"Rabbi, I have to admit, I'm not 'religious.'"

In my role as educator, I often meet with people who are thinking about joining my synagogue, Temple Isaiah.  Perhaps they have kids and are thinking about starting JQuest. Or they have been coming to Tot Shabbat and want to learn more about Temple Isaiah membership.  Whatever their story, there is one theme that comes up again and again in those meetings with prospective members: “Rabbi, I have to admit, I’m not religious.”  

With trepidation, with guilt, with embarrassment, and sometimes a whole variety of other emotions I can’t quite pinpoint, they say to me: “I’m not religious.”  People want me to know that while they may be interested in joining Temple Isaiah, I should not mistake them for “religious.” 

 

But what does that mean? 

 

And so, I ask, kindly and with a smile.  “When you say you’re ‘not religious,’ can you help me understand what you mean by that?”  I’ve asked a version of that question over and over, and these are some of the answers I hear:

 

“I’m more of a ‘cultural Jew.’”

 

“I’m not sure, I just don’t think I’m very religious.”

 

“I want my children to learn the [Jewish] traditions, but…”

 

“I’m a very open-minded person.”

 

Frequently, people don’t really know how to articulate what they mean by “not religious,” so I try to give them some language, some possibilities for what they mean.

 

“Perhaps it means you don’t like going to services?”  “You’re not as interested in the ‘God’ part of Judaism?”  “You’re not sure you believe in God?” “You don’t consider yourself ritually observant?”

 

I think sometimes what they’re saying (underneath it all) is, “Rabbi, I am Jewish and I want to be connected to Jewish community.  I want to understand what it means to be Jewish and I want my kids to develop Jewish identities.  But I am nervous about joining a synagogue.  I don’t want to seem too ‘religious,’ or be seen as a ‘religious’ person.’”

 

The same is true for adults (without kids, or with grown kids) who are seeking Jewish community and/or learning.  Sometimes there is trepidation, as they don't want to seem - or be seen as - “too religious.”  But they do want to learn, connect, grow.

 

Does this resonate for you?  Do you feel this way? 

 

The problem here stems from a question of what Judaism is. Is Judaism a religion?  Well, yes, but … it’s also a people, a nation, a culture, a tradition, a family.  Judaism has been called a “race” (in Nazi Germany); it’s been called a “civilization” (by Mordechai Kaplan); my teacher Rabbi Larry Hoffman calls Judaism a “conversation” - i.e. to be Jewish is to be part of the Jewish Conversation that has been taking place for thousands of years. 

 

Further problems come from connotations of the word “religious.”  We live in a time and place where sometimes people associate “religious” with “close-minded” or “extremist” or “un-enlightened.”  

 

So people come to me saying - I am open-minded, I am tolerant, I am educated, I am enlightened.  I am also Jewish, and I am trying to find a way to be part of Jewish community and embrace Judaism in a way that feels comfortable for me and my family.

 

The question I’ve been asking myself is, “What does this mean for Jewish education?”  How can we make it easier for people to access Jewish learning, without trepidation about the term “religious”? 

 

We changed the name of our youth education program from “religious school” to “JQuest” intentionally.  (See http://rabbigreninger.blogspot.com/2015/09/why-jquest-instead-of-religious-school.html for more about that change) How else could we make it easier for people to feel comfortable and confident approaching me (or any rabbi / cantor / Jewish educator) looking to deepen their Jewish connections?  Is this an issue of PR / marketing, assuring people that they don’t have to see themselves as “religious” to find meaning and depth and connection in Judaism and Jewish learning?  Or is it a matter of education first and foremost - helping people learn more about Judaism, and in so doing, realize that the term “religious” is inadequate after all? 

 

If you have thoughts about any of this, please send them my way. I’d love to hear from you.  Or, if you know someone thinking about Jewish learning but do not see themselves as “religious,” please send them this article to let them know they’re not alone!

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What I Learned about Tefillah Education During a Pandemic

In the last year, Jewish educators have worked hard to transform Jewish learning into something manageable and soul-lifting in these uncertain and challenging times.  We have tried to look for ways to adapt in-person learning to online learning, to engage students, and to develop meaningful relationships.  I am by nature an optimist, and I try to find the good in people and situations.  I’m a big believer in silver linings, and we have definitely discovered some “covid keepers” - changes from this year that we’ll keep even when the pandemic is over.  

But during the pandemic I have also learned something critical: there is absolutely no substitute for in-person tefillah (prayer), especially for kids who are learning how to pray.  

Praying is hard.  Learning to pray is hard.  It’s even harder when it’s in a foreign language (Hebrew) and has set prayers to learn (liturgy).  But learning to pray is not only possible, but can be an exciting part of Jewish education in “normal” times. There is something almost-magical that happens when you’re in a room full of children praying - you hear their voices soar, and you can feel their spirits lift.  As a prayer leader, you know when they are singing along, and you know when you’ve lost them.  You can pivot in the moment because you are getting feedback about the experience - do they need me to slow down? Speed up? Change the melody?  Prayer is a dance, a give-and-take between us and God, and between the shaliach tzibbur (prayer leader) and the pray-ers.  

But so much of that is lost - or impossible - online.

It is hard to pray when you can only hear your own voice.  You feel awkward, self-conscious.  If you don’t know the words that well, it’s uncomfortable to hear yourself mumble along.  When we pray together in person, your voice is subsumed among other voices, and it’s more comfortable to join in, even if you don’t know the prayers very well. You can sing along to a few syllables here and there, eventually more words, and eventually all of it.  You look up to students who are older, who know the words better, who know what to do.  You hear the sounds of people all around you - younger and older, kids and teachers, different voices, different styles.  You can find your place in the sound.  But none of that can happen online.

And so we do our best with tefillah-on-zoom.  We have done our best for a year.  But when this pandemic is over, and we can get back to in-person tefillah (whether outdoors or indoors), we can get back to tefillah education in the way it’s meant to be done - in a group, with people all around you, filling up your spirit, and hearing your voice join others in prayer.

Singing Hashkiveinu with arms around each other