Spirituality: Just Do It : Part 7

Working on God
by Winifred Gallagher

(Page 7 of 11)

If I had to give one reason why religion is worthwhile, it would be that it's guaranteed, as the friar would put it, to direct one's attention outward, or as the psychiatrist would say, to balance the me:them ratio. A major distinction between a religious experience and other internal events of beauty or import, whether aesthetic, intellectual, or emotional, is that religion points a person, like Scrooge on Christmas morning, away from narcissism and toward compassion. All the great faiths promote loving-kindness and charity. Research shows that America's religious institutions are the major source of community volunteers, and that their members are far likelier than others to donate to charities. When all is said and done, they're arguably society's greatest influence for good behavior.

Toward the end of the three-hour service, the day's bar mitzvah boy reads his Hebrew text and is then gently questioned by his teacher, Marcelo. Asked what the Torah is for, the boy says "it's about creating a just society." How does one know that one has done enough to bring that about? the rabbi wants to know. "It's hard to tell," the boy says-a fine answer, in my opinion. "We in the United States have more than enough, yet we don't do enough," says Marcelo. "It's immoral. In Judaism, it's not enough just to feel compassion without acting on it. For us, it's always love and action together." Finally Marcelo prays that God will give the young man "the courage to believe that he can make a difference and change the world. If the caring unite, they can make a new world."

Before we leave, we hear a few words from a special guest. Rabbi Jonathan Omer-Man, the director of Metivta, a center of Jewish spirituality in Los Angeles, is a highly respected teacher who studied with some of the greatest masters of kabbalah, or Jewish mysticism. His long white hair and embroidered cap set off a droll, sophisticated face that soon makes one forget about the crutches made necessary by polio long ago. In a flutey British-inflected voice, the rabbi addresses the day's Torah portion; in Judaism, rather than speaking off-the-cuff, it's customary to comment on a set text.

Today's reading from the First Book of the Kings concerns the in-your-face activist prophet Elijah and his run-in with Jezebel. Rabbi Omer-Man refreshes our memory of the details: The "urbane" wife of King Ahab decided to "put some spice in her life" by adding a coterie of pagan priests to her court. When Elijah, "one of the most uncomfortable people one could have around," killed fifty of them, Jezebel "put out a contract on him." Fleeing alone into the Sinai desert, Elijah went through an ancient version of Outward Bound. The first stage of his experience was self-pity: He had made a mess of things, and "wished he had never been born." Next came self-evaluation: What had he done with his life? As soon as Elijah softened up, nature kicked in. A great wind blew, says the text, but God was not in it. Next came fire and earthquake, but still no God; despite their power, these events didn't bring understanding. Finally, there came a quietness, says the rabbi, "implying that whatever would happen to Elijah would happen in silence."

To us, says Rabbi Omer-Man, the wind, fire, and quake seem to signify God. To the Jewish mystics, however, they stood for speech, imagination, and emotion. For them, God was in the silence, he says, "because that's the thing that allows you to reevaluate your life and make the necessary changes. Elijah had to be quiet before he could figure out that he needed to stop being so aggressive." As it was for the prophet, so it is for us. "Only in silence can we find forgiveness," says the rabbi. "We can't change our past deeds, but in quiet we can reflect on them, and then change our future course."

When I leave the Shabbat service, conducted mostly in a language I don't understand, I've smiled and wept, thought and felt. In my busy house of five children, Saturday afternoon is usually a hectic time of getting various athletes to various playing fields and doing all the errands that couldn't be crammed into the week. Today, however, I stroll home in the sunshine, humming Hebrew melodies. In broad daylight, I go to bed with my husband and stay put for a two-hour nap. For the rest of the day, I sing and smile. If the zendo provided one sense of experiential religion, B'nai Jeshurun has offered another.

On the following day, I meet with Rabbi Omer-Man to discuss millennial religion. Thinking of Shabbat, I wonder aloud why I'm so moved by ritual, even unfamiliar ones. "Spiritual community," he says immediately. "It gives a sense of meaning and direction, and of life that's bigger than one's own. It's healing without therapy." One of his most interesting classes, in fact, consists of psychotherapists "who realize that they've reached a place where they have no more answers," he says. "I think Western individualism has gone mad in its quest for individual fulfillment. That has had incredible benefits, but it has gone off track, until people now really think the individual exists separately from society and family."

Of those who "rebel against the cult of the self," says Rabbi Omer-Man, some look to the past, drawn to the tribal feeling and respect for tradition emphasized in fundamentalism. This style of religion leaves many unmoved, however, particularly neoagnostics. Describing Judaism as "the dream of the Jewish people," he says, "What happens is that rabbis or priests, in Christianity-come along and say, 'This is the order in which you dream.' You say, 'But an angel was there on the hill and waked me.' And they say, 'No, he was in the valley.' Religion must have structure, accumulated wisdom, and even authority, but it can't be based on power. Imposing compulsory beliefs is like trying to make one part of the brain control the other."

With roots in Europe and Israel, Rabbi Omer-Man has a clear-eyed perspective on the difficulties thoughtful Americans face when trying to find a spiritual home. Although very religious from its early days, he says, the country is also pragmatic, results-oriented, and materialistic-tendencies antithetical to spirituality. To complicate matters, particularly for neoagnostics, a strong anti-intellectual streak runs through the country's religious history. Fortunately, he says, "when you go into the synagogue, it doesn't matter whether you believe in God that morning." We pause for a laugh. "You're worshiping the divine, whether you believe in it or not."

Copyright © 2000 by Winifred Gallagher.

About the Author

Winifred Gallagher's previous books are Just the Way You Are: How Heredity and Experience Create the Individual, which was a New York Times Notable Book of the Year, and The Power of Place: How Our Surroundings Shape Our Thoughts, Emotions, and Actions. She has written for many magazines, from The Atlantic Monthly to Rolling Stone. She lives in Manhattan and Long Eddy, New York.