For the last twenty years or so, I’ve rarely attended synagogue services and then only to mark a rite of passage. Last Shabbat was one such occasion, when Micah Gartenberg became a bar mitzvah, literally, a son of the commandment. Micah, thirteen years old, read from the weekly Torah and haftarah portions and led much of the synagogue service as well. He has taken upon himself an adult Jew’s responsibilities and obligations.
In his unusually clear talk to the congregation, Micah acknowledged that he needn’t have assumed this role. A curious, active, and handsome lad, he thought a long time, he said, before deciding not only that he wanted to please his parents but also that he wanted to be a part of the Jewish community. He wanted, in other words, to join the stream of those who had gone before him and those who will come after. Once he had committed himself, he studied the Shabbat prayers and that week’s biblical portions with a full heart. His accent in Hebrew was excellent and his reading was fluent. His parents and grandparents had every right to be proud of him. Rabbi Bennett Miller described him in terms of the Hebrew word chen or grace, an apt description because Micah demonstrates an unforced concern and liking for others and an unconscious warmth and charm that draws people to him.
His parents and grandparents were not the only ones who were moved by this occasion. The community, members of the Anshe Emeth Memorial Temple in New Brunswick, New Jersey, were also touched. They had seen him grow from infancy through boyhood before becoming bar mitzvah, one of them. Micah’s performance moved me as well. When he said he wanted to be a part of the Jewish community, I realized that I had been wrong to separate myself from it.
I had long stopped attending synagogue services since I couldn’t say the prayers without feeling hypocritical. I was unable to praise a deity whose benevolence was at best questionable and in whom, at any rate, I didn’t believe. But as Micah read the prayers, I realized that one needn’t give a literal interpretation to the Divinity in order for the prayers to be meaningful. The origin of the Big Bang is a mystery, but saying that God caused it is simply naming a mystery, not explaining it. Still, the power unleashed by that primal explosion is itself worthy of awe and reverence, for the molecules that formed the stars and set the planets in their course formed us as well. My wife, of course, has been telling me that for years, but somehow I was unable to accept her point of view until last Shabbat, when Micah Gartenberg led the prayers and read from the weekly portions.
As I watched the members of the congregation embrace him and his parents, warmly congratulating them, it was clear that such support is a result of his family's full participation in the community. In Jerusalem, our many friends, mainly English-speaking immigrants like us, provided that support for me. That support is missing now, but it was only when I saw the warmth of Anshe Emeth’s response to Micah’s call to the Torah did I realize how much I missed it.
As the realization finally penetrated that I could give a metaphorical meaning to the prayers, I found myself, for the first time in twenty years, joining a congregation in the responsive reading. As I did so, I resolved to become a more active member of our congregation in Brooklyn, Beth Elohim. Finding metaphor where perhaps none was intended seems a small price to pay for the fellowship and support that regular synagogue attendance can provide- even to an atheist.
For many years I worked hard to assign metaphorical meanings to prayers that I could not take literally. Sometimes I worked so hard at it that I had headaches. A distinguished Rabbi said to me, "You're going at it the wrong way. Don't try to understand what anything means. Instead, let the Hebrew wash over you like a healing mantra."
ReplyDeleteHe was also the one who told me, "At the age of fifty, you're too old to undertake the study of biblical Hebrew. It takes a lifetime to acquire the knowledge. At your age it's too late."
Where did that leave me? It left me precisely where you are now, Anchises. Community trumps all.
I did the opposite. As a child and girl I followed the Catholic community and I started to be an atheist when I was 25. I am more atheist now that I am 64. I still love the ceremonies in latin. But I believe that religion means mostly to be a part of a community, it deals with identity and loneliness (and childishness). If you are an atheist you are alone, but that is the reality of life and it gives a feeling of freedom. No god, no paradise, no hell, just what you perform in life is important. With death everything is over. Thus life becomes very precious. Wally
ReplyDeleteWell said, Anchises. Actually, a sense of community is the most important ingredient in good living, whether one is religous or atheistic-secular. Secular people form communities; that is the point of the communal setlements(kibbutzim) in Israel.
ReplyDeleteRegarding religion, two caveats: I think a
that as Jews we ought to put the idea of Chosen People in a chosen dustbin: all people are "chosen", in that sense Jews are also, but only in that sense. Second, one must never let the mysticism that accompanies most prayers to prevent our ability to understand their most fundamental meaning, which is to ally ourselves with all people. This is the prophetic vision, and it is the language of this vision into which I translate any prayer. Praising God means praising people; they are just as worthy of it as He/She.
So: great blog, Anchises! Keep it up! CWG