicated and risked their lives in defense of Israel disagree with you. 106 people who, I can only assume, care more deeply for Israel than I can possibly imagine, think that it's possible and advisable. I'm not saying that, based on this one letter, Israel should drop all concerns and enter into negotiations today, without any planning or care. These generals aren't guaranteed to be right, any more than the naysayers are. But, it seems pretty clear to me that anyone who claims that there is no chance for peace and absolutely no way to explore it safely is speaking based on their biases and presumptions, not on an analysis of the facts. Because 106 experts would like to disagree with you.

That feeling, when I read that letter? That's hope. And, to quote a favorite movie, hope is a good thing. Maybe the best thing. At least for today, when I think about Israel, I feel a sense of hope, for the first time in a long time. HaTikvah--the Hope.

Pray for the peace of Jerusalem.

Religions Are What We Say They Are

Just a quick thought.

I just saw another article with a title like, "Is ISIS Really Islamic?" I didn't bother to click through, because I've seen enough of these, and not only about ISIS. Every time some radical group claims to be religious, it starts the same debate--is this really what that religion is about? What is the core nature of Islam/Christianity/Judaism/whatever?

I'm kind of sick of it. Because, I'm pretty sure it's a meaningless question. Islam is precisely what Muslims say it is. For some, it's a religion of peace. For some, it's a religion of extreme hatred and violence. Christianity is precisely what Christians say it is. For some, it's a religion of love. For some, it's a religion of violent proselytization. Judaism? It's either thoughtfulness, or narrow-mindedness. Peace-loving, or kill-all-the-arabs-ness.

The idea that a religion has a true, core identity, independent of the actual people who live it daily, simply makes no sense to me. Religions are human constructs, and they exist within our human lives. They are precisely what we say they are. They are precisely what we live them as.

If someone sees it differently, I'd love to hear them explain how and why. But, absent that, can we please stop with this simplistic, inane and fundamentally divisive conversation?

A Rational Mysticism

This is on the "topics I really want to start blogging about, but can't seem to find the time to do it well" list. But, I came across another oldish article I wanted to blog about, so it's giving me an excuse to at least dip my toe into this. I really hope I can get more out there, soon. But, let's begin...

To most people, mysticism is, almost literally, the opposite of rationality. I'm pretty sure that it was my teacher Dr. Larry Hoffman who said that most people's working definition of mysticism is, "weird religious things that other people do, but I don't." "Mysticism" conjures up images of people in flowing robes, burning incense and claiming to have access to alternative dimensions. Lots of swaying and fingerbells, mixed in with a healthy dose of pseudo-metaphysical talk. Not exactly my cup of tea, to put it mildly.

But, what if that's not what mysticism really is. Or, at least not what it has to be? What if there is a mysticism which is, in fact, quite doggedly rational? What would that look like?

Many of you reading this know that I have an intellectual crush on Rabbi Art Green and, especially, his book Radical Judaism. Well, in that book, and in that recent article I came across, Green tries to explicate a new vision for Judaism, one which is based on a modern, fully rational mysticism. Here's how he explains it in radical Judaism:

"The sacred" refers to an inward, mysterious sense of awesome presence, a reality deeper than the kind we ordinarily experience. Life bears within it the possibility of inner transcendence; the moments when we glimpse it are so rare and powerful that they call upon us to transform the rest of our lives in their wake.… When that mask of ordinariness falls away, our consciousness is left with a moment of nakedness, a confrontation with a reality that we do not know how to put into language. (Radical Judaism, page 4)

There's nothing esoteric about this. He's describing an awareness and an experience which most of us have had, to 1 degree or another, or the very least can understand. He isn't making any claims about the underlying nature of the universe, or of the independent reality of supernal realms. He simply talking about the natural, human ability to sense something transcendent in the world around us. That sense that we get, often when standing at the sea or the edge of the Grand Canyon, that there's more to the world than we can really take in or comprehend.

Or, as he says a bit later in his book (page 18), he simply believes that the whole world "is mysteriously and infinitely greater than the sum of its parts" and that "this [reality] is accessible to human experience." Put even more simply, the world is radically more Awesome and, if you're willing to use the language, Holy, than we tend to see on a daily basis, but there are ways that we can attune ourselves to see that Awesomeness and Holiness more regularly. In the article I keep referring to, he offers a pretty great summary of a Judaism based on this neo-mystical vision:

A Judaism that will speak to the emerging twenty-first century generations is only beginning to emerge. In contrast to Kaplan’s era, its point of departure will be the Jewish mystical rather than the rationalist tradition. A radical spiritualization of Judaism’s truth, begun within Hasidism some two hundred years ago, needs to be updated and universalized to appeal to today’s Jewish seeker. It offers the possibility of a religious language that will address contemporary concerns while calling for a deep faith-based attachment to the essential forms and tropes of Jewish piety. 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.

What if there is a way to be fully rational, to not have to abdicate one iota of our intellectual capacity, but still find Awesome transcendence in the world? What if it's possible to have the faith of the mystic while maintaining the mind of a scientist? What if I could actually say in polite company that I'm a mystic, without having to feel like I need to apologize for that? 10 years ago, I would have laughed at the idea. Maybe even a lot more recently than that. But, not now. Now, it's seeming more and more clear that it's the truth.

Yeah.

Finding Awe (and God) in Evolution

So, I just posted to Facebook this fun little Buzzfeed article, featuring a series of Creationists holding up questions which, in theory, challenge Evolution and/or promote Creationism. Most of these are pretty weak--if there are good arguments to support the Biblical account of creation, I'm pretty sure that pointing to Lucy is not one of them. Fine.

I was tempted to go through and answer each one ("Yes." "No." "No, but I'm not sure what you think that proves."), but that seemed kind of snarky, even for me. And, maybe more to the point, it also seemed like a lot of work. So, I decided to just amuse myself with my answers in my head.

But, I just have to say something about #20 (and, it kinda applies to #5, and maybe a couple of others, too). It reads:

How can you look at the world and not believe Someone Created/thought of it? It's Amazing!!!

Let me ask you: in all honesty, which is more deeply, profoundly amazing? That an all-powerful Being created the world as we see it? Or that, without any intervention, this world created itself?

I mean, if there really is an all-powerful, active, independent God*, then creating the world, in all of its complicated beauty, wasn't the least bit difficult. Sure, the world seems awfully complicated to us. But, to God? Making it must have been no more difficult than a card trick. Right? But, if all of that beautiful complexity evolved through its own process, becoming what it is naturally, fluidly, independently? That is pretty darn amazing, isn't it? Awe inspiring, even.

* which, by the way, the Bible never really claims that there is. It might be worth remembering that.

I once learned (I think this is still the current thinking, but even if it's not, the point will stand) that the universe exists upon an unbelievably fine balancing point. Certain forces, and possibly the amount of matter in the universe, are so finely in balance that the smallest change to any of them could have made reality as we know it impossible. Some have pointed to that as more evidence of the existence of an active Creator.

But, again, setting up the world with such a fine balance might be many things, but it isn't the least bit difficult to God. Why would we be amazed that God could do that, when God can, we're told, do anything?

But, to know that the universe somehow unfolded and evolved into this, without the guiding hand of an all-powerful Being, that everything that we know--everything--exists only because of a knife-edge dance played out on every level from the sub-atomic to the cosmic, that our lives and everything we hold dear are, in some sense, a minor nudge away from non-existence? That fills me with awe. That fills me with the wondrous, scary feeling of being not just in the presence of, but of being within, some One who/that I can never, never understand.

I look at the world, and I most definitely believe that no One created/thought of it. At least, not in anything like a literal sense. And, you know what?

That is amazing. That is awesome. That, my anonymous friend on Buzzfeed, is what it truly feels like to stand in the presence of God.

Baruch atah adonai, eloheinu melech ha-olam, oseh ma'aseh v'reishit. Blessed are You, Adonai our God, Ruler of the Universe, the Source of Creation.

The Dangers of Certainty

For a long time, uncertainty and ambiguity have been among my favorite topics to read, write and think about. And, I mean that from a religious point of view—I am theologically committed to the idea of uncertainty. I suspect that would sound somewhat strange to someone who tends to think of religion as it is presented in larger settings–usually as absolute, confident assertions about who or what God is, what God wants and how others are wrong about those very same questions.

Me? I think that real truth (or, maybe I should say, real Truth) is never found in absolutes and certainties. There's an old Yiddish proverb that "to know God is to be God*," which I think is another way of saying that no one, other than God, can ever really be certain about anything when it comes to God. If my feeble, limited mind** can contain an idea, then that idea is, pretty much by definition, small enough to be contained in my feeble, limited mind. Which means it ain't as big as God!

* I tried to find the original Yiddish, and according to Google it seems that lots of cultures claim that as their original quote. One more thing I thought I knew...

** And, compared to an ultimate God, all of our minds are feeble and limited, right?

A lot of my writing over the years has been explicitly or implicitly about this topic. If you don't believe me, check out these blog posts (which are mostly implicit) or this sermon (which is pretty explicit!) on the topic. I even have a file of interesting ideas and articles on this topic, in the theory that, one day, I may even have a book to write about it!

But, lately, I haven't been writing so much. I still feel that it's one of the most important topics in my religious life, and as a Rabbi (which is a different). Especially given how certain many others in the world (and, especially in the religious world) seem to be, I think it's an absolutely essential topic. One of the most essential, frankly. But, I haven't had anything new to say about it in a while. So, I find myself not saying much, at all.

But then, I was pointed towards a recent blog post from the New York Times. It's titled The Dangers of Certainty: A Lesson From Auschwitz. I can't recommend strongly enough that you read it, and watch the (four minute) video with. It's simply extraordinary.

* Thanks, Steve B!

The author, Simon Critchley, points out that the history of science has actually not been an inexorable march towards certainty. People often assume that it is—as we learn more, we become more certain about how the world works. And, on the surface, that is indeed how science seems to work. But, real scientists have been learning for a long time just how uncertain we necessarily are about world:

Dr. Bronowski’s 11th essay took him to the ancient university city of Göttingen in Germany, to explain the genesis of Werner Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle in the hugely creative milieu that surrounded the physicist Max Born in the 1920s. Dr. Bronowski insisted that the principle of uncertainty was a misnomer, because it gives the impression that in science (and outside of it) we are always uncertain. But this is wrong. Knowledge is precise, but that precision is confined within a certain toleration of uncertainty. Heisenberg’s insight is that the electron is a particle that yields only limited information; its speed and position are confined by the tolerance of Max Planck’s quantum, the basic element of matter.

Dr. Bronowski thought that the uncertainty principle should therefore be called the principle of tolerance. Pursuing knowledge means accepting uncertainty. Heisenberg’s principle has the consequence that no physical events can ultimately be described with absolute certainty or with “zero tolerance,” as it were. The more we know, the less certain we are.

The plain, scientific truth is that it is impossible for human beings to ever know, with absolute precision and certainty, anything. Anything at all. A certain amount of uncertainty is (quite literally?) built into the cosmos. Scientists know this–as far as I know, this is not a disputed point anymore. But, perhaps ironically*, many religious leaders, and religious non-leaders, seem to not accept this in their own lives. We might be uncertain about the exact state of an electron, but that doesn't mean that we can't be certain about God, right?!? 

* I say "ironically" because, in theory, we're supposed to be the humble ones. Right?

It's obviously ridiculous idea, when I put it like that*. But, that really does seem to be the basis on which many people speak about religion: as a realm of absolute certainty in an uncertain world. I'm with Critchley (and the Dr. Bronowski he quotes) in believing that that's among the most dangerous attitudes in the world:

* that's why I put it like that.

For Dr. Bronowski, the moral consequence of knowledge is that we must never judge others on the basis of some absolute, God-like conception of certainty. All knowledge, all information that passes between human beings, can be exchanged only within what we might call “a play of tolerance,” whether in science, literature, politics or religion. As he eloquently put it, “Human knowledge is personal and responsible, an unending adventure at the edge of uncertainty.”

The relationship between humans and nature and humans and other humans can take place only within a certain play of tolerance. Insisting on certainty, by contrast, leads ineluctably to arrogance and dogma based on ignorance.

If I believed in tattoos* I might get that last sentence tattooed somewhere prominent on me.

* I have some religious objections to them, of course. But, mainly I'm against inflicting pain on myself.

Look, by this point in my searching, I'm fairly well convinced that all of our various statements about God only makes sense as metaphor and approximation. I'm an extreme non-literalist, and to quote myself, a Radical Non-Fundamentalist. So, I know I truly am (somewhat ironically) a bit extreme in this way. I simply don't believe that anything any of us say about God should ever be taken literally. But, even if you're less extreme and I am– even if you're a bit more of a certain, literalist than I am, don't you have to admit to at least some uncertainty? Don't you have to admit that in a world in which we can't be precisely sure of the location of the smallest building blocks of matter, we also can't be sure of the will of the Divine?

And, if you can't be absolutely sure about that, then don't you have to be at least a little bit tolerant about those who believe, or think, differently than you do?

It's really difficult to kill someone over an idea that you aren't 100% sure is true. Isn't it?

I just wish that it wasn't such a seemingly difficult concept for others, especially my partners and cousins in striving for God, to accept.

We always have to acknowledge that we might be mistaken. When we forget that, then we forget ourselves and the worst can happen.

Atheism, Fanaticism and, perhaps, Something In Between

I recently came across a couple of articles which I put in my (ever-growing; rarely shrinking) list of "articles about which I must blog." I kept thinking about them, maybe because I started to realize that these were two very different articles that were, in some way, about the same thing. And, it's one of my favorite (if often most frustrating) topics — non-extremist religion.

First, we had a piece by CNN on famous atheists. It wasn't actually an article — just a slideshow*. But, it featured a long list of famous people who don't believe in God, each with a quote or two about what they do, or don't, believe. Some were silly, such as Javier Bardem:

* This is, after all, CNN.com. You don't come here for serious news anymore. I keep forgetting why I come here at all…

I've always said I don't believe in God; I believe in Al Pacino.

Some were very thoughtful, such as Professor Daniel Dennet:

You don't get to advertise all the good that your religion does without first scrupulously subtracting all the harm it does and considering seriously the question of whether some other religion, or no religion at all, does better.

But, it was clear that nearly all of them were thinking of religion in a particular sense - as a literal religion. A religion which takes it claims literally. Ricky Gervais saying that religion is like Santa Claus - a lie you keep telling yourself so you can keep getting gifts. Penn Jillette pointing out, in an honestly interesting comment, that, if religion were to be wiped out and recreated, it would never be recreated in the same way, as opposed to science, which would be rediscovered in, more or less, exactly the same way. Because, science, unlike religion, is objectively true - we discover science, while we create religion (my words, not his).

There were some exceptions – Sam Harris argues that liberal religions make it possible for fanatics to continue -- without freedom of religion, the fanatics couldn't survive, so we're better of without any of it. But, not surprisingly, when people talk about religion in public they nearly always, and nearly always implicitly, rather than explicitly, talk about literalist religion. They talk about religion as something which tells us to believe something which isn't true — something about which we have no proof, but for which there is pretty good counter-proof (e.g. "the world was created, as is, in 6 days").

I talk, probably quite a bit, about a different way to engage in religion. About understanding that religion is not (or doesn't have to be) a set of unverifiable fact claims. I've said, probably quite a bit, that I don't think that the Torah has a single accurate historical fact in it (and, it's got some really questionable science in it, to say the least). That doesn't make it useless — it just makes it useless as a science or history textbook. But, there are plenty of other ways to view, and to use, religion.

It's frustrating sometimes. It's frustrating to hear people, some very smart, attacking "religion," all the while thinking to myself, "That isn't religion - that's one type of religion. But, it's not my religion" It's like hearing someone attack music as being terrible - all music - and then finding out that they only listen to Top-40 radio. Well, maybe that music stinks, but have you heard about good Rock, or Jazz, or Hip-Hop? You might like those!

But, no — they haven't heard about those. Because all of the stations that they listen to only play Top-40. They only play the vapid stuff.

And, the same is true of religion, which brings me to article #2 - "The Creeping Fundamentalism In Our Midst."

We’ve read stories recently of Haredim in Israel comparing Israeli politicians to Hitler and throwing stones at women praying at the Kotel; of Haredim in New York fighting to restrict the prosecution of sex abuse claims; of Haredim in Germany threatening the fragile truce on circumcision by defending the practice of adult men sucking blood directly from the penises of infants.

So much religion is deserving of the hatred which is often sent its way. Religion is, far, far too often, self-serving and venal. It is misogynistic and homophobic. It is irrational. It is petty. And more.

So much of it is. But not all of it. And, it doesn't have to be that way. But, those of us who believe, but believe very, very differently haven't been effective in getting noticed. We haven't claimed a place in this conversation. Why is that? I'm not sure - it might be that there just aren't enough of us. That, in reality, we are a blip on the radar, and the real discussion is between extremists. It might be that the media always loves extremes - it makes for great copy, while thoughtful, esoteric, complicated, nuanced theology really, really doesn't.

All I know is that when I read the arguments of atheists, I agree with many of them. But, I'm not one of them. I'm not an atheist. The religion which they reject, I reject, as well. Maybe not as stridently, and maybe not as universally. But, still. The religion which I practice just doesn't look like the religion which they reject. I wish more people knew that.

By the way, starting on Tuesday, June 18th at 1:00 I'm going to be teaching a course (a reading group, really) on Rabbi Art Green's Radical Judaism. It's the best book I've ever read explaining a theology which is quite non-traditional, but 100% rational. And, to me, overwhelmingly powerful. If you're interested, pick up a copy and read the Introduction, and then join us on the 18th. It should be a really interesting class.

Hell, it could even start a movement.

Believing in God

[Well, this isn't exactly the post I thought I was sitting down to write. And, I'm not sure how much sense it actually makes. But, in the spirit of blogging I'll just put it out there. Hopefully, it's interesting.]

For a while now, I've kept a list of topics and articles about which I want to blog, always planning to find some time to write. But, you know how that goes — life gets busy, and the urgent gets in the way of the important. And, before you know it, you've got a long list of blog ideas, and you still haven't made any progress towards them…

And, relatedly, I've been promising (threatening?) myself, and on this blog a couple of times, to start doing some writing about my theology. As any of you who know me, or read this blog at all regularly, know by now, my personal belief is nothing like what most people consider "traditional belief." I do not believe in a God who is "out there" and I certainly don't believe in a God who controls the world, in any literal way. I read and think about that so much, and talk about it in certain contexts so often, that I forget that not everyone really knows what I do believe (although, I guess I did actually give a sermon all about this on Yom Kippur). It's probably important that they do — I am, after all, a Rabbi.

And so, I finally found myself with a free hour, and some motivation (and hopefully, some focus) to write. And as I scanned through my list of blog topics, looking for one which inspires me, I came across this article from a little over a year ago*. In it, Jeffrey Small is discussing his conception of God. And, although it certainly isn't exactly what/how I believe, there's a whole lot of overlap.

* Note to self: write more often, or stop bothering collecting blog ideas...

Start with "classical" God imagery:

God as the potter, the watchmaker or the chess master has lost its relevance for many in our post-modern world. The response to this critique by some is to close their eyes to science and the realities of existence.

I don't really want to get into a refutation of this image of God (if you want to get semi technical, this is usually referred to as an "Active God," or a "God of History." Basically,  it's the God who is an independent, factual reality, and who can, if He so chooses, act in our world directly). Maybe I'll do that some other time, but I still think that Sam Harris' Letter to a Christian Nation does a powerful, if slightly obnoxious, job of that. Suffice it to say, for now, that I find this idea of God completely untenable and, frankly, undesirable. As I've often said, if there is a God who is capable of curing a child of cancer, but chooses not to for whatever reason, then I need a new job, because I'm not working for that God anymore.

But, if I don't believe in that God, then what, exactly, do I believe in? Well, let's start with what Small believes:

I have come to understand God, not as a transcendent Zeus-like figure, but instead as the infinite creative source of existence.

By "creative source" here, I do not mean to say that I think of God as creating existence by waving a magic wand from afar, but rather that all of existence -- matter, energy, the physical laws which govern the universe, even our consciousness -- comes out of God. This understanding of God is rooted not in Creationism, Intelligent Design or a desire for a father figure, but rather comes from this simple question posed first by the ancient Greek philosopher Parminedes (b. 510 BCE): Why is there existence in the first place, instead of nothing?

You know what? As I'm rereading that, I realize that it doesn't describe so well what I believe. It's not that I disagree with it so much, it's more that it doesn't resonate. That's the problem with this less literal understanding of God — it's not so much about describing, in specific detail, the God in which I believe. Rather, it's about describing an image of God which resonates. Theology becomes a matter of perspective and awareness — not a statement about understanding how the universe works, but rather about what the universe means.

Some people will hear this and, whether or not they like this imagery/approach, will think to themselves "that isn't God." It might be nice, and it might be true. But it isn't God. Right?

This probably just turns into an argument about semantics, which is rarely interesting (although, strangely, often quite strident). If you define "God" as an all-powerful being with independent existence then, no, this isn't God. But if you define God as something else, something more general — as, perhaps, "the ultimate" — and this can, indeed, be God. This is a description of the fundamental, transcendent, holy basis of creation. Some people will find it inadequate — will say that, if this is really God, then God is useless, because God can't do anything. To them, I guess I have two responses. 

First of all, whether or not we like something has no bearing on whether or not it is true. The God described in the Bible is quite powerful, indeed. But, that God doesn't actually exist. And, my wishing (or yours) that He did doesn't change that.

But, more importantly, this God can do something. Just in a different way than we're used to thinking:

What I may have lost from the illusory "comfort" of believing in a supernatural father figure who may or may not intervene on my behalf, I have more than made up for with a new realization: I can touch and experience a God that is the ground of my being (though I'll never fully understand or see God) at a much more intimate level, because God is the spark of light within me. 

I've managed, really without intending to, to write an entire (somewhat rambling) blog post about my theology without actually saying a whole lot (barely anything, really) about what I actually believe. That's okay — I'll be doing that soon enough (I promise). For now, maybe it's enough to keep talking about the fact that even if you don't believe in the God in which you thought you were supposed to believe, that's okay. I don't believe in that God, either.

How To Read Your Bible

It happens a lot, but it happens especially at times when we're debating some serious, divisive issue - an issue about which religion has something to say. So, to take the obvious example, it happens when we're discussing Same-Sex Marriage, as we are lately, with Prop 8 and DOMA going before the Supreme Court. 

It happens, unfortunately, very often in the comments section of some website*. Someone brings up how the Bible says something, usually in opposition to some liberal standpoint. You know the kind of thing I'm talking about - I say that I support Same-Sex Marriage, and then someone points out that, in case you haven't read it, Leviticus seems to oppose my position**.

* I say "unfortunately" because, in my opinion, there are few places better than the comments section of many websites to get really frustrated, and to wonder if we're making any progress as a society, or as a species. That isn't a statement so much about the content of many of these comments, but the tone and intelligence. But, that's another rant, I guess.

** I say "seems" because, if you actually study the Hebrew, Leviticus isn't quite as unambiguously anti-gay as it seems. But, that's another rant, I guess.

Now, the back-and-forth begins. Maybe I point out other areas of the Bible which we don't all follow. Maybe I point out the human origins of the Bible. Maybe I describe some overarching principle which I use to find my way through the Bible - maybe I even quote some great figure who said that "Love Your Neighbor as yourself" is the greatest principle of all.

Then it happens. 

Someone says, "You can't pick and choose. You can't treat the Bible like a Chinese menu, picking one law from column A, and two teachings from column B. It's all God's word, and it's sinful and idolatrous to think that you can use your own judgment over God's."

From there, it gets fairly predictable. Someone will (re-)state that overarching principle, claiming that that's God's will, or some higher truth (which, religiously speaking, are the same things). Someone will (again?) point out that we all pick and choose. And, we go 'round and 'round.

But, I feel like one part of this always gets missed. For lack of a better word, the philosophy which underlies the whole liberal approach to text and religion.

You say that it's wrong, sinfully wrong, to use my own judgment to decide between what's right and wrong in the Bible.

I ask you what better idea you've got?

I don't mean to imply that I'm better than God. That my judgment is perfect. That I am the ultimate, final arbiter of all that is Right or Wrong. That I trust myself to make these judgments, and to never make a mistake.

I just mean to state that I don't know a better alternative.

The Bible is not perfect. It isn't. Some people reading this will have a different opinion about that, and we probably can't have a meaningful, productive conversation, because our starting assumptions, our paradigms of belief, if you will, are fundamentally different. If you believe that the Torah, or your scripture, comes down, perfectly, directly from God, despite all of the countervailing evidence, then you're going to believe that, and my pointing out that the Torah claims that the rabbit chews its cud* probably won't convince you. 

* it doesn't. 

But, if like me, you come from a tradition which accepts, and even embraces, the human origins of our most sacred texts, then you are left with a pretty clear choice. You can either pretend that the Torah, and/or the rest of the Bible, is perfect, and try your best to follow it devotedly. 

Or, you can openly admit that it's not perfect, and try to find a different way to follow it.

This different way - and there are many - is going to be flawed. It's going to be ambiguous and vague. It's often going to be inconsistent and (horror of horrors!) even hypocritical. 

But, it's going to be honest.

Pretending that the Bible is perfect - is divine - even if we know it's not? That, my friends, is idolatrous.

Admitting that the Bible is often a source of great, holy inspiration, but is often also the source of misguided, and/or outdated views? That's troubling, and confusing, and fraught. But, it's true. It's honest. Personally speaking, I am (literally) religiously devoted to choosing honest complexity over simplistic consistency. 

Of course being the arbiter of what I do and don't believe, of which parts of the Bible I do and don't follow is tricky. Of course I'm going to contradict myself - I'm going to claim to believe something which seems to, or actually does, go against something I claimed to believe yesterday. Of course I'm going to apply my principles inconsistently - how else am I going to figure out how to apply them at all? I'm learning as I go. I'm thinking, and reading, and talking, and listening. I'm making judgments, and checking them against my other judgments, and against other people's ideas, and against the reality which is being created as I watch. I'm finding my way through a complex, ambiguous, ever-changing world. It seems only logical, only honest, that my way will also be complex, ambiguous and ever-changing.

If someone tells you they have simple answers to complex questions, be very, very suspicious.

Absolute certainty may seem strong and faithful and appealing.

But, I'll take ambiguous complexity. It may not be perfect. But, it's the closest thing we've got.

Can There Even Be A Perfect God?

I've talked before (heck, I talk a lot) about how I don't believe in the "traditional," Biblical image of God. Yoram Hozony, has written an article taking on that image of God in a different way.

First of all, what most people think of as the "Biblical God" isn't:

The second problem is that while this “theist” view of God is supposed to be a description of the God of the Bible, it’s hard to find any evidence that the prophets and scholars who wrote the Hebrew Bible (or “Old Testament”) thought of God in this way at all. The God of Hebrew Scripture is not depicted as immutable, but repeatedly changes his mind about things (for example, he regrets having made man). He is not all-knowing, since he’s repeatedly surprised by things (like the Israelites abandoning him for a statue of a cow). He is not perfectly powerful either, in that he famously cannot control Israel and get its people to do what he wants. And so on.

And, philosophically speaking, the very idea of a perfect God might be borderline nonsensical:

What would we say if some philosopher told us that a perfect bottle would be one that can contain a perfectly great amount of liquid, while being perfectly easy to pour from at the same time? Or that a perfect horse would bear an infinitely heavy rider, while at the same time being able to run with perfectly great speed? I should think we’d say he’s made a fundamental mistake here: You can’t perfect something by maximizing all its constituent principles simultaneously. All this will get you is contradictions and absurdities. This is not less true of God than it is of anything else.

The whole idea of there being some "being" who is "up there" hasn't really made sense to me for a long time. I agree with Hozony who seems to be saying that it's well past time for us to be thinking about God differently. As he says, would it be so bad to talk about a God who actually make sense?

Who Shall Live, and Who Shall Die?

The High Holy Days maybe over, but it's not too late to think a bit about one of the most powerful, and troubling, parts of the High Holy Day liturgy: The Book of Life. God deciding, during those 10 days, who shall live, and who shall die. It would be a gross understatement to say that these passages, which talk about a predetermined death, a God who is in direct control of everything, and a world in which everyone gets what they deserve, good and bad, are troubling.

They're troubling logically – they don't seem to reflect the reality that most of us see. And, they're troubling theologically – most of us have trouble accepting, or wanting to accept, the idea of a "puppetmaster" God*. Do we really believe in, and do we want to believe in, a God who could, for example, wipe out childhood cancer, but chooses not to because of some higher plan?

* I don't accept this idea of God. At all. If you want to know more about what I do believe, I gave a sermon about it on Kol Nidre.

So, no, it wouldn't be an exaggeration to talk about the Book of Life as, possibly, the single most troubling part of Jewish liturgy.

Over the years, there have been many, many attempts to reinterpret and/or reclaim this part of our service. And, one recent, powerful one was recently posted on Kveller.com:

After losing my brother, two breasts, and almost three years of my life to illness and hospitals, I was over these platitudes. I stood up to speak.

“This is all fine. I get it. But my problem is that I am mad at God.” I even talked about the Unetanah Tokef, which had been a grueling part of the High Holiday liturgy since Jeremy died. Who shall live and who shall die?

A surge went through the room. I had uttered the unspeakable. Afterwards people came up to thank me for my honesty. One was a hospice chaplain, himself a cancer survivor.

“Remember,” he said, “there is a such thing as holy anger. Think of the prophets. Anger can be a spiritual feeling.”

This is, to me, an incredibly important insight. It was first expressed to me in Rabbinical School by Rabbi Larry Hoffman. He taught us, many times, to not make the mistake of thinking that religion is entirely about feeling good. About being happy. Religion is about finding meaning in the world, and finding a system and a language for understanding our lives, and our world. Sometimes, sadness, anger or other "negative" emotions are called for. Are appropriate reactions to a situation. And, in those cases, religion should give us a way to express, and even sanctify, those emotions.

Anger can be holy. Sadness can be holy.

That doesn't mean that we embrace them, in the sense that we seek them out. Of course we prefer happiness to sadness. But, we also acknowledge that anger, sadness and so on are real, and we can't hide from them. That's called denial, and it's not healthy – mentally or spiritually.

But, the author then goes on to express another idea, one of which I think is the most profound in Judaism. You don't have to believe in a literal, specific Divine Plan in order to find meaning, or growth, in our suffering:

Fate is not a meritocracy, with good people reaping the best outcomes of health and wealth. We do have free will and are expected to use it. In Deuteronomy, we are famously told, “Justice, justice shall you pursue.”

Justice is something we must seek. And holy anger may be the fuel for doing so.

For whatever reason–randomness, divine will–cancer has entered my life. Out of this pain, I have inadvertently become an advocate for young adults with this disease and for educating patients and caregivers, particularly about the social and emotional aspects of treatment and survivorship. I don’t pretend to know if I am just making meaning out of suffering or fulfilling some important pre-ordained path. But I do know it brings me comfort.

As I learned from Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik in his book Fate And Destiny, there is an enormous difference between two similar approaches to tragedies:

1. God made this happen. It's part of a divine plan. There's a reason for it, and I must find that reason. Once I do, I'll be able to accept it, and even grow from it.
2. We'll never know why this happened. There may be no reason. But, it did happen. Now I have to ask myself, "what can I learn from this?"

Answer #1 sounds very wise and sophisticated. But, there are all sort of problems with it. There's a logical problem of an unprovable assertion, of course. But, there's a larger problem: if God really wanted this to happen, if God made this happen, but it wasn't bad. It was good. No matter what it was – childhood cancer, nuclear war, massive deaths through natural disaster – it's all good. It has to be, if God ordained it. In asserting this, what we're actually doing, Soloveitchik observed, is denying the reality of badness. Of evil. And that, he teaches, isn't sophisticated at all. Because it's not true.

Tragedies are not good, disguised as bad. Tragedies are bad. Cancer is bad. Tragic deaths are bad. Suffering is bad. We don't have to pretend otherwise.

Answer #2 doesn't pretend to know. It doesn't assign any motives to an unknowable God, because how could we? And, it doesn't pretend that things that we know to be awful, are actually good. It doesn't ask us to embrace, and pretend to enjoy, the suffering and death of loved ones. It allows us to hate those things, to rail against them. And then, it begs us to move forward. And to not get stuck in that hate, or that anger.

Some people ask, "why?" Some ask "what now?"

The world is unpredictable place. Awful, tragic, terrifying things happen to people, every day. We don't know why they happen, and we certainly don't know how to stop them from happening. But, if we can find the strength, we can learn what we have to do, once they do happen.

We will never explain or justify the terrible things in our world. But, through our faith, and strength, we might be able to redeem them.

The Torah is a myth

Our Torah is a myth.

The idea that an all-powerful God shaped our world in six days? A myth.

The idea that God led our people through a split sea? A myth.

The idea that God dictated the Torah, word for word, to Moses? A myth.

But, I believe in them all.

I recently came across a book review, entitled The Orthodox rabbi who considers Torah a ‘myth’. It's about the book Torah from Heaven: The Reconstruction of Faith, by Rabbi Norman Solomon. In it, Rabbi Solomon takes the (hardly new) position that the Torah could not possibly have been handed down directly by God to Moses. From the review:

It is no longer possible in the wake of academic research to believe that the text of the Torah is God’s precise word-for-word dictation, he argues. We cannot read as the ancients or medieval did. “The classical doctrine of Torah from Heaven, such as that of Maimonides, with its erroneous historical claims and occasionally questionable moral consequences, cannot be upheld by the serious historian, scientist or philosopher,” he writes.

People often refer to religion as "a myth," but they include the word "just." As in, "religion is just a myth." But, there is nothing "just" about a myth.  The World English Dictionary defines "myth" as:

1. a story about superhuman beings of an earlier age taken by preliterate society to be a true account, usually of how natural phenomena, social customs, etc, came into existence

1. a person or thing whose existence is fictional or unproven

1. (in modern literature) a theme or character type embodying an idea: Hemingway's myth of the male hero

1. philosophy  (esp in the writings of Plato) an allegory or parable

So, colloquially, we tend to use "myth" in the sense of definitions one and two – a false, probably primitive story. But, it's those other definitions which I'm thinking of, when I call our Torah "a myth." A myth, at its core, is a story (true or not, factually speaking) which embodies and transmits some higher value, and which stands near the core of some larger tradition. A myth is a story which we tell about ourselves, in order to tell something deeper about ourselves.

There is nothing "just" about a myth.

People who argue about the accuracy of the Bible (probably any Bible) are missing the point. I've often said that I firmly believe that if our Torah contains a single accurate fact, it's only by accident. The Torah (probably) doesn't contain any facts. The rest of the Bible contains many accurate facts, and almost certainly many which are inaccurate, as well. But, through and through, our Torah, and our Bible, contains Truth. Meaning. A way to understand our world.

God gave the Torah to Moses. That's a myth. And, like all myth, it's very, very True.

"Spiritual But Not Religious"

David Webster has a book out called Dispirited: How Contemporary Spirituality Makes Us Stupid, Selfish and Unhappy. I haven't read the book, yet, but I did read a short interview with him about it, and it definitely got me thinking.

There's always a lot of talk about the idea of being "spiritual but not religious." It certainly is a fairly common refrain, and it's no surprise that proponents (and leaders) of organized religion are often against it. I'll admit to having pretty mixed feelings on the matter*. On the one hand, I'm really not all that eager to attack people who are, more or less, minding their own business. It's one of the ways in which religious people like myself often allow themselves to engage in mean-spirited pettiness. Not very religious, or spiritual, frankly.

* If you read this blog at all regularly, this should come as no shock to you!

And, maybe more significantly, it's often not fair. At the very least, it's using the same broad brush that many of us religious types hate being used on us. I mean, when someone says, "religion is all superstitious nonsense," I usually protest about the word "all." It's manifestly true that some religion is superstitious nonsense. Maybe much of it. But, I say, there's no reason to judge my version of religiosity, which is firmly grounded in non-superstitious rationality, based on those. It's like judging all music by what you hear on the radio. You might be missing the best stuff (even if it's not the most popular)!

So, while there is a lot to dislike about some/much of the "Spiritual but not Religious" world, let's also remember that there may be much to appreciate, as well. That being said, Webster does raise some good points which are, at the very least, worth considering.

First, let's talk about "stupid." This one is a personal favorite of mine.

One of the hallmarks of much of this kind of Spirituality is a "whatever works for you is good" approach. There are some merits to that, but there are also some serious problems. One of them, maybe the biggest, is the question of truth (or, if you prefer, Truth):

Stupid—because its open-ended, inclusive and non-judgemental attitude to truth-claims actually becomes an obstacle to the combative, argumentative process whereby we discern sense from nonsense. To treat all claims as equivalent, as valid perspectives on an unsayable ultimate reality, is not to really take any of them seriously. It promotes a shallow, surface approach, whereby the work of discrimination, of testing claims against each other, and our experience in the light of method, is cast aside in favour of a lazy, bargain-basement-postmodernist relativism.

One of my professors in Rabbinical School, Rabbi Leonard Kravitz*, used to love to say that some things are nice, and some things are true. Some people are happy with nice. Some require true.

* Yes. I studied in Rabbinical School with Lenny Kravitz. It's cool to be a Rabbi.

I require true.

I acknowledge (and even embrace) that truth is often confusing, contradictory, fluid and ineffible. It's hard to achieve. But, that's different from saying that everything is true, or that all "truths" are equally valid. There are things that we wish were true - "nice" things, in Kravitz-speak. But, wishing doesn't make it so.

One of the great things about Religion, when done well, is that it acts as a way to check our experiences - to analyze them, and try to understand them. To start with the personal, but through study and other contemplation, try to understand it as part of something more universal, more Eternal. Of course Religion often falls short of this goal. But, it can often be a very effective way to get to it. And, for me, it's one of the most important parts of a Religious life. I want to experience and feel, for sure. But I always want to understand and, hopefully, ultimately, to know. And, I'm not sure that much of what gets labelled as Spiritual tries to get to that same place.

So, let's talk about "selfish." Because this one, too, I think is very important. Let me again qualify this - I am not claiming that all Spiritual but not Religious people, or all non-religious people, are selfish. I have, as I'm sure you do, countless counterexamples. But, there is a potentially selfish strain to Spiritual that's worth considering:

Selfish—because the ‘inner-turn’ drives us away from concerns with the material; so much so that being preoccupied with worldly matters is somehow portrayed as tawdry or shallow. It’s no accident that we see the wealthy and celebrities drawn to this very capitalist form of religion: most of the world realizes that material concerns do matter. I don’t believe that we find ourselves and meaning via an inner journey. I’m not even sure I know what it means. While of course there is course for introspection and self-examination, this, I argue, has to be in a context of concrete social realities.

Now, this is certainly a claim that can also be laid at the feet of some more traditional Religions, but I think that it's one of the greatest thing about Judaism. As much as Judaism may be concerned with our inner lives, it is also concerned, perhaps more so, with our world. It's not enough to love God; we must also love each other. And, more to the point, we must take care of each other.

True spirituality, however it is achieved, must result in a greater concern for the worldly needs of our fellow human (and, I suppose, the whole earth). In fact, I learned recently that that's one of the standard tests of many mystical traditions - if you don't come out your mystical, spiritual encounter as a kinder, more caring person, than you didn't have a true mystical experience.

It's all well and good to feel close to God. But, if you aren't going to take care of God's other creations, then I don't think God feels all that close to you. And, I'm not sure it was actually God to whom you feel close.

At the risk of being a broken record here, I know that everything I'm saying, or that Webster is saying, can be aimed at Religion, just as easily as it can at Spirituality. So, I guess, in the end, ultimately this is more about what makes for good Spirituality and Religion, as opposed to bad Spirituality and Religion. That's fine. But, I think that just brings us back to another angle on "truth." If you aren't willing to seriously examine your self, and your religious life, then how can you possibly know that you've arrived at anything true? And, if you haven't, then what, exactly, are you worshiping?

 

A moment of Mindfulness at camp

Earlier this year, I was doing a lot of thinking, and reading, and teaching, and writing about two topics which have become very dear to me - non-dual theology (the idea that God is not some thing out there, but rather the sum total of our cosmos) and mindfulness. These two things are very tightly interconnected, even if it's not obvious how that's true at first.

Anyway, life got crazy, and I've been able to do less reading, less teaching and a whole lot less writing (but, still a lot of thinking) about them the past few months. When it came time to pick some teaching topics for camp, I decided to try to teach about non-dual theology. Sure, it's a bit heavy for an hour at camp, but it's an elective, and there are always a few kids who get really into this stuff.

I had some time before my class, so I went down to the spot where I'd be teaching and started to flip through Art Green's Radical Judaism*. I was looking to get my mind in the right place, and re-energize some of those theological muscles.

* It's a book about Green's non-dual theology, and it's utterly fantastic. I highly recommend it. But, be forewarned - it's not an easy read!

Well, as always when I read Green, I came across a passage which I just loved - it said exactly what I've been trying to say about something, only so much better, and more succinctly, than I can*. Talking about the amazingly, breathtakingly complex series of interaction and interdependencies in nature, Green writes:

* For example - all of this blog post, up until now, has just been a way to get to: "hey - look at this awesome passage in his book!"

It is these very intricacies and complexities that have led the religious fundamentalists to hold fast to the claim that there must be a greater intelligence behind it all, that such complexity can only reflect the planning of a supernatural Mind. But they miss the point of the religious moment here. Our task as religious person is not to offer counterscientific explanations for the origin of life. Our task is to notice, to pay attention to the incredible wonder of it all, and to find God in that moment of paying attention.

When someone tells you that science is in opposition to religion, just remember that that's only true of some religion. For some, science only makes religion better.

Oh, and I only got 2 campers and a counselor signed up for my elective. But, man did we have a good talk!