Since I was pretty young, I've had a real affinity for Jewish religion and culture. One of my very first friends from preschool on up is Jewish (now living in Israel, actually), and since then I've had the privilege of participating in various Jewish traditions with her and her family. From Chanukah to Passover to Rosh Hashanah to Shabbat dinner with her Bubby and Zaideh, those times had a huge impact on me, and I enjoyed every minute. On top of that exposure, I went to an Episcopalian school whose amazing religion program made ample room for learning about both Judaism and Islam. There weren't any outspoken Muslims in my school while I was there, but the Jews in my class (my friend JK included) actively bolstered the curriculum with input about their knowledge and experiences. Additionally, my parents (mom especially) were the kind of Christians who embraced Jesus as a Jew, never failing to remind me that the Last Supper was a Seder, and fully acknowledged the overlap between the two religions. I never understood how any Christian could hate (anyone, especially) Jews.
Back in high school and early college, I was thinking somewhat seriously about converting to Judaism. My mom wasn't very happy about it, not at all because of any feelings about the religion itself (see above), but because doing so would full-on negate everything raising me (pretty hardcore) Christian was all about: at the very core, either you believe the Savior's come already, or you don't. For me, it's never been that simple. Forget all of that hogwash about who killed whom; it really means nothing to me, and it makes no sense to hold an entire people accountable for something that supposedly would already have been planned for by an omniscient God-figure, right? Among many other things. But I guess at this point, I have to concede that my attraction is a lot more cultural than religious. I personally have no problem making a sort of land bridge of logic between the two religions in my mind, but the actual particulars and holes waiting to be poked in my own convictions is a lot harder articulated than believed, not to mention I don't even have a hard and fast religious take on anything. I have no answers. And maybe that's what's attractive to me about it after all: (not to go totally overboard with this, but I am a cinephile and a Coen Bros fan...) in A Serious Man, the Coen Brothers attempt to sum up the faith this way:
Larry Gopnik: I don't want it to just go away! I want an answer!
Rabbi Nachtner: Sure! We all want the answer! But Hashem doesn't owe us the answer, Larry. Hashem doesn't owe us anything. The obligation runs the other way.
Larry Gopnik: Why does he make us feel the questions if he's not gonna give us any answers?
Rabbi Nachtner: He hasn't told me.
Perhaps this is why the Catholic funeral I attended just a few days after discussing this with SR was so disturbing to me. Even in talking things out with her then, I noted one thing I hate about organized religion: "I just wish religious people would stop the whole right/wrong thing, though," I said. "They put stakes on your soul which doesn't seem fair. But to some people, that's the whole point." While questioning everything (without necessarily finding all the answers, while at the same time placing meaning on things we do know) is a core part of who I strive to be and something I see in Judaism, Catholicism struck me as the exact opposite.
I'd heard about Catholic guilt, but I hadn't really been in the same room with it during my last and only Mass experience about 7 years ago, Christmas. This time, the air was ripe with it. I don't want to get into details about the heart-wrenching service, but I was angered by the opportunities that were taken by the Church to further their agenda. Mrs. L. had lived in New York for over 20 years, so the staff at the church didn't know her. The priest and his helpers (whom we met at the wake the night before) were just so impersonal, reading from binders without looking up, and calling her a "woman of God." I didn't know her, and I don't want to take anything from her, but they didn't know anything about her, how she lived her life, or if she'd even been to Mass in the last 10 years. They proceeded to talk about how those who are saved will be consoled, phrasing it as an ultimatum, a trade of a soul for relief from grief. The service felt so routinized and cold, and I couldn't relate sitting and standing periodically to consoling my friends.
Maybe a Jewish funeral feels the same way, but it was striking how much my feelings on religion in general had swung the opposite way in a matter of three days. Part of what I'd liked so much about my Jewish experiences growing up was their strong associations with family. I see it in the traditions, I see it in my memories, I see it in my friends. In such a crucial time for someone and something to lean on, I didn't see Catholicism doing any of that. Instead, it just felt like they co-opted the situation for the propagation of their own ideas. It's the very sentiment that's pushed me away from the protestant upbringing in which I was raised. So many of my friends are atheist or agnostic, and over the years I've gradually kept my own beliefs to myself. In reality, I don't think it will ever be an option for me to believe that there is no God, but I respect others' desire to do so. In keeping to myself, I've had a growing feeling that religion and spirituality is only what you know and feel it to be, and I don't spend much time trying to explain myself anymore. Coupled with my University of Chicago education, the only thing I'm sure of is that I don't know anything. The most impressive nature to me is one of questioning and humility, and I want that in my faith too. To barter souls for peace of mind assumes one holds the key, that they know, that they are confident and sure, that they are done searching. I don't think I can stand for that.
No comments:
Post a Comment