On a recent Sunday morning, I found myself singing with my chorale, the Aurora Singers, at the Unitarian Universalist Church of Palo Alto. The order of the service was familiar, as was the chalice lighting, the metallic bowl-gong, and the warm embrace of believers, nonbelievers and those on their personal search.
So was the array of books on the front table — works by Rabbi Michael Lerner, others on Eastern faiths and several questioning Christian orthodoxy.
You see, not that long ago I was a Unitarian Universalist. While some of my Walnut Creek neighbors boasted bumper stickers proclaiming “Jesus is the answer,” Unitarians’ stickers read “To question is the answer.”
We were a motley crew of lefties, ex-Catholics, ex-Mormons, ex-evangelicals, plus those who called themselves Jewish but didn’t care for establishment Judaism. Many, like me, were in mixed marriages and didn’t think we would be accepted at neighboring synagogues.
What I left was not Judaism, but nothingness. The little I knew about Judaism came from books, from an occasional service and from a comparative religion class at Oberlin. Before my first marriage at age 22, my mother approached a rabbi. He said he would conduct the ceremony if I agreed to celebrate the Jewish holidays and raise my children as Jews. Since I hadn’t a clue as to how to do that, I was married by a Unitarian minister who read from Kahlil Gibran’s “The Prophet.”
When we moved to California and my daughter wanted to go to Sunday school, I joined the Unitarian Church. It was the only religion my spouse and I could agree on. For many years I was an active member, teaching comparative religion in Sunday school, serving on the board and taking part in the shows. The church was a sanctuary in a conservative suburb, and it became a second home.
But on a spiritual level, something didn’t quite resonate.
Perhaps it was the church Passover seder that over-universalized the Exodus story. Perhaps it was the melodies that revealed Christian origins, even though the words had been sanitized. Perhaps it was the fact that the first intifada was raging, focusing my attention on the land of my people.
It may even have been Elie Wiesel. While interviewing him for a newspaper article, I disclosed, “I happen to be Jewish.”
He responded, “Don’t happen to be Jewish. Be Jewish.”
Some months later, when my first marriage ended, I returned to a Judaism that was open to progressive influences — and had opened up to me. There were guitars, meditation groups, potlucks, women on the bimah and nontraditional families.
But there was something deeper that held it all together: tradition.
As Zohar scholar Daniel Matt pointed out during a recent weekend at Congregation Beth Am, our encounters with the holy, our mystical experiences, do not give us our moral values. Those values need to come from someplace else. That’s where Torah comes in — that’s why we have a framework.
Interestingly, in her sermon the minister at the Unitarian church stressed the importance of remembering and honoring one’s roots, even as one ventures in new directions. While it was the spirit of inquiry and openness that led me to Unitarianism, it was the music, ritual and history of Judaism that brought me back to my roots. It was Shabbat, the candles, the challah, the experience of prayer.
Judaism is not about blind faith. I don’t “believe” any differently as a Jew than I did as a Unitarian. But I am in love with Judaism. It not only compels me to learn, it grips my heartstrings.
When our singing group stood up in the church to sing “When You Believe” from “The Prince of Egypt,” I felt myself seduced by the words borrowed from Miriam’s “Song of the Sea” in Exodus. I may not believe in the burning bush, the plagues or the parting of the Sea of Reeds. But I do believe in the power of religious experience.
As we sang, “Nachitah v’chasd’cha, am zu ga’alta. Ashira, ashira, ashira” (“In Your love, You lead the people You redeemed. I will sing, I will sing, I will sing”), my voice grew stronger. This wasn’t just a song. It was my story.
Janet Silver Ghent, former senior editor of j., is a freelance writer/editor and voice student living in Palo Alto. She can be reached at [email protected].