Going to Church?

A friend sent me an email suggesting that I read Vanessa Ochs' article in the New Jersey Jewish News (link here). Ochs writes, "It was Bishop Krister Stendal who illuminated the blessings of interfaith conversations with the concept of 'Holy Envy.'” The idea was to articulate what we admired about other faiths. Here is what I envy: the feeling I get when I go to church." Ochs' goes on to write about the feeling that G-d loves each individual churchgoer that is palpable in the church experience and is so missing from synagogue. She envies the deeply ingrained sense amongst church goers that they are, as specific individuals, the object of G-d's love. She writes that when she goes to synagogue, "I am so busy saying all the words of the prayers and noticing all the people I care about that it never strikes me that I have blown an opportunity to feel I am loved by God."

The point of my friend's email was that there were a several critical letters to the editor suggesting that church is no place for a nice Jewish woman. The letter writers, perhaps unfamiliar with Ochs' extensive knowledge of and commitment to her own tradition, suggested that she spend more time learning about Judaism and less time in the place of the Other. My friend wanted to know what I think.

My response to this is nonsense. I welcome, indeed I want to celebrate, all true expressions of faith in G-d. It is not enough to recognize that there are other paths to G-d, we should seek to understand those paths that are different from our own. Each path has something to teach us about G-d's love for the world G-d created and each of us in it. Understanding and celebrating those paths can broaden and deepen our appreciation for our own path.

In understanding the paths of the Other, we learn what is truly transcendent about G-d. We learn that there are foundations to faith that are independent of a particular ritual or community or tradition. We learn that a true faith is one that leads us, in Karen Armstrong's words, to an "active compassion." We learn that any faith that does not build up the world around us is not a true faith. That any faith that would tear down another in a selfish need to claim ascendancy as a truer faith is no true path to G-d.

We also learn about what distinguishes us. We learn why the Other is Other and why that path is not the path that leads us to G-d. We learn why our path is true for us by understanding the truth in other paths that do not speak to us. And we learn that there is much that other paths can teach us that strenghten, energize, and enliven the path that we have taken.

Ochs clearly understands that we have passed through a time when Jewish suspicion of the Other as stronger and bent on our destruction is warranted and necessary. There are still incidents that should concern us (growing anti-Semitism in Europe, hate in the Arab world, Israel-bashing in the world press), but here in North America, we have built a society in which the open exploration of traditions other than our own is not only possible, but will lead us to new understandings that will enrich us for years to come. So, I would say to my friend, go to church. You may find you are a better Jew for it.

Blogging the Bible: Abraham vs. God. By David Plotz

This is worth taking a look. Many of us have tried to read the Torah from cover to cover. I have started this project any number of times, but never stuck to it from beginning to end. Of course, as a regular shul-goer, I "hear" the Torah read every week, covering the entire Torah in the course of a Jewish year. But I have never successfully sat down to read it cover to cover.

Equally interesting is the attempt to read it without the help of commentary. I am skeptical that this is possible. The Torah is simply too ambiguous, too sketchy, and definitely too contextual to understand it without the lens of a tradition.

Nevertheless, I will keep reading. It is worth a look. You'll find it at: Blogging the Bible: Abraham vs. God. By David Plotz

Pirkei Avot 3.17

Rabbi Akiva says: Mockery and levity accustom a man to immorality. The Masora (tradition, Oral Law) is a fence for the Torah; tithes are a fence for wealth; vows are a fence for abstinence; a fence for wisdom is silence

Setting aside the reisha (head, first part), I want to look at the idea of fences and what they mean to Rabbi Akiva and to us. A fence can be something that demarcates a boundary. It can be protection against unwanted intrusions or an obstacle keeping those on the inside from getting out. A fence, in and of itself, has no moral standing. It is how we use that fence that gives it value and worth.

In the traditional view of fences, the intent of Rabbi Akiva's statement is to protect that which is inside the fence by creating a boundary around that which is precious and worth protecting. The Oral Law, which carries the same weight as Torah, is a protection against misinterpreting Torah law. The Oral Law teaches us what the Torah means when it uses ambiguous language such "a tooth for a tooth." The Oral Law teaches us that this is to be understood as monetary compensation, not a literal rendering of the text. In this way, the Oral Law protects us from misapplying Torah dictates.

Likewise, tithes provide a clear protection against the excesses of wealth. The Rabbis never considered wealth to be a bad thing, rather they were concerned, reasonably so, that wealth not be considered an end, but rather a means to do G-d's will. The requirement to give tithes from one's wealth is protection against the idea that the wealth that we achieve is truly ours.

However, we can look at these fences differently. Rather than to protect what is inside the fence (Torah, wealth, etc.) from us, the fence may be there to protect us from what is inside the fence. In our zealousness to have what is good and to do what is good, we require a fence to protect us. From this perspective, the fence around the Torah is to protect us from the zealousness of our desire to do G-d's will. The tradition creates a protective boundary, not to prevent us from "doing it wrong," but to prevent us from getting burned in the act of doing what the Torah commands. Therefore, we learn from the Torah that all belongs to G-d, but we learn from the Oral Law what that means to us on a day to day basis. We learn from the Oral Law how to restrain our thanksgiving and our grief, to balance our commitment to ourselves with our commitment to G-d, Israel and the world.

Tithes, then, may not be a protection against the notion that wealth is the end, but against the zealousness that might cause us to give all of our wealth away in an effort to do what is good. We might feel that if giving some to tzedakah is good, then giving more is better. But the Rabbis warn us that we may give only so much and not more so that we do not impoverish ourselves and become a burden on the community.

Vows are a fence against the zealous desire for abstinence. Abstinence has always been understood as a way to atone and to become closer to G-d. But asceticism has never been part of mainstream Judaism. Our Rabbis prized both worldly physical pleasures along with the more spiritual pleasure. Both were considered valuable. Indeed, we learn that without the yetzer hara (the impulse for evil) there would be no marriage and no trade. Vows allow us to limit and contain our spiritual impulse towards abstinence, thereby protecting us from ourselves.

Finally, the Rabbis cherished wisdom, but saw silence as even greater. Knowing when to speak is at least as important as speaking wisely. Silence preserves our wisdom in two ways. It raises the value of our counsel by making what we say rare and important, rather than plentiful and ordinary. Even more important, silence allows space for us to learn from others. As Ben Zoma says (Pirkei Avot 4:1), the wise person is one who learns from everyone. We can not learn if we are always talking. Silence is a fence that protects us from missing the opportunity to learn from others.

(As presented to CAI 5/7/2006)