I was raised in a
Conservative household and of course, I accepted what's normally taught to
children about God and the Torah - God watching from heaven, answering our
prayers, deciding if we live or die. However, I also saw that my Dad, a
Holocaust survivor whose parents were murdered by Hitler, wrestled often -
especially on the High Holidays - with the issue of whether there was a God at
all. As an adult, I too tried to reconcile the existence of God with the
apparent absence of God during the Holocaust. For the sake of setting an
example for my children, I went to services and prayed, but I did so
half-heartedly. I needed to come to a view of God that would enable me to pray
and observe Shabbat and the holidays authentically. I just couldn't get to
that point on my own.
Last winter, I expressed my frustration to Rabbi Geller, who pointed me toward the IJS Weekend Retreat. What a gift that turned out to be!
I went with no expectations. What I found was an extraordinarily open forum for discussing the issues I was wresting with. I talked with Rabbi Rachel Cowan, explaining how much I wanted to believe in the personal, paternal God of my childhood. I also talked about how the Torah wasn't relevant for me if it didn't somehow come directly from God. And I talked about how my Dad and the Holocaust colored all my thoughts about Judaism. Rabbi Cowan and the other wonderful teachers showed us non-traditional ways of understanding God, utilizing the Torah and Jewish mysticism, plus mindfulness, meditation, yoga, silence and interaction with nature. The experience opened my mind and heart to a new understanding of the concept of God and enabled me to move ahead with my development as a Jew. I came to believe that prayer is a way to open our hearts so that we can access the holiness all around us that God encompasses. I understood that I could accept the Torah as the ancient text of our people that has been interpreted and re-interpreted through the ages.
A part of me still wishes I could believe in the big guy upstairs with the white beard. It's less challenging and more convenient. We want , at whatever age, an all-powerful parent to whom we can go with our problems. But at least now I can go to services and pray with peace instead of crushing doubt in my heart. I now get up in the morning, look outdoors or at my children and say the Modeh Ani* with an honest heart. And I say it in Hebrew, in the Yiddish dialect of my Dad, my grandparents, and their shtetl in Poland, all now gone. I'm looking forward to my continuing journey and to carrying my ancestors' religious heritage, as well as their cultural heritage, to the next generation.
Last winter, I expressed my frustration to Rabbi Geller, who pointed me toward the IJS Weekend Retreat. What a gift that turned out to be!
I went with no expectations. What I found was an extraordinarily open forum for discussing the issues I was wresting with. I talked with Rabbi Rachel Cowan, explaining how much I wanted to believe in the personal, paternal God of my childhood. I also talked about how the Torah wasn't relevant for me if it didn't somehow come directly from God. And I talked about how my Dad and the Holocaust colored all my thoughts about Judaism. Rabbi Cowan and the other wonderful teachers showed us non-traditional ways of understanding God, utilizing the Torah and Jewish mysticism, plus mindfulness, meditation, yoga, silence and interaction with nature. The experience opened my mind and heart to a new understanding of the concept of God and enabled me to move ahead with my development as a Jew. I came to believe that prayer is a way to open our hearts so that we can access the holiness all around us that God encompasses. I understood that I could accept the Torah as the ancient text of our people that has been interpreted and re-interpreted through the ages.
A part of me still wishes I could believe in the big guy upstairs with the white beard. It's less challenging and more convenient. We want , at whatever age, an all-powerful parent to whom we can go with our problems. But at least now I can go to services and pray with peace instead of crushing doubt in my heart. I now get up in the morning, look outdoors or at my children and say the Modeh Ani* with an honest heart. And I say it in Hebrew, in the Yiddish dialect of my Dad, my grandparents, and their shtetl in Poland, all now gone. I'm looking forward to my continuing journey and to carrying my ancestors' religious heritage, as well as their cultural heritage, to the next generation.
