chai seeker

Many religious rituals are very literalistic.  During Passover, we cannot eat leavened bread because the Israelites feeling Egypt had no time to let their bread rise.  Other foods associated with the processing of wheat are also commonly avoided; Ashkenazis avoid most grains, beans, corn, and soy.  What does this literal interpretation afford?  Certainly a study of history.  To understand why one may eat quinoa but not barley during Passover, one must consult the Torah and midrash for the original commandment and interpretations, and learn that quinoa was a new world grain that would never have come into contact with the grain-processing machinery of the Israelites.  But does it impart a better understanding of the urgency with which the Jews fled Egypt?
If I were a rabbi designing a ritual commemoration of Passover I think I might declare that no food may be eaten that takes more than 5 minutes to prepare- and that includes processed foods!  In other words, a PBJ might make the cut, but a cooked pizza, soup, or snickers bar from the vending machine would not.  Food would have to be fast and simple- no time to prepare!  Of course, I do see the point of eating matzah, as this is our approximation of the food the feeling Jews did eat.  On the other hand, perhaps a modern day Exodus would in fact involve a lot of vending machine food and fast-food drive-throughs- we’ve got 30 minutes to leave the city; quick, pull in to McDonald’s!  Of course, this plan does not conceal the identity of the absconding group- so maybe leftovers would be more appropriate.  We’re leaving under the cover of night- dump everything in the fridge into a plastic bag!
I know that refugees do not typically enjoy hot meals of meats, cheeses, and vegetables, so I do find it interesting how well most modern Jews eat during Passover.  I guess in that sense the rabbis chose symbolism over simulation- after all, parsley reminds me of spring about as much as chopped apples and nuts resemble bricks and mortar.
I’m not really sure what conclusion I’ve reached here, if any, except that rituals this old often strike an interesting balance of the literal and the symbolic, and certainly demonstrate how much life changes over the ages and how much stays the same.  Our lives may be filled with luxury during Passover, but the absence of bread is still felt acutely by many who observe Passover.

I have not been very observant of Passover this year.  Rachel and I did hold a seder for my family, and that was a great experience.  We think kale chips will follow parsley in years to come!  Rachel’s powerpoint seder, projected onto our flatscreen TV, was also a success.  I did not follow the food restrictions most of the week because of eating out constantly with my family, but I did follow them this weekend, minus the one frozen girl scout cookie.  Matzah ball soup, matzah pizza, smoothies, and charoset galore.  Tonight I made a beautiful Passover-friendly dinner and then ruined it suddenly and thoroughly by mindlessly pouring nutritional yeast all over my food… how more directly could I possibly violate the no-yeast rule??  I plan to try a little harder tomorrow and Tuesday, and hopefully feel a little more deserving of the feast of chametz that awaits Tuesday night!

I have a lot of drafts of posts started and need to catch up, so I’m posted this short one, even though I’d like to think about it more.  My approach to religion usually branches into two categories: my own personal experience and reactions, and my thoughts about religion as a psychological phenomenon: its origins, its utility, its epistemology.  I have been thinking about psychological accounts of religion recently because the topic has come up at conferences and in my classes.

A week ago I was at the Society for Personality and Social Psychology conference in Las Vegas and attended several talks about religion and violence.  Religion is often thought of as a terror management strategy: that is, life is full of unpredictable terrors, and religion is our psychological invention to handle these terrors, classify them, and understand them in terms that give meaning and allow us to feel that we can ward them off.  In Judaism, I think this is reflected in prayer and ritual as forms of control, attributing military victories to G-d (particularly in early Judaism), and attaching (particular) spiritual purpose to the lives of Jewish people.  Terror management theory predicts that religion will assuage the anxiety and sometimes terror that life brings in so many forms, and there are data to support this.  Does this theory capture the purpose of religion, however, or just one effect of it?  Is religion simply a way to circumvent, explain away, or numb pain and terror?  I don’t believe so.  If religion, in this case Judaism, does these things, I believe it is through confrontation, not avoidance.  Judaism confronts the pain in life and wisely asks us to share it with others- to say kaddish together, to pray together, to work for a better world together.  I think modern Judaism rightly assigns moral value to our actions, asks us to take responsibility for our actions, and teaches us lessons about the consequences of our actions.  Judaism also tells us to bless what is good in our lives, and separate what is good from what is bad.  If these actions help us deal with the terror of living in this world, then Judaism has served one purpose- but I think this one purpose alone would never suffice to give us the richness of Judaism- the community, the celebration, the evolution of moral law, and so on.  Terror management may be one consequence of living Jewishly, but I don’t think it is the most important one.

Other research focused on the connection between religion and violence.  Across all religions studied, attendance at religious services- but NOT prayer- increased participants’ endorsement of violent solutions to conflicts.  This effect appeared to be caused by the in-group phenomenon- prioritizing your (religious) group at the expense of other groups or individuals.  Is this a good or bad effect of religion?  Are we fighting to preserve our people, our way of life, or both?  Is this more than tribalism?

Another psychological theory of religion is the idea that the rituals and beliefs involved in a religion are unusual or extraordinary precisely so that an tight-knit in-group can be formed.  A person is unlikely to go through all the measures of action and belief required by most religions unless truly committed to the religion, so adherence to practices that take up our valuable time and energy or require leaps of faith signify true commitment to the group.  Mimicry, a common element of ritual, is in fact shown to increase liking between two persons, so ritual may seal this bond between members of the group, ensuring their liking and loyalty, and the security of the group.

I discussed these ideas with several other students in my department (secular Jews, coincidentally) and we agreed again that these phenomena may very well apply to religion, but certainly they are more general phenomena that apply to all sorts of human groups- clubs, societies, sports teams, military, and so on.  Religious behavior is still human behavior, but again, these findings do not “explain away” religion- they explain elements of it.
Finally, a more positive line of thinking- I often think about the value of specific religious rituals and and the public valuation of these practices.  I could tell my boss that I believe people need to rest, appreciate beauty, and meditate on the purpose of life weekly, but I am much more likely to be excused early from work if I say that I observe Shabbat.  I do not know whether these practices are more than the sum of their parts, but I do think that Judaism (and perhaps religion in general) elevates/ validates/ structures many of the things that I most deeply value.  In the modern world our time is capitalized by many superficial demands and pressure to earn money, promote ideas and products, conform to trends, etc.  The things we truly value- family, life cycle, the environment, prayer, etc- are relegated to “personal” time, something we seem to have less and less of.  I believe these things are of great spiritual value, and if I cannot succeed in paying them proper attention in my personal life, then maybe religion provides the systematic validation and community support for valuing the things we ought to value.  In this way Judaism is indeed an opportunity, an asset, and a source of learning, leading us to further explore and honor those things we rightly value, and draw back from those we do not.

Blogging on Shabbat- tisk tisk.  Actually, this has been my most observant Shabbat in a long time: I attended services last night and this morning, as well as Torah study earlier this morning.  I topped that of with lox and cream cheese and an attempted nap!  (I’m a terrible napper, but rest is refreshing).  I am in San Diego this weekend and Rachel is in LA, in the middle of a hellish sleepless finals week .  We are so looking forward to our time together over the upcoming holidays!  I enjoyed both Shabbat services.  The Friday night service is my favorite- something about the arrival of Shabbat, the darkness, lighting the candles, and the words and tunes that are familiar to me now and bring back memories of sharing them at other gatherings with friends and loved ones.  Saturday service is longer and less familiar, but I enjoy it more each time as I become more familiar with the order and the meaning.  I also love when the original Hebrew is read slowly enough that I can follow it along instead of relying on the transliteration.  Recognizing a few familiar faces at each service makes me feel less like a complete outsider.  I talked a bit with another former student of Basic Judaism, and about comparing Judaism and UU.  What stood out for me today- and in our conversation- is the bond that Judaism creates throughout time, between generations.  The passing on of specific rituals and wisdom from one generation to the next, and how much that means to Jews.  This is not entirely absent from UU, but such a strong family history or sense of culture is not really found in UU.  Customs and beliefs are very individual in UU and often change as people grow and explore new philosophies and interests.  A connection to the past- a community passed on generation to generation- is something I would like to have for my family that is perhaps at its strongest in Judaism.

The Torah portion this morning was the rape of Dinah, and we learned about the various possible interpretations of this story- whether she was viewed as partially responsible in any way, what was meant by the murder of the family of Hamor, and so on.  We read the laws of rape- including the guilt of the victim who does not cry for help and the law that the rapist of a virgin marry her.  We discussed the obvious misogyny and the likely attempt to provide security for the woman through marriage who would not be a desirable wife to any other.  The question in my mind remained the punishment of the man- what should deter him from raping any young virgin he wished to have if marriage was the only “punishment?”  And if a woman was so easily  ”bought” into marriage, what was the motivation for rape other than utter vileness and lack of self-control?  Judaism seems often to propose solutions that bring resolution and peace to a situation without focusing on the individual and emotional justice.  Of course, our concept of justice has evolved enormously since the time of the Torah, and according to Judaism, that is the point.  Torah is the starting point, and our interpretation reflects out growing body of experience and wisdom.  I still wonder, though: we can look back at these stories and marvel at the overall progress of humanity- but do these texts still serve to point us forward?  They seem on the surface to pull us several steps backward, while yet urging us to step forward.  At the very least these stories do prompt discussion about laws and moral boundaries- what is rape?  What should the punishment be, and how should the victim be treated?  These are important discussion to have, and the stories can remind us what human nature is and what consequences our actions can have when we do not carefully examine them.

All this learning about Torah and rabbinic interpretation, though, leaves me wondering about the religious status of modern thinking and writing.  If our most learned and forward-thinking religious leaders got together to assemble a religious text of our times, what would the readings be?  What political, social, moral struggles would encompass our current religious struggle?  Why do we focus on interpretation of the ancient rather than formulation of the modern?  Is God not with us as much today as in centuries past?  Jews have a religious allegiance to the Torah as it is the only text to my knowledge believed to originate from God.  This creates a permanent anchor for all Jewish discourse that follows.  How it affects religious development to have a single text is beyond my knowledge.  At least it creates the sense that a truth exists- that there are moral prescriptions we must analyze and perfect.  If we had no knowledge at all of their form, we might be lost in even beginning to agree on anything.  I guess that’s the importance of Torah- a place to start that sends us on a quest.  It reminds me of sayings to the effect that teaching a man to fish is priceless compared to feeding him a fish.  We are given some very rudimentary tools- and told to go and fish.  Those tools, however, remind us that there are fish- spiritual truth, or righteousness- and that it is our job to find them.

Shabbat Shalom.

Back from Thanksgiving in Seattle.  Blog: fail! -but I like to amuse myself here and there.  I am well into my Basic Judaism class now and enjoying it.  Unfortunately a lot of the content so far has been familiar.  Also quite unfortunate is my lack of participation at the synagogue beyond the class: grad school and a fiancee in LA stretch my time- especially weekend time- quite thin.  I really regret not being able to invest more in my Jewish learning.  But as the Talmud, I think, says, one should not put off Torah study for lack of time, for one may never have that desired time.  So true!

So far in class we have covered the High Holy Days, ethics, Jewish education, Shabbat, and Hannukah.  Here are a few interesting things I have learned or noted:

-from a Reform perspective, indifference is the greatest sin.  I would have said the Jewish perspective would have pinpointed inaction, but I think here indifference is meant as an umbrella for not caring and not acting.  Thankfully, this is one sin I steer pretty clear of.  If I am not caring or acting, I am worrying about my inaction or indifference and its effect on the world, and if that isn’t an act of caring, I don’t know what is.  My connection to the world around me has always been strikingly apparent to me- so apparent that I am often panicked by the repercussions of my actions and inactions.  This awareness does not always lead to action, but often it does.  It was also noted in class than even futile-feeling actions are meaningful and worthwhile because they are done in partnership with God.  This is a powerful idea and certainly I have felt the sense of righteousness and spiritual community that accompanies good action even when it fails on the surface of things.

-according to the Talmud, the first question you are asked when you get to heaven is whether you conducted your business affairs honestly- interpreted in our class to refer to how we treat strangers.  Caring about people we do not know can be difficult and certainly it is much easier to ignore the needs of people we do not know than those that we do.  I always notice when strangers address me in a way that makes me feel that they recognize and respect my uniqueness and the full person that I am.  It is hard to put into words, but there is a certain way we often treat people- as a means to an end, plus a dash of politeness and respect- that passes as “friendly” but misses the mark of seeing that person’s soul.  It is the difference between seeing someone as the sum of their actions and seeing them as a yet unrevealed spiritual partner.  There are people- often rabbis, ministers, psychologists, and the like- who regularly seem to try their best to treat each and every stranger as a human being as complex and worthy and any they know intimately.  UU World this winter quoted Rev Kemler: “At a ministers’ retreat someone read a passage about why ministers make people feel uncomfortable.  Is it because we dress in earth-colored clothes, and when we shake hands with people, we hodl their hands a second too long and gaze into their faces and say earnestly, ‘How ARE you?’  All the ministers in the room howled with laughter at the accuracy of this picture.”  Yes, this treatment can become routine and cliche, but there’s something real and important about it as well.  When we treat strangers as spiritual brothers and sisters, we can no longer make decisions that harm or ignore their well-being.

-our discussion of Shabbat touched on the essence of Shabbat as a taste of the world to come- a world perfected and whole.  This reminded me of the much more somber simulation of the world to come- Yom Kippur- when bodily needs are set aside and souls are examined.  Shabbat of course is supposed to be more celebratory in nature- enjoying the world that already is and experiencing its holiness, not trying to alter anything in the world.  This elevation of purpose gives us a better perspective on what already is wonderful in the world, and how our busy pursuits occlude our appreciation of what is holy in the world.  I think of this separation a bit like taking time on a long walk to turn around and appreciate the long distance we have travelled, the path that has afforded us our travel, the world that allows us to have this experience.  We are released from our immediate goals to have a broader perspective on our world.  Stepping aside from our normal routine- or simulating our next role in life- can have an enormous impact on our perspective.  I remember graduating from high school and lining up for Escapade, our all-night school-sponsored graduation party.  The day of graduation spawned an enormous upheaval in the social order of our student body.  A cheerleader who had never talked to me came up and congratulated me on my academic achievement and admitted that she admired my pursuit of academics.  I spoke to a grade school friend who had sat in drab goth garb in the hallway for four years, ignored by almost everyone.  We expressed surprise and regret that we had not connected earlier.  All over it seemed that suddenly hierarchies were vanishing, and people were beginning to see each other differently.  We were exiting the high school order and entering the “real world,” and our disguises melted away.  Senior week at Wellesley- a week of celebration before graduation- took on a similar feel.  So it seems that there are pivotal moments of change in life when one way of being suddenly ends and a new level of understanding and insight is reached.  Shabbat, as I see it, is somewhat of an exercise in these moments- stepping aside from the roles and duties we have during the week and experiencing the elevation of our souls in their absence, the perspective we gain from stopping and looking around and laughing at our narrow worldly perspective.

To end, a picture from Disneyland- we went on Wednesday to celebrate Rachel’s birthday.  Here we are driving through Autopia- not our favorite ride, but a pace friendly for photography:

And in front of Tomorrowland:

Trying to keep even here… this will be short today, but I hope to post more over the weekend.  I am ENGAGED now!  And so the question of conversion becomes as timely as ever.  I am also registered for the Basic Judaism course at my local reform synagogue.  Finally, we may visit Israel next summer as our Israeli friends will be getting married!  So many changes nudging me towards Judaism, at least on the surface.  My spiritual progress this summer has not been amazing.  I have not been a good Jew-in-training.  Rachel and I did attend Rosh Hashana services on campus last Friday, and a Tashlich service at La Jolla Shores beach on Saturday.  The beach was littered with soggy bread!  I liked casting off my sins- and after all my worry about what sins I had to cast off, there turned out to be a perfect list in the service.

-to be finished later-

Recently a friend commented on the emphasis of action in Judaism, and a Rabbi challenged me about whether I actually did think that Jews were more active in doing good in the world than other religions.  I realized that I didn’t clarify what I meant by “actions” in my last post.  Judaism is definitely about action much more than faith.  However, by “action” I largely mean “doing Jewish things.”  Most of the actions involved in Judaism are rituals or traditions- lighting candles on Shabbat, going to services, separating meat from dairy, celebrating Jewish holidays, reciting prayers in certain orders, etc.  So the “action” is a lot of “doing” but not directly helping others.  All of these commanded actions are supposed to bring holiness into the life of a Jewish person.  Now, Jews are also commanded to love and help strangers and to give tzedakah (charity).  Borrowing from wikipedia: “Shimon Hatzaddik taught: “On three things the world stands: On Torah, on prayer, and on acts of kindness” (Pirkei Avoth 1:2). Rabban Shimon ben Gamliel taught: “The world continues to exist because of three things: justice, truth, and peace” (ibid. 1:18).”  So Judaism definitely emphasizes being an agent of justice, peace, and love.  However, both historically and in the modern world, a great deal of what defines a Jew is whether that person does Jewish things- circumcision and wearing kippahs (the head cover) for men, separating meat and dairy, buying kosher food, keeping Saturday Shabbat, having bar/bat mitzvahs, attending services, taking kiddush (prayer over wine), and so on.  If you are a religious Jew you strive to uphold the many commandments in the Torah which regulate everything from what to eat, to how to conduct business and warfare.  Of course, liberal branches of Judaism do not believe that all of these commandments apply literally in the modern world, but that they are historical guidelines for living ethically.  I just looked up the 613 mitzvot (laws) on- yep- wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/613_mitzvot.  Lo and behold, the first is actually a commandment to faith: to know there is a God.  Still, most of the laws regulate practical matters.  Some are psychological- do not opress the weak or bear a grudge.  Many concern idolaters and forbid any respect for idolatry.  Superstition and astrology are forbidden.  I consulted my astrological fortune yesterday at the coffee cart, where I learned that I should surround myself with intelligent people who appreciate my quirkiness.  Seemed innocent enough… 139-161 forbid various sexual relations- with mom, dad, children, other family, animals, and among homosexual men (women never get mentioned!).  Then marriage laws, including not marrying non-Jews.  Then laws of kosher eating, laws of sacrifice and the Temple, and just practices for business, slaves, and siege.  The mitzvot concerning the legal system are impressive for their day, including not killing anyone on circumstancial evidence, not accepting bribes or testifying falsely, to decide by majority, and so on.

Shifting subjects slightly, I was very interested when I first learned that Judaism commands certain things like giving to charity.  It doesn’t matter whether you intend or desire to help anyone.  You are simply commanded to, and you can do it with a stingy heart or a generous heart, and it doesn’t matter as long as you do it.  The idea is that if you do it, eventually your heart will come round, but the important thing is that the loving deed be done- that brings justice to the world- and if your heart follows, that’s nice too.

I have seen a lot of Jews who engage in fierce social action and charity, and other who don’t.  When I visit a synagogue, I am usually a little dissapointed that there are a lot of Jews reciting prayers and doing other Jewish “actions,” but not focusing on action in the greater world.  I don’t want to prematurely judge the relationship between these two things, however.  Going to services is about going to services; doing good in the world is more abstract and may be supported in many ways by living the Jewish life, a life that at least keeps ones actions in check and focused on what is good and holy.

My parents are visiting this weekend, so I will focus on the commandments to not strike or curse them, and to respect and fear them.  Maybe I’ll even throw a little love in there as a bonus .  We may attend services tomorrow night, and if so I’ll be interested in their impressions!

Here’s a picture of my current reading material (and green juice!  I had to sneak it in!  lol).

“Choosing a Jewish Life: A handbook for people converting to Judaism and for their family and friends” by Anita Diamant.

Rachel and I have been reading chapters of this book together.  It does feel a bit premature, as I have yet to start a Judaism 101 or conversion class (currently looking for one), and this book is all about guiding you through the conversion process itself- finding a Rabbi, telling your family and friends, choosing a Hebrew name, and so on.  But it also addresses a lot of the questions and worries I have as a potential convert (will I ever feel Jewish? what does it means to be part of a “tribe” in a post-tribal world?  can I go through with this even if I have doubts?  … and most importantly: is there such a thing as a “conversion party”?).  It’s really nice to feel some sense of community with other potential converts and feel like my questions and reactions to Judaism are not unique in the least.

See?  Short post.  I’ll take up some of the more interesting topics in this book later.  Tonight, Shabbat service at one synagogue we are trying; in the morning, we plan to attend another.  Shabbat Shalom… almost!

So here goes.  As you may know, I am interested in converting to Judaism.  My partner is Jewish, and we want to raise our (future) children as Jews.  If I do not convert, I will be the only non-Jew in the family.  Now, I know plenty of families that do not share the same religion.  But spirituality is very important to me, and I want to have a strong role in shaping my children’s spiritual development.  I know that children do best when raised with one coherent spiritual identity/affiliation, and that I would ideally like us to share one religious practice, all together.

Now let’s back up a bit.  If I was raised with a coherent spiritual identity, I think it was something like humanism, with a dash of liberal Christianity: the world is a special place, humans are gifted creatures with the capacity for moral decision-making, and the highest calling is to love and serve each other.  We think God is out there, but within our reach, and manifests in our love and service.  Christmas was about loving and giving; Easter about springtime and birth.  My encounters with more conservative Christianity were mixed.  I loved the idea of God, and the idea of being a moral agent of service and love.  According to those around me, Jesus was the embodiment of Godly service and living, and so I liked Jesus.  At the same time, Jesus scared me.  The ubiquitous crucifix, the love of suffering and sacrifice, the grave hollow eyes, the idea that Jesus stood between me and God (was he the messenger?  the gate-keeper?  a part of God?).  In second grade I accompanied my best friend to her fundamentalist church on “bring a friend” day.  We sang “knock knock,” knocking on our plastic chairs, “let Jesus in your heart.”  I mouthed the words fearfully.  Was Jesus really going to climb inside my heart?  Take over my heart and mind and personality?  Make decisions for me?  I was afraid.  Later we children gathered in prayer at the front of the chapel and prayed to God in turn.  One child prayed for the safe journey and return of his grandparents who were on a boating trip.  I began to cry.  If I didn’t beg and cajole God, would He not care about the people I loved?  Why did we have to beg and pray for Him to love us and watch over us?  Shouldn’t He care about us already?

A few years later we visited a pumpkin patch and were pulled into a story-telling tent, unaware that the story-tellers were evangelical Christians.  We listened to the story of a little boy who walked with his friend along a river.  His fell into the river and died.  The boy was sad, but then he was happy because he realized his friend would be in Heaven with God.  He returned home where the aroma of pies in the oven caused him to forget about his friend’s death for a while.  The evangelicals then began to quiz my sister and I about God’s forgiving: “Have you ever been naughty?  Ever had a time out?  Have you?  ….God forgives you when you ask Him…”  My sister and I squirmed uncomfortably.  God sounded like a really authoritarian parent, who enjoyed watching the suffering of His children and forgave them only after excessive grief and groveling.

In high school I read parts of the Bible, discussed religion with Christian friends, stayed up most of the night trying to believe what they told me and accept Jesus into my heart.  I tried to accept Jesus as my savior, but it never felt that I was doing anything REAL.  I felt that I was trying to suppress certain thoughts and solidify others, strengthen neural associations between the “Jesus cells” and my concepts of morality and guilt.  I was deathly afraid of faith without doubt, deciding on certainty of belief when the evidence felt so impoverished.  So I built a home for myself in that boundary zone, praying to “God and Jesus-if-you-are-part-of-God, sorry I am not sure,” thanking God in moments of joy and asking God at other times for signs of His existence.  I do believe that God answered some of those prayers, in ways too personal to share.

When I went off to college I returned a postcard query about my religious interest, checking boxes from “Christian Scientist” (the name sounded like a rational approach to Christianity) to Unitarian Universalist.  I was hanging up shirts and sweaters in my new dormitory closet when a representative of the UU group dropped off a bag of goodies, including home-baked cookies from board members, and an invitation to brunch.  I was touched- and impressed by the culinary skills of this religion- so I attended brunch, then chalice group, and I was sold.  Here was a religious group that welcomed my questions, my philosophical rigor, our diverse experiences and expressions of spirituality.  There was no ideological commitment, no required rituals, no guilt.  Just a spiritual quest with good company and good food, and a leading role in the history of civil rights to boot.  The spiritual examples and sermons I found in UU wove together life experience, intuition, logic, world religious belief, humanism, the language of the civil rights movement, and more.  At Arlington Street Church off of Boston Commons we celebrated the first legal gay marriages, performed in that church; at All Souls Church in DC we swayed to rousing renditions of “Wade in the Water” and spine-tingling organ music (you’d never believe what an organ can sound like!).  And it wasn’t just candles and music and intellect- it was action.  All Souls had environmental committees, social justice committees, multifaith outreach, and more.

Anyway, as you can see, UU provided me my first real spiritual home, and the first experience of a religious identity, and for that I am very grateful.  Then I met my love, Rachel.  Her Jewishness was one of so many things I loved about her, not only because it had bestowed upon her irresistible curly hair.  I didn’t know much about Judaism.  I knew it was an old religion, the first monotheistic one, that it was based on the Old Testament (which, I later learned, Jews call the Tanakh), that it involved dreidels and candles and challah, and that its people had survived a torturous history of persecution.  I had read many stories about children in the Holocaust growing up and admired their spiritual and moral resolve.

I have always loved exploring other patterns of belief, and Rachel gave me a great window to Judaism.  What I learned was less about belief and more about practice.  Judaism emphasizes the importance of this world, of obligations to help each other and make this world a better place.  It emphasizes the importance of family, and of sharing prayer and rituals together to bring holiness into everyday life.  All of these things I liked.  We cannot be certain about what happens to us after death, and it never made sense to me to view our life on earth as a waiting room to immortality or a test of our willingness to suffer.  Life is here, life feels important, and we have a chance to do a great many things in our lifetime.  I also believe that nearly every action is a moral action: our time is limited, and what we do in each moment either enhances life and holiness, or does not (or worse, detracts from it).

The first Shabbat service I attended was a beautiful but bewildering experience.  The Hebrew songs felt at once primitive and divine, other-worldly.  But I was also frustrated that I didn’t understand a word, didn’t know when to stand up or sit down, or bow, or why any of these things were done.  And I saw people rush through the prayers, and the length of them, and I wondered why such lengthy prayers were necessary, and whether they had significance or whether their recitation felt empty and routine.  In the months that followed I began to learn more about Judaism from Rachel, from holidays with her family, and from books.  I learned that prayer is most often a group event, typically comes straight from the Tanakh or siddur (prayer-book), and its recitation is part of religious practice.  Being a Jew is about two things: being part of a people (an ethnicity, a culture, a lineage), and observance (secular Jews are not observant: they don’t practice Jewish religion).  [Update: Rachel adds that Tikkun Olam - repairing the world - is a major part of being Jewish, and is taken on by observant and secular Jews alike.]  Observance is doing Jewish: attending shul, studying Tanakh (the Torah – comprised of the first five books as given to Moses – and the prophets [Nevi'im] and writings [Ketuvim]), and following mitzvot (laws from the Torah and oral tradition).  Belief is secondary.  Today, this makes sense to me, but initially I was very surprised by the dominance of practice over belief.  It just shows how Christian-centric my view of religion was.  UU, I think, sits in the middle, encouraging the emotional and intellectual spiritual journey while also focusing on the difference our actions can and MUST make.  As Rachel points out, it’s not that Judaism isn’t interested in the spiritual journey.  It’s just that the most important endeavor for a Jew is to observe Jewish law, and in so doing make the world a better place.  At least that’s my understanding.

So, what is Jewish law and why must it be followed?  How does it make the world a better place?  This answer I am still learning, and I probably won’t fully know unless I become a Jew.  The most interesting thing to me is that Jewish law evolves.  It is seen as a contract between God and the Jewish people, but the details of that contract change as the world changes, as people change, and perhaps even as God changes what He requires.  This is great on the one hand.  As humanity evolves, so does Jewish law.  For example, one rabbinical interpretation of Jewish law now permits same-sex marriage.  In a way, this makes Jewish law look very human.  If I am going to follow laws and rituals that don’t make sense to me, I’d like to really believe that God has a special reason for them.  On the other hand, Judaism is an old religion, and so even if many of the laws are purely cultural in origin, it seems likely that they had some purpose- binding Jews together, for example, or focusing attention on the moral or spiritual aspects of behavior.

I’m a strong-willed independent thinker, so I like to think (in a very UU fashion) that I can makes my own rules for my behavior, ascertain my own principles of morality, and create my own spaces for spiritual development. To this end, my moral and spiritual beliefs infuse many of my daily activities, from my vegetarian diet to giving money to causes I believe in to hiking around downtown in search of a homeless person desiring doggie-bagged leftovers from a fancy dinner out.  Why should I follow Jewish law?  Will it make me a more moral, spiritual, or righteous person?  Will I constantly fight laws that don’t make sense to me?  Will it do me good, or anyone good, to follow them on blind faith that they are God’s will, or the product of an ancient culture that has severely beaten the odds and outperformed itself time and time again?  Will a sense that Jewish history is mine impel me to greater achievement and service to the world?

Last night these questions came together in a philosophical-emotional storm.  Figuring out what conversion to Judaism means is hard enough, but it brings up so many unresolved questions and desires: does God exist?  What is the nature of God?  Why does God allow bad things to happen in the world?  What does God desire of us?  Does God desire?  What is the purpose of life?  Now Judaism isn’t entirely clear on all of these accounts itself.  You don’t have to commit to one viewpoint on these issues to be a Jew.  I keep forgetting that.  Judaism is a place to explore these questions.  But I guess to me, becoming a Jew means making some assumptions about the answers.  It means believing that religion is on the right track, that God is probably there, that we know something about what God wants, that we can trust stories passed down thousands of years ago by oral tradition.  That our lives have meaning, can become more holy, can fulfill God’s wishes.  These are all ideas I love and would like to be true, but I’m a stubborn one, and I hate thinking that I am merely elaborating on delusions induced by human psychological need and deviating from the course of seeking truth.  Yep, my dad’s a psychotherapist.

If converting to Judaism doesn’t imply some kind of ontological endorsement, then what does it mean?  Nothing more than the sum to the actions I take, the mindset I acquire?  While I am a scientist, I do not in any way reject the testimony of subjective experience, and I have had many experiences in my life that lead me to a belief in God, a belief in conscious life force, and a sense of great mystery and awe.  In fact, my two favorite pursuits in life- science and art- stem from this mystery and awe, as so wonderfully expressed by my longtime favorite thinker, (the Jewish) Einstein: “The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious.  It is the source of all true art and science.”

I have so many reasons to convert to Judaism.  First, it contains just about all of the elements of UU that I love.  Second, it obligates ritual observance with the community, something that I felt lacking in UU.  Third, as I mentioned early on, cohesive family religion.  Fourth, it has a rich history and literature of Jewish Rabbis and other great thinkers to guide me in my philosophical and spiritual journey.  Last night I expressed the fear that committing to one religion might to a sort of myopia.  Rachel gently suggested that NOT committing to Judaism might lead to the opposite problem- a kind of plurality and relativism that would prevent me from deepening my religious journey.  This had a great impact on me.  A metaphor came to me quite suddenly: when I was on match.com looking for women to date, I winked (in cyberspace) at several.  One of them was Rachel. At the time, I didn’t know that I would one day want to marry her.  I just thought she looked “cute, smart and humble,” just like she titled her profile.  I didn’t shy away from dating her because I wasn’t sure she was the one.  Quite the opposite: I dated her to get to know her better.  I dated in spite of the fact that I don’t know what love is (in a philosophical sense) and in spite of the fact that dating this one person meant not dating others.  I think the same applies to my religious quest.  If I shy away from any one religion, I will not know what it has to offer me.  Judaism is attractive, smart, and humble.  Luckily, I do not have to commit now- I can stay in the dating process as long as I need to.  That is just what I intend to do, and I when the time comes, I hope I won’t reject a wonderful religious journey because of a few theological quirks or underlying philosophical uncertainty.  I always had that problem in philosophy classes.  We would be discussing philosophy of science or philosophy of religion, and a professor would ask what assumptions needed to be made to support some theory or another.  I would be stuck at the problem of other minds (how do we know we aren’t just brains in a vat?), and the professor would smile and suggest that we didn’t need to worry about philosophy of mind when we were talking about philosophies of science or religion.  Why not, I would wonder.  It’s just my nature.  What I have to realize is that I do have beliefs and commitments and practices that rest on philosophical assumptions I may never KNOW are true, but that I do in fact uphold every day, in everything I do and say and feel.  It’s not just Judaism that rests on these assumptions- it’s everything.  So even though religion brings these worries to the forefront of my mind, I’ll do my best to keep them in their place and focus on getting to know Judaism and seeing what the experience brings.  I’ll update my dating process, hopefully in shorter and less windy posts.