Spiritual, Not Religious — Connection to My Ancestral Culture
I was brought up Jewish. Well, my family is Jewish and I attended Hebrew school for a couple of years. It was more to present Judaic learning into my life, since my family was very, very reformed. Ok, my family gravitated towards the culture of being Jewish more so than practicing religion.
My family didn’t go to temple but my sister and I went to ‘junior’ services, where children enrolled in Hebrew school prayed under the leadership of the cantor’s son, Joel. Peers read from the Torah, a scroll of prayers, which was a great way for the boys to practice their haftorah (Torah portion) reading scheduled for their bar mitzvahs. Since it was a conservative temple, there weren’t many girls who got bat-mitzvahed so it was no loss that only the boys were called up to do the haftorah readings.
Religion favors men
I remember asking Joel to translate the words in tiny font on the bottom of the prayer book’s page of prayers of gratitude. He told me that the prayer was to thank G-d for being a female. The prayer thanking G-d for being a male was in larger font in the middle of the page. From that day on, I asked Joel to let me announce that prayer when we recited that page.
That experience stayed with me — women are not invited to touch the Torah (we may be ‘unwell’ — in other words, menstruating). Women are not invited to read from the Torah. In orthodox or aggressively conservative temples, women are relegated to sit away from the ark that stores the Torah. And away from the men or the platform where the rabbi and cantor conduct the service. Talk about feeling unwelcome.
My great grandfather was an orthodox Jew, so he decided we weren’t to be bat-mitzvahed and my family let him set the tone. So neither my sister nor I were given a bat mitzvah. I did, however, learn to say the prayer leading into the haftorah reading and was proud that I could do it in 17 seconds — my fastest time.
Holiday traditions, watered down
My family had Passover seders (a 3 hour-long dinner and reading from the Haggadah, the story of Passover, that detailed how the Jewish slaves fled Egypt when the pharaoh told them they could leave and about the plagues that were cast upon our enemy when he changed his mind.) Those who could speed read were considered the saving grace of the long night of reading, especially as the night wore on. My father would sing Chad Gad Yah with us (“one kid, one only kid that my father bought for two zuzim, chad gad yaaaah, chad yad yaaaaah…”) at the end of the night and that was a highlight! The seder was more about community, finding the afikomen (half of a slice of matzah that’s hidden for kids to find and get a reward) and dunking our pinkies in the wine with the mention of each plague than it was about actual religion.
We also lit Chanukah candles. I still have two family menorahs, candelabras that hold a candle for each night the oil, that the Macabees (Jewish fighters who recovered the Second Temple from Syrian-Greek occupiers) used to light the temple’s menorah, burned. The ‘miracle’ of Chanukah was that the Maccabees returned from victorious battles and liberated the Temple from the Syrians. They had a night’s worth of oil but it lasted for 8 nights until they could get more.
We had challah (egg bread) and honey for Rosh Hashanah but that was the extent of the religious activities in our family. So going to Hebrew school enabled me to actually learn about religion and the meaning of holidays. It also enabled me to enjoy Sukkot, a holiday celebrating the harvest, and go inside of the sukkah, a room decorated with harvest items, with a lulav (palm leaf) and etrog (large citrus fruit) and enjoy the celebration.
Matching my walk to my talk
As I got older and celebrated Chanukah and Passover in my house, I became aware that these holidays celebrated how G‑d took action to protect His people. In both cases the Jews were victims of others. But in both cases, our holidays celebrate how we were ‘protected’ and others were, by default, harmed. I remember thinking that these are some holidays, the celebration of war success and harming others. It made me stop celebrating these holidays.
I celebrate the New Year (Rosh Hashanah) and, because I grew up with a mom who is incredibly superstitious, I still feel the need that we all have a bite of challah with honey (even the dog gets a tiny bit of plain challah) to usher in a sweet new year. One year, my late husband was in a rehabilitation hospital after a car accident and I catered a New Year’s dinner in his room. It was traditional Jewish culture food — honey and challah, followed by Chinese food. I kid you not!
So I’m culturally connected to my people but not to a religion. As far as praying goes, I pray every day. I end each night in prayer. My G-d is a kind, benevolent entity to whom I pray that we all feel relieved of our fears, concerns and pain in favor of love, kindness and compassion. And that we take those feelings and pour them over one another, to make this world a better place. I pray for those suffering from the pandemic — whether it’s health, wealth or happiness that’s been impacted.
I am proud of my heritage and my ancestors. I may not be religious, but I appreciate my culture. As I’m typing this I’m eating brunch and I swear to you, it’s a bagel with cream cheese and smoked whitefish!
