For some reason I love this post and re-post it every few years during the High Holidays (the last time was 2010). It is the story of how I stopped being just a Yid and became a Yidwithlid:
My face felt flushed, I tried to retain my composure “This is volunteer
work. I don’t need the fights, the name calling.” The Rabbi sat across
from me quietly. I was telling him why I felt it necessary to resign
from the Synagogue's board of trustees.
When I ran out of reasons (and breath) there
was a moment of silence as he studied me. He leaned backwards into the
chair and began to speak very softly which in itself had a very calming
effect on me. The Rabbi had his own checklist of reasons why I should
remain in my position; the last item stopped me dead in my tracks---he
said I was an observant Jew who encouraged other people to embrace
Observant Jew? Wow! That was the first time in my life anyone had called
me that. I never thought of myself as “observant.”
Heck, until recently, I
was a three-day-a-year Jew who practically had a booth named after him
at the local McDonalds (I stopped there religiously on the way to my 7:25 golf course tee
off every Saturday morning).
My Rabbi’s very generous
use of those words made me suddenly realize how much has changed over
such a short period of time.
I didn’t grow up very observant. Sure, we would go to services two or
three times a year on a Friday night, we always went on the High
Holidays and had a big meal on Passover (our Seder consisted of two words, "let's eat"), we even lit an
electric Chanukah Menorah every year.
Despite our low observance level, myparents worked very worked hard to instill in me strong feelings for
being Jewish; they encouraged me to hang out with Jewish kids, allowed
me to continue my religious studies after my Bar Mitzvah; and drove me
to countless meetings of Jewish organizations. And of course, I was told
if I ever brought home a “shiksa,” a non-Jewish girl, my Mom would put
her head in the oven (it was an idle threat our oven was electric not gas).
The most vivid thing I remember about growing up is walking with my Dad,
all 26 blocks between my house and the Shul on the High Holidays, both
ways. It was such a special time, just my father and me. I would see
most everyone else drive their cars, park two blocks away from the
locked synagogue parking lot, and walk the rest of the way. It was
strange that my Dad felt the need to walk. Maybe he knew that years later those
walks would light an ember inside me. As I aged and drifted away from limited observance levels of my youth the memory of those walks kept that tiny ember from becoming extinguished.
For some reason I always felt comfortable hanging around people who were
more observant than me. I worked at the Hebrew Academy Day Camp; many
of the girls I dated in high school kept kosher and were Sabbath
observant. I admired my observant friends for their willpower and wished
that I could join them in their observance but felt it would too hard to join the. I
believed very strongly in God, but I felt that becoming more observant
was too high a mountain to scale, especially all at once. And if one
couldn’t do it all they were a hypocrite for observing some commandments and skipping others.
So I went in the other direction, became a kind of a “social” Jew. I
wrapped myself in the blanket of Jewish causes and organizationsusing
them to protect myself from the guilt I felt as I drifted further and
further away from the few Mitzvot that I used to keep. I still took off for
the High Holidays and I would never drive on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur,
but I stopped going to Shul.
Once I got married (she is Jewish, so my mom was spared that
slow suicide via electric oven), I started driving on the High Holidays
so we could attend services at my in-law’s shul an hour's drive away.
After the in-laws retired to our other ancestral homeland (Florida) I would sneak into my sister’s Reform Temple for
an hour on the Holidays. I told myself that it was really for my
daughter so she could have some Judaism in her life. But somewhere
inside I knew I was really going for me, I wanted to be in a Synagogue.
We moved to a bigger house after our second child was born. The house
met all my requirements: big backyard, cable TV in each bedroom and a
reasonable walking distance to the nearest Shul which we promptly
joined. I had no intention of doing anything more than sending my kids
to religious school and of course, walking to synagogue three days a
Just eight months after the first High Holiday walk to my
new Shul, Lois’s mom, of blessed memory, succumbed to a long illness.
Even though we were not active in the Shul or observant, the Rabbi and
the congregation immediately embraced us with warmth. During the Shiva
(the seven day mourning period), the Rabbi visited or called every day
and the daily minyan came to our home. This was a new experience for me;
when I was growing up, the minyan only came to the big donors homes or
to the regular Shul attendees. My new Shul they didn’t care about my
level of observance, or how much I gave; they just cared to provide
comfort to mourners.
Belonging to a Conservative Shul, after Shiva, my wife went twice a day to say Kaddish (its done for
11 months minus one day). I joined her when I could, which usually
didn’t include Shabbat (my golf day). However more I went, the more those
old feelings began to seep out that locked box stored in the back of my
mind--that desire to do more.
Around the same time, The United Synagogue (an organization of
Conservative Shuls) started a home study program. Each day we
read one chapter of the Tanach (the Jewish bible) and discussed it via
an e-mailing list. Being a commuter I thought it might be fun to read on my way to work so I
joined. The more I read, the more I wanted to read, and within a few
months I was on every Jewish study e-mail list that I could find. I
began to attend Shabbat afternoon services just to be able to be able to
participate in the Torah discussion that we would have between
afternoon and evening services.
Those old feeling of wanting to become more observant became strong
again, but this time it was different. My Rabbi encouraged the
congregation to become more observant but it was O.K. to do it
gradually. Judaism, he told us, isn’t all or nothing; any step toward Torah is
positive. This felt like a new religion -- “No-Guilt Judaism," as I
studied the more I learned that the approach is not unique.
I began to do little things (still rationalizing that it was for the kids) like lighting
candles Friday night. We went as a family to services every Friday night
too. When golf season was over, I started going on Saturday mornings. Even
built my first Sukkah (fooling myself into thinking that it was not for
religions reasons-it was a good project for the children and they love
eating outside anyway) Of course the kids were asleep every morning when
I went into the Sukkah before going to work to say the blessings over
the lulav and the etrog.
Almost a year into my journey I took the most difficult step of all. I
gave up my prime real estate, my 7:25 Saturday morning tee off. Even
though my only Saturday observance was going to Shul, I didn’t want to
give up the few hours of Shabbat that I did keep. The more often I went,
the more the stronger the feeling that I was connecting with God. So I
gave it up and eventually found a time on Sundays. (my golf game got a
lot worse, which just goes to prove the Lord works in mysterious ways).
Over the next two years, slowly, more mitzvot began to sneak into my
routine- never by design. Every once in a while I would wake up wanting
to do more: first I decided to stop eating meat from non-kosher animals,
and mixing dairy with meat, and began to go to shul for all the
Festivals (Sukkot, Passover and Shavuot). I started to eat only dairy or
fish when Lois and I went out to restaurants. Eventually my freezer at
home was stocked with kosher meat even though my house was not all
have learned much about the spirit of practicing Judaism. Jewish
rituals are not purely the solemn rites done in Synagogueas I had always thought they
were. God is much smarter than that. Almost every Jewish holiday has an important element at home because they are a chance to have joy, to relish
your time with family, friends, community and God.
Have you ever sat in front of a dish of peanuts at a party? You try one
peanut, wait a while and soon you have another. The more you have, the
faster you want them. Eventually you're jealously guarding your spot on
the couch by the dish.
That’s what adding mitzvot to your life is like.
The key is you don’t have to eat the whole bowl in one sitting, nor do
you have to feel bad when there are leftovers.
Rabbi Louis Finkelstein a great scholar and former Chancellor of the
Jewish Theological Seminary of America once defined a good Jew as
someone who was trying to become a better Jew. That is the key--you
don’t have to do it all at once because when you do one mitzvah regularly,
something as easy as lighting candles every Friday night, eventually you
will want to do another and another.
I once read that when God created the world sparks of his holiness were
spread across the earth. Every time that a Jew performs one of the 613
mitzvot in the Torah one of those sparks are purified and sent back to
heaven. I don’t know if sparks have anything to do with but each time I
add an observance, I feel a little closer to God, and it is that bit of
closeness makes me want more.
The guilt that I used to feel for not observing everything at once is now replaced with joy that I am on the right road.
My friend Faith, a Conservative Rabbi put it well. She said that its
not that I don’t observe a particular commandment…it's that I don’t
My Dad called me today; he asked me if I changed my mind about quitting
the board. I told him that I had. He said, “Good because that’s where
you belong.” What he doesn’t realize is that I would have never gotten
there if he drove to Shul on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, it was clinging to that one
mitzvah that put me on the road to observance.
I still walk to shul on the High Holidays. Its not 26 blocks; its a mile
and a quarter over two big hills and a valley. So I get to walk to Shul with my
Kids. Some day when they look back at these walks, I hope they will be as important to them as they were for my Dad and me.