I Would Not Complain: Must Embracing Religion Require Belief in God?

The NY Times recently interviewed a woman who grew up Muslim but basically left Islam.  She claimed to be an atheist.  She said that at a certain point, the tenets of Islam didn’t make sense to her.  She found herself at odds with her parents, who couldn’t believe that did not want to remain a Muslim.

Among the things she questioned was why she couldn’t have a boyfriend?  And why she needed to observe Ramadan?

Apparently, she found some comfort with self-described atheists from other religions.

The article got me thinking further about a cluster of questions that many of us have thought about and discussed, as it pertains to us and also as it pertains to our children and grandchildren.  And that is:  What’s the connection between belief in God and adherence to religious tradition?

Do you need to believe certain things about God in order to find direction and meaning in religion?

Or, to put it more starkly, when children say, “I don’t believe in God!” does that mean that parents and grandparents, aunts and uncles, need to freak out? 

I’m all for belief in God.  But I think we do everyone a disservice when we bundle everything together.  Just because a person has doubts about God, does that mean that he or she needs to abandon religious tradition and community?

Or, conversely, just because a person questions the values of their religious tradition and community, does that necessarily mean that they have issues with God?

I’m going to explore something this morning that some may find outrageous and others may find obvious.  I’m going to suggest that it’s not such a terrible idea to separate God and religion, at least in the short-term. 

The refrain of my comments will be, “I would not complain if…”

So, as a rabbi and I Jew, I want to start things off as follows:

I would not complain if people would embrace essential elements of Jewish life, not because of a sense of what God demands, but because they represent the accrued wisdom of people who have lived thoughtfully and courageously.  Once again, I want to invoke Donniel Hartman’s appeal that we “put God second,” that we not be so quick to invoke “God wants this” and “God urges that,” not on the right and not on the left. 

I would not complain if someone said, “I embrace Shabbat because it urges me to stop being competitive for 24 hours and brings me closer to other people and lets me live in the moment” without invoking how God rests and what God wants.  Is there value potentially in connecting Shabbat to a creative force beyond us?  There certainly could be.  But too often, when it comes to Shabbat and keeping kosher and holidays, God’s rules are mentioned as ways of making ourselves feel holy and putting other people down.

I would not complain if someone said, I pray because it brings me closer to other people and gives me time to reflect, even if I’m not sure who is listening.

Much has been written regarding the attitude of American Jews toward Israel.  A substantial amount of energy is spent worrying about what young American Jews think about Israel.

I’ve often said, and I’ll repeat, that the best guarantee of strong connection to Israel comes from high resolution, a full, comprehensive exposure to Israel, the good, the bad, the beautiful and even the ugly.

But in the context of my comments this morning, I want to emphasize that I don’t think you have to embrace one particular biblical narrative about Israel in order to be considered supportive.

I would not complain if people would embrace Israel, not so much because of the unmistakable song in the movie Exodus, “This land is mine, God gave this land to me!” but because Israel is teeming with vibrancy, a jumble of courage and contradiction, stellar accomplishments and occasional mistakes.  A real nation, but also an extraordinary nation in many ways, because Israel is home to Jews, Christians, Muslims and others, because Israeli medical support was immediately forthcoming following the devastating destruction in Haiti.

And because good people, decent people, are living purposeful lives in Israel.

That includes the men and women and children of Netzach Yisrael, our partner congregation, who are Masorti, Conservative Jews, who support full participation of women just like we do and who have a special program that allows children with special needs to prepare for bar mitzvah and who have a wonderful children’s program that tragically gets interrupted all too often when the air-raid strikes.

That includes the boys and girls of a circus in the north of Israel who are Jewish and Muslim, who train together and perform together, who learn to trust each other on the high-wire and the trapeze.

I would not complain if we, our children and our children’s children grew more and more fond of Israel as we gain deeper exposure to her diversity and contradictions and as we get to know people who are living in what the lead character in David Grossman’s novel, To the End of the Land, calls “this impossible country.”

Lastly, I would not complain if the way we relate to one another would be inspired by good examples that are set for us, without recourse to confident claims about God’s will.

In light of what is going on too often on college campuses today, including the most prestigious universities in our nation, I want to say clearly that I would not complain if, instead of quoting chapter and verse about how men and women should get along, young men and women especially would learn in their homes, from parents and grandparents, that passion and respect need not be mutually exclusive, that no means no and that yes needs to be navigated through mutual affection and attraction.

I can say, “God help us!” when young women on college campuses testify that young men have crossed boundaries, and that is possible with all gender combinations.  But the reality is, that we have to help ourselves by modeling appropriate behavior and setting appropriate examples.

The examples can cross cultural boundaries – in fact, there’s an ancient Jewish expression, kabel et ha’emet mimi she’omro – receive the truth from whoever speaks it.

Maya Angelou, who died a few days ago, brought dignity and class to our country through her poetry.  In a stunning speech that is recorded on youtube, she spoke at the birthday of her friend, Andrew Young:

She said, I’m paraphrasing.  What I’m looking for from men is not just romance – I’m looking for friendship and brotherhood.  I’m looking for someone to support me but also tell me the truth, even when I don’t want to hear it. I’m looking for someone who can say to me, “that wasn’t the slickest thing you could have done” but also to say, “That was brilliant.”  I’m looking for someone who doesn’t lose any of his male-hood, any of his manliness, by complimenting me.

In the sheva brachot, the seven blessings we say when two people get married, we pray that they will becoming re’im ahuvim, beloved friends.

Playfulness, respect, mutuality, sensualism, how does a college freshman with a bottle of vodka and hormones unmatched by a commensurate amount of maturity learn these things, if not from generations that model such dynamics and behavior?

I would not complain if we, and our children, and our children’s children would learn to embrace the depth and power of our traditions, the manifold blessings of our homeland, the joyful potential that emerges in our most potent relationships, without attribution or recourse to God.

But, truth is, I believe deeply in God, God who is inherent in Torah but transcends Torah, God whose infinity is manifested in our diversity, God who defies description or explanation, God who inspires multiple narratives, God who has some hand which we cannot see or define in circus performers  catching each other on a trapeze, in b’nei mitzvah with a range of abilities and gifts sharing a piece of all that with their family and community, in romantic couples becoming re’im ahuvim.

Here is the last tweet of Maya Angelou – “listen to yourself.  And in that quietude you might hear the voice of God.”

And, with the Jewish emphasis on community, we have Birkat Kohanim – the blessing offered by the kohanim to the ancient Israelites, which brings the following message:  May God bless you and keep you.  May God shine light upon you.  May God look upon you with favor and give you peace.

That blessing is offered by people and, I would say, through people. 

And the most important thing, when the kohanim offer the blessing, is not that no one should look.  The most important thing is that it be offered b’ahava, with love, maybe because the rabbis understood that the way to God’s love is through OUR love.

So while I wouldn’t complain if we all approached our tradition, our land, and one another without recourse to God, while I understand the need to put God second if it means avoiding the platitudes that turn people off, while I don’t freak out when people tell me they don’t believe in God, even people I know very well, I hope.  I hope. That the lessons we learn from one other will reveal dimensions of the One who is the source of learning and light.

Ken yehee ratzon.  May this be God’s will.  I, for one, think it is.

Originally Delivered at Temple Israel of Great Neck on May 31, 2014