by Judy R. Gruen
ON MY LONG AND BUMPY ROAD to living a religious lifestyle, one
conversation stands out. I was having coffee with a friend from
college when, apropos of nothing, she blurted out that a man had come
into the art gallery where she worked wearing a black leather kippah,
instantly conjuring feelings of rage within her.
"Patricia" had never been abused in any way by a religious Jew. She,
along with her entire family, was staunchly Zionist, having been raised
ideologically by the Left-Zionist Hashomer Hatza'ir movement. But nowhere along the
line had she ever learned why she should have even a glimmer of respect
for traditional Judaism. Its very existence offended and repelled her.
Startled by her passionate outburst, I asked her how she could feel so
angry simply by seeing a man whom she had never met before. In fits and
starts, Patricia explained that his kippah symbolized the patriarchal,
anti-feminist philosophy of Orthodox Judaism.
At the time of this conversation, we were both in our early 20s. I,
too, tended to steer clear of Jews wearing some type of religious
"uniform": a sheitel (wig), kippah, or tzitzit dangling down trouser
legs. While I never shared Patricia's visceral reaction or vehemence, I
had to admit to feelings of antagonism towards these keepers of the
flame. Deep down, I believed that they were right to live according to
halacha (Jewish law). Exploring their lives more deeply risked
discovering an uncomfortable truth about my own life: changes -- which
at the time I considered sacrifices -- would have to be made. I chose
to remain distant.
In retrospect, my own skittishness is quite clear. Shortly before this
memorable coffee kvetch, I had met the man who would become my husband.
Jeff had already decided that an observant Jewish lifestyle was central
to his life's plan. I, on the other hand, still had my button that said
".59c" and a small calligraphed sign in my apartment that read, "She who
waits for the knight in shining armor cleans up after the horse."
Despite our theological disputes, Jeff and I continued to date. From
the start, we were like old friends, never lacking for comfortable,
meaningful conversation. We enjoyed the same activities, laughed at one
another's jokes and wry observations, and increasingly loved being
together.
It took about two years of dating, discussing and debating before Jeff
and I decided to marry. During that time, my struggles with Orthodoxy,
and what it represented to me, continued. Slowly, exposure to
traditional Jewish teachings began to chip away at my psychological
armor. But here's the irony: while some of my secular Jewish friends,
including Patricia, made remarks that served to push me away from Jeff
and the life he envisioned for us, my religious Catholic friends
encouraged me towards traditionalism.
At graduate school in Chicago (the second year of our
courtship), I befriended a curly blond-haired, blue-eyed Notre Dame
alumna who never missed Sunday mass. I shared my feelings of
ambivalence about religious observance with her, as well as my dilemma
about my relationship with Jeff.
"I think Judaism is a great religion," Kathy said. "If I weren't
Catholic, I would definitely want to be Jewish." Her respect -- even
from the comfortable distance from which she held it -- taught me a
thing or two about preconceived notions. Kathy was also friendly with a
Jewish student who wore his atheism like a badge of honor. Once,
during a heated discussion with Kathy about the existence of God, he
challenged the Almighty to reveal Himself by performing some minor
miracle, such as a thunder clap.
These portraits may seem extreme, but they are all too common. Jews
who aren't observant often shamelessly denigrate their own religion
based on little, if any, real knowledge of what Jewish tradition is all
about. This is even more likely to be the case with Jews who have had
some religious education, such as Hebrew school, but nothing in greater
depth and little or no back-up for their religious training at home. A
little bit of knowledge can be a dangerous thing.
It's easy to parrot cliches and slogans about Judaism's anti-woman bias
and other supposed inequities. It's a lot harder to attend classes
taught by religious Jewish men and women and learn from traditional and
authentic transmitters of our heritage what Judaism has to say about
life's issues, great and small. Doing so involves risks to one's
self-satisfied notions, and the possibility of confronting compelling
truths and the need to change opinions and practices.
Here's more evidence for my point: About 10 years ago, I worked for a
Jewish publication which employed both Jews and non-Jews. At that time,
I was still in the throes of my anxiety over my future with Jeff and
Orthodoxy (it was a package deal). Ironically, it was Carol, a Catholic
co-worker, whose own respect for Judaism contrasted starkly with the
belittling remarks I often heard from my Jewish co-workers about the
Orthodox community. What's wrong with this picture? I wondered.
In fairness, I can recall one Jewish friend who encouraged me. She is
a rabbi, ordained by the Reform movement, and I am grateful to this day
for her intellectual honesty and support. But she was the exception.
It's not surprising that secular Jews would dissuade me, yet non-Jews
could encourage me towards a spirituality rooted in tradition. I don't
consider myself superior in any way to secular Jews. I have learned
that wearing the religious "uniform" is no guarantee of truly righteous
behavior, any more than the fact of a person's secularism is proof of
their lack of spirituality or morality. But I challenge secular Jews
who are biased against Jewish traditionalism to think twice before
making a caustic comment to a fellow Jew who is considering a higher
level of observance.
Secular Jews who don't observe any of the basics of Jewish life, such
as Shabbat, kashruth, and mikvah, may never choose to become ritually
observant, but at the very least they should not dissuade other Jews
from doing so. It's sad to think of these confirmed secularists staring
at a beautiful set of Shabbat candlesticks in a glass case in a museum
instead of feeling the joy and beauty of lighting those candles
themselves.
It was difficult for me to be willing to discover the depth and
profundity of Torah Judaism -- I was not, admittedly, a spiritual
seeker. I had to confront and demolish the demonic stereotypes about a
Torah lifestyle that had scared me off for so long.
Fortunately, I had my Catholic friends to encourage me.
Second thoughts on "The Keepers of the Flame"
Judy R. Gruen is a writer living in Venice. Her work has appeared in the
Washington Times, Los Angeles Times, Baltimore Jewish Times, Jewish
Parent Connection and other publications. She and her husband have four
children, ages 8, 7, 5 and 3.