A Worship Service by Sandy Tabachnik, WSA
SERMON
“Tradition!” from “Fiddler on the Roof” on the one hand and “It isn’t that the Jews have kept the Sabbath; it’s that the Sabbath has kept the Jews!” on the other. Tradition and faith. These have constituted the foundation that has kept Judaism alive for thousands of years. Tradition. And faith. . . .
Just a few years ago, I finally admitted to myself that I no longer believed in the religious teachings of Judaism, the “faith.” My Jewish values were not affected, just my acceptance of the Bible stories, the mythology and legends of Judaism. Now, this didn’t come as a decision, it was--in fact--a realization that I had felt this way for many years. Finally, I reached the point that I wasn’t comfortable going to synagogue services because I didn’t believe the words I was saying. Actually, since they were largely in Hebrew, I didn’t understand exactly what I was saying, anyway. But the translations were right there in the prayer book--and repeating them in either Hebrew or English felt hypocritical. I quit going.
And then, coincidentally, it was about the same time that I found a comfortable place for myself here in UCN. Comfortable intellectually and spiritually, but I have been distinctly uncomfortable with this transition, as well.
Uncomfortable how, you may ask. I have experienced feelings of sadness, isolation and guilt. On reflection, I realized that the sadness was actually mourning--dealing with the loss of a package of experiences and habits that have surrounded me all my life. The isolation was the result of the disconnection from a community. After all, I moved here alone, with no family but just such a Jewish community here, which I could join. And, ah, the guilt: I have always been deeply aware of Jewish history, which has, for thousands of years, been punctuated with expulsion from country after country, culminating of course in the Holocaust. And here I was, contributing to the cause of those who sought to wipe out Jews, totally! What an act of betrayal!
To find some support for myself, I recently sought out others in the congregation who have departed from their “ancestral” faith and have experienced the angst that has plagued me. To my surprise, it seems that very few have shared my feelings--not even many former Jews! So I came down to the question: why should movement from the religion of childhood to Unitarian-Universalism be so smooth and comfortable for some (actually, most) of us, yet so full of stress--and even pain--for a small minority of others?
If you know me, you will not be surprised that-- I have a theory! And without conducting an actual survey, I am guessing that there are people in two other subgroups in UCN who have experienced similar feelings, also explained by my theory.
First, let’s look at my experience. What, specifically, do I feel I’ve lost?
Well, I long for the sound of the Jewish languages on my ears: Hebrew in prayer and folksong, as well as Yiddish--the language of eastern European Jews, the language my grandparents spoke, and the language my parents used when they didn‘t want my sister and me to understand what they were saying. And wouldn‘t it be lovely to share thoughts and remembrances of folklore (Bible stories as well as Jewish humor) with understanding ears. I miss Jewish foods (every Jewish holiday has its associated delicacies): ah, latkes at Hanukkah, charoses at Passover, and matzo ball soup, any time! Though I no longer follow many of the rules of Kashrut (or “keeping kosher“), I wish there were people around me who understood my unwillingness to give up all of them (I still don’t have pork or shellfish in my house.) And I deeply crave opportunities to discuss shared special feelings about, and fears for, the State of Israel.
What about the other groups I am guessing have similar feelings of loss? Let’s look at the Catholic experience. I haven’t attended a Catholic service since high school, when it was still in Latin, so I don‘t know: Is there still a bit of Latin in the service? That language that is almost as old as Hebrew is probably still there, at least in the chants. So does the sound of Latin still linger in Unitarian/Catholic memories? Does there remain some feeling of connection to the Vatican and the Pope? Certainly, the two-thousand-year-old history of the religion is still in the minds of modern Catholic/Unitarians, side by side with the stories and legends learned in childhood.
The African-Americans in UCN must experience losses, too--different, but still meaningful. It may be said that there is a Black American cuisine and, perhaps, a language, neither of which they will find here. Most striking, though, I would think, would be the inability to share the aspects of African-American consciousness derived from a shared history, a common geographical source and a few fundamental social conventions--most especially, the core importance of family. Hispanic UU’s probably share in these feelings.
There is one more commonality among the Jews, Catholics and Blacks here at UCN: the experience of violence in our past. I already mentioned my deep feelings about Jewish history, and Catholics, no doubt, are still sensitive about the violence, libel and exclusions in their history as well. And, of course, we are well aware of the horrific past, and often difficult present, of Black Americans. While the pain suffered by Jews and Catholics has been because of their religions, the story of African-Americans has nothing to do with their faith. However, we three do share these similar historical memories.
And there is yet another difference between the spiritual lives these three groups left behind and the new world of UCN; it may be described as physicality.
I’ve already mentioned my yearning for the aroma of Jewish cooking, the sound of Hebrew and Yiddish. There is also the sight of men in prayer shawls and skull caps reminding me of sitting beside my father in the synagogue. Our Catholic co-religionists may well miss the aroma of incense, the sound of Gregorian chant, the solemnity of communion and the grandeur of the Mass. I wonder: was there a special feeling, now missed, associated with signing the cross on one’s body?
I think the strongest connection with physicality, however, can be found in African-American congregations. While the faith of most Black Americans is broadly mainline Christian, their specific experience of it is unique. Black Baptist services reflect a physical involvement that is electrifying: the vibrant music, the spontaneous call-and-response, the emotional effect of the full-body style of the preachers. Even the traditional way congregants dress for church reflects their feeling that Sunday service is a special event and that appropriate dress shows respect for the occasion.
Overall, I am guessing that, for Catholics, more traditional Jews and for African-Americans, especially, dealing with UCN’s cooler, less emotional approach to religious expression often evokes some sense of “something missing.”
But, when you stop to think about it, there is definitely something missing that is not even part of the discomfort I have described! None of these emotion-triggers is tied to faith. Obviously, everyone here who was not raised UU has left much of his or her religion of birth behind. While some do believe in god, it is probably a different god from the one learned about in Sunday school. And, more than likely, there is not so strong an acceptance of the supernatural events of the older faiths. We probably still hold dear their wisdom and values but not all of the stories and supernatural explanations. Now, isn’t it rather surprising that we can, without a backward glance, coolly give up the meat of those religions? Yet something else tugs at us.
So what do we (Blacks and former Catholics and more observant Jews) have in common that differentiates us--at least somewhat--from most of the people in this congregation? Why do we hurt? What have we uniquely lost?
I think that more than the loss of a faith, we miss sharing a language, dietary preferences, legends and folklore, history and some form of shared geography--as well as religion. Aha! (I knew my college major in cultural anthropology would come in handy, some day.) This combination of attributes is basically a textbook definition of . . . a culture!
What we are mourning is not the religion we left behind; that was an intellectual, thoughtful decision. What we didn’t think about--and now miss--is the package of “trappings” with which our religions have been decorated. I think the distinction between those who are or are not hurting in UCN is whether they left a culture or just a religion.
To clarify this difference for you: Christianity defines only the tenets of the religion, its basic belief system. The rest of one’s life, including the manner in which that religion is observed, is defined by the country or community in which one lives. Christians around the world celebrate Easter--that‘s an article of faith. But the manner in which it is observed varies by country. The religious processions of European villages (or Hispanic ones, as well) are far removed from the inside-the-church observances of American Christian congregations. Furthermore, one’s general diet, dress, etc., are defined only by the surrounding folkways, in no way attached to one‘s faith. Even the foods eaten at religious festivals are defined by individual societies.
Jewish holiday observance, on the other hand, is basically constant around the world. That is because Judaism is more clearly a culture than the other two groups under discussion, but I think you can see that certain aspects of both Catholicism and modern African-American life entail some meaningful similarities.
My theory, therefore, is that the emotional tug from the religion left behind is the result of leaving a culture, not just a religion. Again, a culture reflects all aspects of a group’s life, usually including shared history, legends and folklore; dietary and culinary choices; social rules and expectations; common language; a geographic center and religion. We don’t cry over the discarded beliefs; we mourn the loss of the perceived beauties of the old traditions.
So how do I (or we, if you share my problem) get past these negative feelings?
First of all, there is the lovely fact that one does not have to renounce one’s former religion in order to “be” a UU. There is no law that says one must discard one’s culture because he or she no longer shares the faith! A dear Jewish friend nervously asked me recently if I were going to convert! Of course, there is no such action as “converting” to Unitarian-Universalism. We just add it to who we are.
So we can hold on to many parts of our past traditions by recalling and maintaining home observances. Jewish Secular Humanist Hershl Hartman addresses the problem in “Judaism in a Secular Age,“ an anthology of Secular Humanist Jewish thought. In a discussion of holiday observances, he first points out the evolution of most holidays: from pagan event, later association with an event in history and finally “decoration” with the added accumulation of legends, folkways and customs.
Let us remember that most of these celebrations are, indeed, “decorations” for our lives. I had friends some years ago who moved to Ohio from the Soviet Union, where religion--if it existed at all--was underground. Traditional holiday observances had virtually vanished. There was no Christmas, let alone Hanukkah. But the Vekselmans invited us to come celebrate New Year’s Day--with special foods and gift exchange. And my new friend told me that, in the spring, people in the USSR decorated eggs, but she had no idea of the why of either observance. It seems that we so crave festivals and their special joy in our lives that we will create new ones if necessary.
Back to Hartman: after explaining the history of religious observances, he asks (from his Jewish point of view), “How can we--informed by an understanding of an event’s human roots, its Jewish historical associations, and the customs that have given it its special color and aroma, its Yiddische tam (Jewish flavor)--how can we, so informed, devise ways of celebrating and observing that are meaningful to us, that have relevance to our lives, that strike healthy emotional chords?” I think Hartman’s question is highly pertinent to Unitarian-Universalism, and I’ll have further comment on that in a moment. But for now, Hartman’s response to his own question stresses that “we must look to the vast collection available of Jewish culture in order to develop secular humanistic celebrations, observances and life cycle events that are both meaningful and moving.”
This is an area in which I think Unitarian-Universalism needs work. There is a hole in UU tradition; our special events need to be broadened. Everything happens only within these walls--as compared with Judaism, for example, in which almost every holiday has a home-based component. Consider the UU Water Ceremony, the Flower Ceremony or transition rites for our kids: there are no family rituals to celebrate the occasion and make it special beyond that one Sunday morning in church. While Hartman offered the “vast collection of Jewish culture” as source material, at UCN we have the culture of the whole world to choose from!
But for now, until Unitarian-Universalism does develop such observances, we who are missing traditions can still hold on to a few from our individual pasts. Do I enjoy occasionally lighting Sabbath candles? Do you love the sight and smell of a Christmas tree? Do you get a kick out of dressing up the kids on Sunday morning? Let us all adorn our lives by continuing these activities for the sheer joy they provide for us. And let us feel grateful for them.
As I spoke with UCN congregants about my feelings, I unhappily discovered that there is another emotion, perhaps more common than my sadness, felt by some people who have left another religion. Anger. Some of those who have come to UU carry rage against the tradition they are leaving.
Perhaps they feel they were misled, maybe mistreated, perchance misunderstood or ignored. Perhaps they were, but, as always, harboring anger is harmful to your health. We know it is often destructive to feelings of freedom and happiness. But additionally, this anger can deprive us of the possibility of enjoying some of the good parts of our original religion. Nothing could last as long as these faith traditions if there weren’t something meaningful and uplifting in them. But anger may blind us to those traditions that could enhance our lives in UCN.
I have learned that while choosing the liberal religious thought and social activist philosophy of UCN, I need to relax and find the peace in this transition. Moving into this new world does not mean I have “let go of” or “betrayed” my history, and I don’t have to stop being Jewish. Mordechai M. Kaplan, perhaps the most profound Jewish thinker of the 20th century, is quoted as reminding us, “The past has a vote, but not a veto.“ I haven’t discarded all that came before. And for all of us in UCN, in fact, leaving the faith of our childhood doesn’t mean diminishing our spiritual selves. Actually, we can find that the beauty in our lives hasn’t shrunk--it, and we, have expanded. And aren’t we lucky!