An unwritten ending
http://www.jewishworldreview.com -- ABOUT SEVEN YEARS AGO, while on a camping trip in the Blue Mountains of
Pennsylvania, I stumbled across a group of Orthodox yeshiva students who
were camping as well. I happened to be down by the public facilities when I
saw about twenty young men gathered together and getting ready to make their
way back to their camp site after showering.
It was a strange time in my
life, struggling between my own secular/ traditional upbringing and my new
interest in becoming more observant. I had never actually met yeshiva kids
before, and I thought it a sign from G-d that here in the woods of southern
Pennsylvania, during a very spiritually dynamic but confusing period of my
life I would run into a group of Orthodox Jews.
I was flabbergasted to say
the least. But I was also nervously excited and approached one of the men
and asked him if I might join them for their evening prayers. The boy, a few
years younger than me, myself twenty five or so at the time, wearing shorts,
tee-shirt and a yarmulke looked at me strangely and then asked, "Are you
Jewish?" An appropriate enough question if it was not for his defensive
stance, and it seemed as though he turned into a certain kind of bird that
raises its head dress when alarmed.
I said I was and he looked me over as to
if to judge by my appearance what level of observance, what kind of Jew I
was, and looking bewildered and put upon said, "Sure, I guess so." Needless
to say, I did not attend their services, although at the time I was so
hungry for Jewish meaning, I sat by my own campsite and my friends and
silently fumed.
I had not thought much about this incident for some time, until this week
when waiting for a bus in the morning in my neighborhood, noticed a young
man walking down the street. He was wearing a yarmulke and carrying a tallis
bag. I assumed he was either coming or going to services, but on a Thursday
morning in my part of the city I cold not imagine where to or from. As he
passed me I greeted him and said, "Are you going to pray? Where are there
services?" Looking at me much in the same way my yeshiva friend had, he
replied, "I am coming back, from the Harvard services," and with that walked
quickly passed me with absolutely no gesture of warmth or recognition.
It
was as if I was a gentile who had said, "Hey you crazy Jew, what are you
doing praying this time of the morning?" I had in fact, asked out of a real
desire to know, still in spritual struggle with my own Judaism.
Some of the Orthodox, it seems, have a certain kind of impatience for those
of us that are asking questions, seeking to learn. There is something about
Judaism, at least in the modern life, that invites a certain kind of
defensiveness, a certain protective garb. This is in some senses
justifiable, but when it is turned towards other Jews, there is a sense of
real disharmony that is different from say, Protestants vs. Catholics. Jews
have always had disagreements when it comes to observance.
From the days of
Roman occupation of Jerusalem with its many sects and factions, to the
struggle of the early Reform movement with its Orthodox critics, Jews love a
good fight, especially when it comes to the Law. But the Law is not a stone
that you carry in your pocket, that some Jews have and some do not. It is a
lived experience that some of us have a hard time with and need teachers.
During my early exploration into observance I contacted the local Chabad
House. I made an appointment to meet the rabbi and I made sure I wrote down
all my questions, all the things that had been perplexing me, all the things
that kept me from Judaism. The meeting with the Rabbi ended up being nothing
more than my putting on Teffilin while he read the prayers for me. For him,
my questions were irrelevant, in fact they were irksome to him, an his only
concern was getting the phylacteries on me and then sending me on my way,
"now go forth and learn."
I struggled for a long time with these new rituals, and eventually
abandoned many of them for their lack of substance. I knew the substance was
there, but those who might have been able to explain it to me had no time
for me, wanted nothing more than my observance. And if, upon first glance,
they felt they could infer my level of commitment, that was where they
decided what I was worth as a Jew. There certainly is something to be said
about doing first and learning as you go. But I am a product of a the ask
questions first generation.
There, have of course, been those who were eager to teach. The Orthodoxy is
just as varied as any other movment in Judaism. I have seen the same kind of
impatience and judgement in the most liberal of gatherings. But those with
the most knowledge are obligated to instruct. One Orthodox rabbi told me
that Jewish practice is a diamond that must be slowly brought to its
fullness from the coal it came from. He explained knowledge without practice
is empty. I have struggled with this for many years, slowly bringing to bear
those aspects of Judaism that have both meaning in theory and praxis. It was
patient lessons like these that were and are the kind of responses I seek.
It could have been that the fellow I saw recently was coming from a service
for a holy day I had not know about. I wish he had stopped, if only for a
minute, to tell me about it.
Knowledge, unlike wealth, really does trickle down. If there is in place a
filter, though, this knowledge becomes distilled and all the minerals are
left behind. What we are left with is basic nourishment, but the vitamins
are gone. A spiritual diet of just water and fiber is not not enough. If my
questions mean that I am less educated, then I should be seen as being
teachable.
The Orthodox Jewish community must see the less observant not always as
diluters of the faith, but rather seekers, trying to make Judaism have real
meaning in this, our secular
Jewish World Review July 26, 1999 / 13 Av, 5759
By Peter Bebergal
JWR contributor Peter Bebergal is a Cambridge-based writer. You may contact him by clicking here.