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 tradition. Show all posts
Showing posts with label tradition. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
Sunday, April 8, 2012
Humanist Passover
This is one of those times of year when my Humanism is tested. I am keeping my house kosher for Passover (as much as I ever did) and we attended two seders. It's Easter today, and my Christian friends are posting all manner of glory on Facebook. And The Little Jewess is eight years old and when she has her cranky moments (she's just been sick and we've had a busy weekend, so they have been more frequent than usual this week) she asks me, "WHY do we have to have a seder? WHY can't I eat bread?"
So...why?
I'm really glad I had those discussions with David.
Because I think it comes down to the story. The story of Passover tells us a lot about Jewish values, and it tells us a lot about who we are as a culture.
WHY do I have to say the Four Questions?!
I think it's essential that it says in the Torah that we should tell the story when our children ask us why we celebrate the holiday. We are a culture that values the curiosity and education of children. And this is a big part of why we have flourished when some other minorities have not. Because whatever happens that uproots one generation, we make sure the next generation has the tools to succeed. In the darkest points of history, when knowledge was despised by many, Jewish children learned to read, and to count, and to think. And we're still here.
The seder is another matter. We went to the second seder because we love that part of my family. My cousin invites us every year and we have a great time. It's also not a majorly religious event--my cousin's seder takes about 20 minutes, tops, and then it's just an enjoyable afternoon (yes, afternoon--I said it wasn't majorly religious) with lovely people and good food.
The first seder we hosted. I can't let a first night go by without a seder--I'm not sure why that is. But I have been working for several years on writing my own service, and it gets more Humanist every year. This year I took out the translations of the blessings and replaced them with Humanist blessings. I'm not sure I can take out the religious parts of the Hebrew, though, because parts of my family would object. We also read the entire Passover story from Exodus, which leads to much interesting discussion. I much prefer reading the story from Exodus to the commentary which is more traditional. So many people don't know the details of the story, and we forget them from year to year. But it's our story, and we should know it well.
But why not eat bread? I certainly don't believe that we'd be cast out of the community of Israel if we eat wheat during Passover. (This blog seems like a more serious crime if we're going to be cast out.) But I sort of like the rhythm of it. That first piece of pizza I eat at the end of Passover is the second best food I eat all year (after the first bite of bagel at the end of Yom Kippur.)
Here I go again, petering out at the end of a post. The fact is, I don't know why it matters to me that I don't eat bread on Passover, but it does. Does everything I do have to make sense?
A previous post on Passover is here.
So...why?
I'm really glad I had those discussions with David.
Because I think it comes down to the story. The story of Passover tells us a lot about Jewish values, and it tells us a lot about who we are as a culture.
WHY do I have to say the Four Questions?!
I think it's essential that it says in the Torah that we should tell the story when our children ask us why we celebrate the holiday. We are a culture that values the curiosity and education of children. And this is a big part of why we have flourished when some other minorities have not. Because whatever happens that uproots one generation, we make sure the next generation has the tools to succeed. In the darkest points of history, when knowledge was despised by many, Jewish children learned to read, and to count, and to think. And we're still here.
The seder is another matter. We went to the second seder because we love that part of my family. My cousin invites us every year and we have a great time. It's also not a majorly religious event--my cousin's seder takes about 20 minutes, tops, and then it's just an enjoyable afternoon (yes, afternoon--I said it wasn't majorly religious) with lovely people and good food.
The first seder we hosted. I can't let a first night go by without a seder--I'm not sure why that is. But I have been working for several years on writing my own service, and it gets more Humanist every year. This year I took out the translations of the blessings and replaced them with Humanist blessings. I'm not sure I can take out the religious parts of the Hebrew, though, because parts of my family would object. We also read the entire Passover story from Exodus, which leads to much interesting discussion. I much prefer reading the story from Exodus to the commentary which is more traditional. So many people don't know the details of the story, and we forget them from year to year. But it's our story, and we should know it well.
But why not eat bread? I certainly don't believe that we'd be cast out of the community of Israel if we eat wheat during Passover. (This blog seems like a more serious crime if we're going to be cast out.) But I sort of like the rhythm of it. That first piece of pizza I eat at the end of Passover is the second best food I eat all year (after the first bite of bagel at the end of Yom Kippur.)
Here I go again, petering out at the end of a post. The fact is, I don't know why it matters to me that I don't eat bread on Passover, but it does. Does everything I do have to make sense?
A previous post on Passover is here.
Monday, February 20, 2012
What I want to do
A few things have got me thinking about what I want. First, it was listening to the Greg Epstein interview I linked to in my last post. Then I had a really interesting conversation with a co-worker who is studying Hebrew but knows very little about Judaism. And this morning I read Ethan's comments on my response to him.
If you don't know anything about Greg Epstein, you can listen to the interview I linked to, check out the Humanist Community Project (link in the list at right), or read his book, Good Without God. I love the work that he is doing. Now, although Epstein is ordained as a Humanist Rabbi, he seems to be identifying mostly as a Humanist, and less so as a Jew. I think this is partly his own inclination and partly because his role at Harvard is as the Humanist Chaplain, so he needs to address all of his constituents, not only those of Jewish origin or inclination. Although he does talk about making a Humanist Seder for Passover in his book, I think most of his public work at Harvard is more generally Humanist.
In the interview, he talks about his role at Harvard and in the larger Cambridge community. He is helping people to form communities in different ways, and through his website, studying Humanist communities around the world to find out what works so that others may emulate best practices.
I don't think I can get away from my Jewish origins. As I have said previously, I love many things about Judaism, and what has stopped me in the past from exploring Unitarianism or even Ethical Culture is that I don't think I can quite cope, psychologically, with a Sunday service. Services on Sundays feels Christian to me in a way that I don't seem to be able to get past, even for Ethical Culture.
But I love the idea of helping people to satisfy their needs for ritual and community in ways that feel right to them. I would love to spend my life helping people to write life cycle ceremonies that meet their individual needs (I loved writing my own wedding ceremony, which is something I should blog about at another time.) And I would also love to help people form communities that meet their spiritual needs. So I'm hoping that Epstein's project spreads far and wide so that someday, when the Little Jewess isn't financially dependent on us anymore, I can spend my time doing those things.
Then there's my co-worker, David. David is currently studying Philosophy at the University where we work, and decided to take Hebrew to satisfy his language requirement because he felt that as a Christian, he should be able to read the Bible in its original languages. (Then he started studying Hebrew and gave up on ever learning Greek and Aramaic, but I still admire the original goal.) We started talking about Philosophy and his goal, which is to find ways through Philosophy to help African Americans change the way they think about themselves so that they can break the cycle of poverty. And he felt that as a Jew, I'd be able to understand something about cultural trauma. David thinks, though that one advantage Jews have is our long history. We always have that story and tradition to keep us going, whereas African Americans lost their history because of slavery.
So I told him about the Jewish idea that we must teach our children four things: to cook, to read, to swim and to earn a living (by giving them an education or a trade.) In my opinion, it is this that has saved the Jews time and again, because although we have suffered many traumas that have forced us to emigrate, those traumas oppress only one generation. That generation may lose their financial footing, but they will make sure that their children are educated and have financial opportunities.
And David asked me a very interesting question. Because of our long history, are there tensions between Jews who want to keep the old ways and those who want to move with the times?
Oh, David.
But thanks to those who have commented here, I may have given a different answer than I otherwise would have.
I said, "Yes and no."
And I explained to him that while we have very strong disagreements sometimes, there is a concept that keeps us all together and makes us accountable to one another.
Which brings me to Ethan. I think, Ethan, that I may have overstated my case. I do not think we can force anyone out of Judaism. And I think there are many who observe the basic tenets of the faith but who think reasonably about what they do. It's one of the things I love about Judaism--that we can study and discuss and draw our own conclusions. And that's one thing that bothers me about the fundamentalists. Why freeze Judaism at one point in time? They dress like it's the 19th century and act like it's the 19th century and say "This is Judaism and it must never change again!" It's foolish.
I'm looking for a community that does take learning seriously, but doesn't impose obligations on its members. At least, not unreasonable obligations. There is a point, I suppose, where one can do so little as to not really be a member. A club I just joined requires attendance at 4 meetings per year and a certain amount of participation in order to maintain benefits. That makes sense, because if one does less than that, one isn't really participating in the club, and so it's fair to say that person isn't really a member. A congregation could require something similar.
But I understand the Reform Movement's hesitation to place such requirements on its members. Because if you only need the community when your mother dies, can we turn you away? If you want to enroll your children in Religious School, can we turn you away? If we say that those who only show up on High Holy Days shouldn't come at all, what are we then?
I seem to have turned a corner to another train of thought (to mix my metaphors.) I think that will require another post.
If you don't know anything about Greg Epstein, you can listen to the interview I linked to, check out the Humanist Community Project (link in the list at right), or read his book, Good Without God. I love the work that he is doing. Now, although Epstein is ordained as a Humanist Rabbi, he seems to be identifying mostly as a Humanist, and less so as a Jew. I think this is partly his own inclination and partly because his role at Harvard is as the Humanist Chaplain, so he needs to address all of his constituents, not only those of Jewish origin or inclination. Although he does talk about making a Humanist Seder for Passover in his book, I think most of his public work at Harvard is more generally Humanist.
In the interview, he talks about his role at Harvard and in the larger Cambridge community. He is helping people to form communities in different ways, and through his website, studying Humanist communities around the world to find out what works so that others may emulate best practices.
I don't think I can get away from my Jewish origins. As I have said previously, I love many things about Judaism, and what has stopped me in the past from exploring Unitarianism or even Ethical Culture is that I don't think I can quite cope, psychologically, with a Sunday service. Services on Sundays feels Christian to me in a way that I don't seem to be able to get past, even for Ethical Culture.
But I love the idea of helping people to satisfy their needs for ritual and community in ways that feel right to them. I would love to spend my life helping people to write life cycle ceremonies that meet their individual needs (I loved writing my own wedding ceremony, which is something I should blog about at another time.) And I would also love to help people form communities that meet their spiritual needs. So I'm hoping that Epstein's project spreads far and wide so that someday, when the Little Jewess isn't financially dependent on us anymore, I can spend my time doing those things.
Then there's my co-worker, David. David is currently studying Philosophy at the University where we work, and decided to take Hebrew to satisfy his language requirement because he felt that as a Christian, he should be able to read the Bible in its original languages. (Then he started studying Hebrew and gave up on ever learning Greek and Aramaic, but I still admire the original goal.) We started talking about Philosophy and his goal, which is to find ways through Philosophy to help African Americans change the way they think about themselves so that they can break the cycle of poverty. And he felt that as a Jew, I'd be able to understand something about cultural trauma. David thinks, though that one advantage Jews have is our long history. We always have that story and tradition to keep us going, whereas African Americans lost their history because of slavery.
So I told him about the Jewish idea that we must teach our children four things: to cook, to read, to swim and to earn a living (by giving them an education or a trade.) In my opinion, it is this that has saved the Jews time and again, because although we have suffered many traumas that have forced us to emigrate, those traumas oppress only one generation. That generation may lose their financial footing, but they will make sure that their children are educated and have financial opportunities.
And David asked me a very interesting question. Because of our long history, are there tensions between Jews who want to keep the old ways and those who want to move with the times?
Oh, David.
But thanks to those who have commented here, I may have given a different answer than I otherwise would have.
I said, "Yes and no."
And I explained to him that while we have very strong disagreements sometimes, there is a concept that keeps us all together and makes us accountable to one another.
Which brings me to Ethan. I think, Ethan, that I may have overstated my case. I do not think we can force anyone out of Judaism. And I think there are many who observe the basic tenets of the faith but who think reasonably about what they do. It's one of the things I love about Judaism--that we can study and discuss and draw our own conclusions. And that's one thing that bothers me about the fundamentalists. Why freeze Judaism at one point in time? They dress like it's the 19th century and act like it's the 19th century and say "This is Judaism and it must never change again!" It's foolish.
I'm looking for a community that does take learning seriously, but doesn't impose obligations on its members. At least, not unreasonable obligations. There is a point, I suppose, where one can do so little as to not really be a member. A club I just joined requires attendance at 4 meetings per year and a certain amount of participation in order to maintain benefits. That makes sense, because if one does less than that, one isn't really participating in the club, and so it's fair to say that person isn't really a member. A congregation could require something similar.
But I understand the Reform Movement's hesitation to place such requirements on its members. Because if you only need the community when your mother dies, can we turn you away? If you want to enroll your children in Religious School, can we turn you away? If we say that those who only show up on High Holy Days shouldn't come at all, what are we then?
I seem to have turned a corner to another train of thought (to mix my metaphors.) I think that will require another post.
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