It's that time again. Rosh Hashana has come and gone and soon it will be Yom Kippur. The High Holidays bring up all kinds of issues for Jewish Atheists. Do I go to work? Do I attend services? Which rituals do I observe and which do I skip?
These aren't significantly different, of course, from the questions any Reform Jew asks at this time of year: once you make religion a matter of choices, then everything requires thought. I suppose the new question is why?
But let's begin with the what. Here's what I did:
1) A pre-Rosh Hashana brunch at my parents' house. We ate apples and honey and a round raisin challah, and it was my job to explain to my brother's kids, who are growing up "culturally half-Jewish" what it was all about.
2) Dinner at home with the fam for Erev Rosh Hashana. Mr. Jewess made fish, which is a bit of a treat since I went vegetarian a year ago (I'm trying to eat fish now because I haven't been getting enough protein) and we talked about our personal goals for the new year and our hopes for the world in the new year.
4) A morning family service for 3rd through 6th graders at our congregation, at which I read the prayers before and after the Haftorah reading.
5) Picked up some food at Whole Foods which we brought home and ate for lunch. I was hoping for kugel and brisket (and something vegetarian for me) but wound up with latkes and wheat berry salad.
Here's what I didn't do:
1) A formal dinner of any kind.
2) Erev Rosh Hashana services
3) Tashlich
4) A second day of Rosh Hashana.
Why?
Starting from the bottom, I've never celebrated a second day of Rosh Hashana and I see no reason to start now. I think it's a sign of the loss of focus I'm seeing within the Reform Movement that many congregations (including ours) now celebrate a second day of Rosh Hashana. We dropped it for a reason. For many reasons, actually, all of which had to do with logic. Now we're bringing it back because people want it. Okay, that happened with Bar Mitzvah before I was born, and I guess I'm okay with that, but if we're going to do it, there should be some reason, logic and meaning behind it.
The same goes for Tashlich. I've actually tried that, but it makes no sense and doesn't really move me.
We didn't get invited to dinner anywhere because my parents wanted to include my brother and he could only come for lunch Sunday. That's cool, although it was a little strange not having plans on Erev Rosh Hashana. I think if that happens again I'll plan something myself. I didn't go to services because Mr. Jewess didn't want to and I didn't care enough to argue.
Basically, I tried to bring meaning to everything that I did. Lunch Sunday, to me, was about family. I played in the playground with The Little Jewess and my niece and nephew and joked with my brother and his wife while we ate, so that was good. Lunch Monday was more complicated. I didn't really believe it was Rosh Hashana because I hadn't had "Jewish" (Eastern European) food. There's definitely that cultural bit there. But that's never been the whole holiday to me.
I think this time of year is one of the most healthy things about the Jewish calendar. It's a really good thing to think about what you can do better, and how you can help make the world a better place. The service I went to also drew some attention (just a little) to how we can be better parents. But I sat in services and thought about the prayers and what that word "God" means to me. I still find the prayers valuable, but I'm not sure to do when the prayers are particularly God-focused. Some of the prayers are asking God to help us. That's cool with me because I can just scan past the God bit and think of it as a metaphor, and then concentrate on the bit I want help with, realizing that I need to help myself or ask for help from other people. But thanking God for making me a Jew is a bit harder to comprehend when you no longer believe in God. What's left to believe in in that sentence?
So that's what it comes down to: What's a holy day when you don't believe in holy?
Which I guess is the point of this whole blog, really. Thoughts?
Showing posts with label prayer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label prayer. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
Monday, July 23, 2012
More about post-its
I tried two meditations today. First, a walking meditation with the dog, focusing on the word "gratitude," then a more traditional meditation lying on the floor using the word "peace" every time I exhaled. I wouldn't call either a success, but I'll give myself some points for a good start.
The walking meditation might not work with the dog. I couldn't walk slowly, one step per breath, because the dog requires brisk walking. He also requires me to stop from time to time. However, while my brain was full of stray thoughts--mosquitos! No, dog, you can't go into the street. Ooh! I can blog about this later!--at least some of my thoughts were about gratitude. Maybe a couple more than I would normally think, so that's something. And I did notice that I was less annoyed by the lawn mower in the park than I usually am. Maybe that was because I was focusing on gratitude instead of how annoying everything is.
The second meditation worked better, and I only stopped (I made it 12 minutes!) because I was feeling a cramp coming on in my left shoulder, and I've had a headache in that shoulder for the past two days and I felt I shouldn't push it. (Yes, a headache in my shoulder. Either you understand that or you don't. Suffice it to say, it's unpleasant and not something one courts.) I didn't feel transcendent or anything, but I did reach a nice state of relaxation that remained even after I got up and started to peruse the internet, until the dog heard the garbage truck and started barking like only a terrier/hound mix can. In fact, I didn't realize how relaxed I was until I was so suddenly surprised out of that state.
I know my choice of "gratitude" for a focus word was brought on by The Little Jewess. She was angry this morning, and in a fit of typical suburban-kid rage, she screamed, "There's nothing good at my house anyway!" Now of course, being American, my child is practically drowning in stuff. And so while I was walking and trying to think about gratitude, I also started thinking about what kind of post-its I'd like to have in my life, and what would be good for my family. I thought I could make a list here and then I can start thinking about what the post-its would look like.
My biggest problem in life is Depression and Anxiety with a side order of OCD. I take meds, but some spiritual practice and regular exercise are known to help as well. So mainly, I'd like my post-its to be things that take me outside of myself while helping me care for my body.
The things I'd like to increase in my life are:
I think that's enough to be going on with. Now I need a new homework assignment: something that will help me to find out what other Humanists are doing to increase these things in their lives.
The walking meditation might not work with the dog. I couldn't walk slowly, one step per breath, because the dog requires brisk walking. He also requires me to stop from time to time. However, while my brain was full of stray thoughts--mosquitos! No, dog, you can't go into the street. Ooh! I can blog about this later!--at least some of my thoughts were about gratitude. Maybe a couple more than I would normally think, so that's something. And I did notice that I was less annoyed by the lawn mower in the park than I usually am. Maybe that was because I was focusing on gratitude instead of how annoying everything is.
The second meditation worked better, and I only stopped (I made it 12 minutes!) because I was feeling a cramp coming on in my left shoulder, and I've had a headache in that shoulder for the past two days and I felt I shouldn't push it. (Yes, a headache in my shoulder. Either you understand that or you don't. Suffice it to say, it's unpleasant and not something one courts.) I didn't feel transcendent or anything, but I did reach a nice state of relaxation that remained even after I got up and started to peruse the internet, until the dog heard the garbage truck and started barking like only a terrier/hound mix can. In fact, I didn't realize how relaxed I was until I was so suddenly surprised out of that state.
I know my choice of "gratitude" for a focus word was brought on by The Little Jewess. She was angry this morning, and in a fit of typical suburban-kid rage, she screamed, "There's nothing good at my house anyway!" Now of course, being American, my child is practically drowning in stuff. And so while I was walking and trying to think about gratitude, I also started thinking about what kind of post-its I'd like to have in my life, and what would be good for my family. I thought I could make a list here and then I can start thinking about what the post-its would look like.
My biggest problem in life is Depression and Anxiety with a side order of OCD. I take meds, but some spiritual practice and regular exercise are known to help as well. So mainly, I'd like my post-its to be things that take me outside of myself while helping me care for my body.
The things I'd like to increase in my life are:
- Peace
- Gratitude
- Love
- Relaxation
- Forgiveness
- Tolerance
- Trust
- Community
I think that's enough to be going on with. Now I need a new homework assignment: something that will help me to find out what other Humanists are doing to increase these things in their lives.
Saturday, July 21, 2012
Man Seeks God
I recommend Man Seeks God, by Eric Weiner. It's a really interesting memoir about a man who searches around the world for something he's missing. In the book, Weiner explores eight different religions (although mainly the mystical branches of these religions) in an effort to "find his God." In the end, he concludes that his premise was wrong, but he's much more comfortable with religion, specifically Judaism, than he was at the beginning.
He comes to Judaism (his family's faith) through Kabbalah, which he studies in Tsfat in Israel. I find Kabbalah fascinating because it is an individual approach to Judaism, but I can't subscribe to it myself because its focus is a direct connection to God. However, some of Weiner's conclusions about Judaism really resonated with me. For example, he points out that because Judaism is so old and has survived so much, it is flexible. That so much of Judaism involves questioning and challenging, not subscribing to a creed. I think this is why so many famous scientists have been Jewish.
He also points out that if people like him (and me) leave Judaism, then the only people left will be the ones who focus on doctrine to the exclusion of everything else. And he emphasizes again and again that "Truth is what works."
So even as I take the first step towards becoming a Humanist Celebrant, I am comfortable remaining a Jew, a Religious School Teacher, and an active member of a Reform Congregation.
So many things in religion are what Weiner describes as "post-it notes for the soul--" things that remind you to pay attention, to help others, to take care of yourself. These things are good even without God (and without a soul, even.) And recently, while listening to a podcast about money, it occurred to me that if money only works because we believe in it, maybe other things can be evaluated the same way. Sure, I understand that the paper in my wallet has no intrinsic value, but I believe in it because thousands of times in my life I have handed it to someone and gotten stuff in return.
Prayer works for me, too. I never believed in prayer really. I didn't think that if I prayed for something, God would do it. But prayer has always worked for me. I love the ritual and community experience of services. I like the way it feels in my body and the way it focuses my mind. I like learning something new as my focus changes because of the vocabulary I've been teaching at school or the experiences I've had that week. And silent prayer is a chance to list the things I want for myself--peace, generosity of spirit, the ability to forgive. I think that meditating on these things is a useful task, even though nobody else is listening. Focusing my attention on the ways I want to improve has to be a good use of time. So in that way, it works. So why not?
And there's something to be said for participating in rituals that have supported my ancestors for thousands of years. Sure, I understand them in a different way, but I understand freedom in a different way from the Founding Fathers, and I still consider myself an American. I am a Jew. I can't run away from that, whatever I do. Humanistic Judaism doesn't seem like the place for me, so like Weiner, I'm going to have to find my own path.
He comes to Judaism (his family's faith) through Kabbalah, which he studies in Tsfat in Israel. I find Kabbalah fascinating because it is an individual approach to Judaism, but I can't subscribe to it myself because its focus is a direct connection to God. However, some of Weiner's conclusions about Judaism really resonated with me. For example, he points out that because Judaism is so old and has survived so much, it is flexible. That so much of Judaism involves questioning and challenging, not subscribing to a creed. I think this is why so many famous scientists have been Jewish.
He also points out that if people like him (and me) leave Judaism, then the only people left will be the ones who focus on doctrine to the exclusion of everything else. And he emphasizes again and again that "Truth is what works."
So even as I take the first step towards becoming a Humanist Celebrant, I am comfortable remaining a Jew, a Religious School Teacher, and an active member of a Reform Congregation.
So many things in religion are what Weiner describes as "post-it notes for the soul--" things that remind you to pay attention, to help others, to take care of yourself. These things are good even without God (and without a soul, even.) And recently, while listening to a podcast about money, it occurred to me that if money only works because we believe in it, maybe other things can be evaluated the same way. Sure, I understand that the paper in my wallet has no intrinsic value, but I believe in it because thousands of times in my life I have handed it to someone and gotten stuff in return.
Prayer works for me, too. I never believed in prayer really. I didn't think that if I prayed for something, God would do it. But prayer has always worked for me. I love the ritual and community experience of services. I like the way it feels in my body and the way it focuses my mind. I like learning something new as my focus changes because of the vocabulary I've been teaching at school or the experiences I've had that week. And silent prayer is a chance to list the things I want for myself--peace, generosity of spirit, the ability to forgive. I think that meditating on these things is a useful task, even though nobody else is listening. Focusing my attention on the ways I want to improve has to be a good use of time. So in that way, it works. So why not?
And there's something to be said for participating in rituals that have supported my ancestors for thousands of years. Sure, I understand them in a different way, but I understand freedom in a different way from the Founding Fathers, and I still consider myself an American. I am a Jew. I can't run away from that, whatever I do. Humanistic Judaism doesn't seem like the place for me, so like Weiner, I'm going to have to find my own path.
Monday, July 16, 2012
Response to "An Atheists Prayer"
I just read this article on Parenting Beyond Belief--an excellent blog, which is linked at the right. This article is an excellent example of the kind of thing I want to talk about--atheists incorporating prayer into daily life.
Another thing that religion often does well is gratitude. It's one of the things I've always liked about going to services, especially when I can go to a weekday morning service (there isn't one available in my current congregation, so it's been a while for me.) I like the Jewish morning prayer because it's a list of things for which one is to be grateful. I dislike it for many reasons, but I'm not going to go into that now. It's good to be reminded, even in godly terms, that I am free, that my body works, that I'm glad I woke up this morning.
I like the ritual in Liz James's family of expressing gratitude before dinner. Taking time to be grateful for what we have can make us happier. Reminding our children of their privilege is a good thing, too. There are people in this world who don't have food or a table or a house to put it in, and before we get into the inevitable complaints of the day that come during dinner, it's a good idea to remember that we're better off than most people in the world.
And we don't need a supernatural eavesdropper to make it good.
Another thing that religion often does well is gratitude. It's one of the things I've always liked about going to services, especially when I can go to a weekday morning service (there isn't one available in my current congregation, so it's been a while for me.) I like the Jewish morning prayer because it's a list of things for which one is to be grateful. I dislike it for many reasons, but I'm not going to go into that now. It's good to be reminded, even in godly terms, that I am free, that my body works, that I'm glad I woke up this morning.
I like the ritual in Liz James's family of expressing gratitude before dinner. Taking time to be grateful for what we have can make us happier. Reminding our children of their privilege is a good thing, too. There are people in this world who don't have food or a table or a house to put it in, and before we get into the inevitable complaints of the day that come during dinner, it's a good idea to remember that we're better off than most people in the world.
And we don't need a supernatural eavesdropper to make it good.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
How to pray without God
I'm still attending services at the Reform congregation where I work. This is partly because The Little Jewess loves it, partly because it's good for my students to see me there, and partly because even without belief, I still enjoy the sense of community, and I think that it is good for me to sing in a group. Physically and emotionally, I enjoy the sensation of hearing the other voices, raising my own voice to join in, and feeling the vibration of the music in my body.
Then it was time for silent prayer. In the past, I have taken this part of the service very seriously. Although I always questioned the existence of God, I felt that it was an opportunity to focus on those things I wanted to improve in myself, and those things I wanted most for others. I tried to use the time to be really humble and thoughtful about what would make things better in my life, so I prayed for grace, for generosity of spirit, for the health of my friends and relatives, and for The Little Jewess to live a long and happy life and to always find peace inside herself. (This is not my normal personality, but I took silent prayer very seriously, especially after I became a parent. It was like I was modeling for The Little Jewess even inside my own head.)
For all those years, I prayed silently and seriously while never being convinced there was a God. I always said that it didn't matter. I loved the quote:
Pray as if everything depended on God,
Act as if everything depended on you.
Who rise from prayer better people,
Their prayer is answered.
(No, it's not an exact quote. I've gender-neutraled it. It's what I do.) I took that quote to mean that prayer is an opportunity to self-examine and then we must act to make the world a better place. And I felt that praying with sincerity, seriously, is a way to focus one's intentions, which is why I always took care to focus my attention on the person I wanted to be. I think there is value in stopping weekly and saying, "I wish I was more generous and forgiving." It's not that I ever expected God to make me more generous and forgiving, but that by reminding myself frequently that I have this desire, I would work harder at opening my heart to others.
But this time, when the Rabbi said it was time for a moment of silence (interestingly, she did not say it was time for silent prayer, although she sometimes does) I didn't do anything. I was, to be fair to myself, responsible at that moment for The Little Jewess and two of her friends, who had been suffering terribly from giggling fits throughout the service, and I was a bit concerned that they would have another giggling fit and disturb the people in front of us, whom I happened to know were in mourning. So it wouldn't have been my best prayer anyway. But I also felt ridiculous praying to a God who isn't there.
This is one of the weaknesses that Humanism needs to overcome. The kind of meditation that silent prayer has always provided me is an important task. I do think it is good for people to think about how they would like to become better and what they want for others and the world. I believe that there is power in positive thinking, in taking stock of oneself, and in choosing a direction for self-improvement. Also, moments of silence abound in our society. It seems there's always a moment of silence for dead soldiers, for those who have died from a disease, for 9/11 and so on. Humanists need something to do during that time--something that is as productive for us as prayer is for the believers.
But how to do it? What do we call it? How do we pray without God?
Then it was time for silent prayer. In the past, I have taken this part of the service very seriously. Although I always questioned the existence of God, I felt that it was an opportunity to focus on those things I wanted to improve in myself, and those things I wanted most for others. I tried to use the time to be really humble and thoughtful about what would make things better in my life, so I prayed for grace, for generosity of spirit, for the health of my friends and relatives, and for The Little Jewess to live a long and happy life and to always find peace inside herself. (This is not my normal personality, but I took silent prayer very seriously, especially after I became a parent. It was like I was modeling for The Little Jewess even inside my own head.)
For all those years, I prayed silently and seriously while never being convinced there was a God. I always said that it didn't matter. I loved the quote:
Pray as if everything depended on God,
Act as if everything depended on you.
Who rise from prayer better people,
Their prayer is answered.
(No, it's not an exact quote. I've gender-neutraled it. It's what I do.) I took that quote to mean that prayer is an opportunity to self-examine and then we must act to make the world a better place. And I felt that praying with sincerity, seriously, is a way to focus one's intentions, which is why I always took care to focus my attention on the person I wanted to be. I think there is value in stopping weekly and saying, "I wish I was more generous and forgiving." It's not that I ever expected God to make me more generous and forgiving, but that by reminding myself frequently that I have this desire, I would work harder at opening my heart to others.
But this time, when the Rabbi said it was time for a moment of silence (interestingly, she did not say it was time for silent prayer, although she sometimes does) I didn't do anything. I was, to be fair to myself, responsible at that moment for The Little Jewess and two of her friends, who had been suffering terribly from giggling fits throughout the service, and I was a bit concerned that they would have another giggling fit and disturb the people in front of us, whom I happened to know were in mourning. So it wouldn't have been my best prayer anyway. But I also felt ridiculous praying to a God who isn't there.
This is one of the weaknesses that Humanism needs to overcome. The kind of meditation that silent prayer has always provided me is an important task. I do think it is good for people to think about how they would like to become better and what they want for others and the world. I believe that there is power in positive thinking, in taking stock of oneself, and in choosing a direction for self-improvement. Also, moments of silence abound in our society. It seems there's always a moment of silence for dead soldiers, for those who have died from a disease, for 9/11 and so on. Humanists need something to do during that time--something that is as productive for us as prayer is for the believers.
But how to do it? What do we call it? How do we pray without God?
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