Josh is good for more than crass politics... I wrote this for another audience, but figured it might be well-taken here too. Now's your rare chance to glimpse a page in the Book of J.~~~~~
Today is the tenth anniversary of two rather remarkable events in the grand scheme of things, not entirely unrelated. First, ten years ago today was the day that Israeli Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin was
assassinated by an ultranationalist right-wing Jew who opposed Rabin’s efforts to make peace with the Palestinians by giving away Israeli land. Second, ten years ago today was my Bar Mitzvah. Yes, religion touches us all; you’ll find it everywhere: Even in the life and times of Lord Josh, Esquire.
Imagine, if you will, back into the sepia-tinted annals of history. The year was 1995. Nickelodeon became America’s top-rated cable network. The World Trade Organization was established. O.J. Simpson went on trial, guaranteeing nine months of obsessive-compulsive news coverage. Seamus Heaney won the Nobel Prize in Literature. The Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma was bombed by a homegrown American terrorist. Jacques Chirac became president of France. The Nasdaq stock index passed 1000 for the first time. Windows 95 changed the face of personal computing. Bill Clinton abolished the 55 mph federal speed limit. Bill Waterston published the last original Calvin and Hobbes strip. And, fo’ sho’,
Boyz II Men was tearing up the charts.
But there was another boy becoming a man that year. In Jewish tradition, when a child reaches the age of thirteen—or twelve if she is a girl—he or she is deemed an adult under Jewish law, and is therefore worthy to lead the congregation in prayer for the first time. It is a coming of age rite known as the
B’nai Mitzvah, where one becomes a “Child of the Commandment.” And on that day, it was my turn.
Our congregation was a small little flock out in the desert wastes of California. There were only one hundred members or so…one hundred fifty at the most. A typical Shabbat service consisted maybe of twenty people, but on that Saturday nearly the entire congregation turned out, as well as some rarely-seen family members, all there to see me have my big day. For as shy as I was, going up before 130 people as the sole focus of attention was no small ordeal. But I had friends who had gone before me, and more who would follow in my footsteps. I felt excited more than anything else.
The turnout was huge…nothing turns ‘em out like a B’nai Mitzvah. I’d been attending services since I was a little boy. I knew all the prayers, all the songs. I had studied my Torah and Haf’Torah portions to the letter. I’d written my sermon. I had my own prayer garb. Everything was set to go. The video recorder got going, my parents, sister, and a couple of half-brothers took their seats up front, the kosher wine went on ice, and I got up there with the Rabbi, Jim Brandt—one of the best our congregation had ever had, but a horrible singer—and I did my thing! What it is like for a little kid to have an experience like that? I don’t know, to be honest. I can only speak for myself. If you have to ask, you’ll never know.
For the first few minutes I was ice-cold scared. But I guess that’s a part of growing up. You have experiences that expand your horizons and push you outside of your comfort zone. That was my day. The terror wore off, and by the time we rose for the first of the holy prayers, I was at peace with the world. From there on out, it was all rote…plus whatever personal savoring of the occasion I could muster. You might even say I had a good time, right then and there. Tough experiences are seldom enjoyable at the time, and while they certainly made for some good memories, it’s really a special occasion indeed when you can be right there, on the spot, and appreciate it even a little…especially when you’re so young.
I completed the main portion of the service, then read from the Torah, and then the Haf’Torah. That was the hardest part. Even with the vowels, my chanting was pretty flat and it was rough-going. I hadn’t practiced the Haf’Torah portion nearly as well as the Torah portion. But I made it through, with a cold sweat, and after that it was smooth sailing. The place fell silent, and I gave my traditional discussion of the Torah that I had read. My portion was “Lech Lecha,” the story of Abraham being told by God to leave his native land and journey to a land he did not know. I still have the original, typewritten copy of that speech, in a box sitting in the closet. I wrote it myself—I always liked to write. It wasn’t bad…for a thirteen-year-old.
Then I got pelted with soft candy, as per our synagogue’s now defunct tradition. (Someone used hard candy a couple of years later. You don’t throw hard candy at an ark surrounded by stained glass.) After the Torah services, I led us into the concluding prayers. While my dad was leading the congregation in those, I had a special private counsel on the bimah (the stage) with the Rabbi. I’d be lying if I told you I remember what he said…even a single word of it. But I’m sure it was very inspiring…because look how I turned out! =P
After that, we said the Kaddish—the prayer for those who have died—and finally I led the congregation in my favorite closing song: “Ein Keloheinu.” Then the service was over. But the party was just beginning: We had wine and broke bread, and then, as is the tradition worldwide, a mighty feast ensued! Judaism is infamous for its feasts and ritual love of celebration. Suffice it to say, it was one neat little reception I had. Golly! I even got the DJ to play “Earth Angel.” He asked me if I was dedicating it to anyone, and I think I blushed and told him no. Kids get embarrassed about the stupidest things, and I didn’t have the guts to tell him that I liked the song because I had heard it in
Back to the Future.
What a morning that was…and the night before, and the afternoon following. I owe the whole thing to my dad. He made it happen. When you’re a kid, you’re told to do things that don’t always make sense to you, because “parents know better.” And if you have good influences in your life, and turn out to be an okay person, someday you’ll understand what they were trying to do. Honest to goodness, there’s no lump in my throat, but my eyes are a bit watery just thinking of it. My dad is a great guy. If you ever have kids…give ‘em the very best you have.
Legend has it outside the religion that a B’nai Mitzvah is like Christmas times infinity for presents and gifts. I’m hear to tell you…it’s all true! Because my extended family is so dispersed, few of them attended, but I got gifts from family I’d never met from all over the country, as well as gifts from throughout the congregation. Among the more interesting gifts I received was a coffee table trophy book, thicker than a phone book, about the Civil War. More usefully, I got a talking alarm clock that is sitting at my left hand even now, ten years later. These days it’s showing its age with worn-out buttons, but the cackling rooster is still as motherfucking
loud as you’ll ever hear. That’s why I use it! =)
And in addition to the presents, I got about $1500 in monetary gifts, which to my thirteen-year-old self was a small fortune. I spent a bit of the money on frivolities and dainties, but I saved most of it in a locked red toolbox full of…whomever the hell it is on the $100 bill. Poor as I am, it’s been a while since I’ve seen one of those. Four years later I used half of the money to buy my first—and, to date, my only car: an old 1976 Plymouth Volare. That car was a real character. I owe that car some good times and the fondest of memories. And in 2000, one year after the car, I used the rest of the money to buy myself a computer, not only as a high-school graduation present but as a tool for my upcoming college life. Except for a different hard drive and an Ethernet card, that’s the same computer I’m using to type this very post.
I’ve come to believe that life is what you make of it. My Bar Mitzvah was an opportunity to do some growing up, to have an unforgettable experience, and to participate in something bigger than I was. In my heart of hearts, I was never truly religious in the sense that I understood and accepted the premise of God. When I was young I accepted, but I did not understand. When I was older I understood, but I did not accept. (If I can be forgiven to make such an audacious claim, the claim to understand God.) Whatever team I’m on, God is not my captain…never has been. Yet the richness of the Jewish community itself is undeniable. I am a better person because of experiences like the one I had on that day, ten years ago. I would not be who I am without this Jewish dimension to my character. And if God is the occasion who brings the Jewish community together, then I am grateful.
“Vus vet zayn” is Yiddish; the language historically spoken by Jews over the past centuries prior to the inception of the modern State of Israel. It means “What happens now?” and is the title of a klezmer song I like—klezmer being an eastern European genre of music which enjoys great popularity in Israel. The song asks this intriguing question of what will happen to the world once the Messiah finally arrives. But you and I don’t need to wait for the end of the world to find out what can become of us. In that sense, the question has a double meaning. We don’t know the fate of the world, but we have the opportunity to seek out a destiny, and, therein, to shape the fate of all things, for the world is that in which we all share.
Consequently, the
flavor of life is in its nearness to our so-called “mundane” existence. Jews see themselves as very small, but with the potential to become very great. In that regard, our greatest dreams are always at arm’s length…here on Earth. And, once our worldly hours expire, we bequeath this unto our children. Unlike Christianity, Judaism focuses on
this life, in
this world, and our deeds as
mortal beings of flesh and blood. To a Jew, corporeal life is more than some sad proving ground for the acceptance of a distant savior who might lift us up from our wretchedness. Nay, corporeal life—this life—is to be treasured. Humanity is a joy. And the corporeal world is a world fit to live in…a world worth keeping, worth exploring, worth perfecting—just as we ourselves are worth surpassing, and as is the human condition itself, across the generations, worth illuminating. Judaism suggests that we are greater than the angels because we can grow and learn, and become like God in this way, whereas the angels are forever fixed in form and nature. By living as mortal beings, we can achieve the sort of curiosity and zest for life, that brings true illumination into the soul. Humanity, rather than a pejorative for our weakness, is among the most joyous titles in the whole cosmic fugue. We may even find that immortality is a state of awareness more so than a state of persistence.
But in any event, Judaism requires no apocalypse, no everlasting state of sin. Judaism gives us the permission to love the moment, and to love the future, and to love ourselves and our power, which in turn leads us to the question of life in the here and now. So, looking back ten years into my past, I ask myself this question today…what happens now? And I consider both my life and the fate of the world together.
Judaism looks to improve the world, through prayer, repentance, and charity. Consider those words with an open mind, and my own goals are not so different. Certainly, I have a deeper fondness for sovereignty upon myself than many do, with a dash of vainglory thrown in for texture, but that’s just my way. The underlying ambition is much the same, so I like to think. How? Because the essence of Jewish faith, as I understand it, asks us to find our own way, and fashion our own destiny, with the help of God through the
wisdom of God. In this sense, “God” is symbolic for always making the best choices, and always seizing the opportunities that come our way. Of course most branches of Judaism obviously still maintain that God is a separate entity, with its own divine identity, but perhaps that interpretation is behind the times. Perhaps, therein, lies the seed of Judaism’s success in the centuries to come—not as a ritualistic religion, but as a cultural glue with the worthy intention of surpassing ourselves…and becoming better people. Traditions die out, and customs change, but ideas can outlast the sun. Judaism has always adapted pretty well. And, considering what the Jewish people been through, from one generation to the next, it’s no wonder. As far as any religion goes, here is one with a future. All it has to do is reach out and take it.
Jewish faith is more elegant, in this way, than the harsh proselytizing religions that enjoy greater popularity but which restrict their followers’ freedom to think. Judaism, long the victim of a world full of bullies, has survived by fostering its own independence and seeking out the very best in human nature. Jews have achieved tremendous success in this way, by rising to meet the adversity in which they forever exist. That’s why, everywhere from Jon Stewart at The Daily Show to Leonard Nimoy in Star Trek, you will find Jews who have accomplished themselves richly in this society. I myself have become, not a star, but an intellect who knows what he is about. How many people can claim such abiding success in their lives? Too few, sadly. Jews aspire to succeed in this world because, through grim historical experience, they value appreciating both their plenty and their potential. And these values come from their families, cemented by their religious communities, whose common theme is the religion itself. These values are instilled nowadays through rituals like the B’nai Mitzvah, but are intentioned in the much more durable name of preserving the Jewish heritage in a world still teeming with those who would be hostile to the mere existence of even a single Jew. And the Jewish heritage is exactly representative of the answer to the question,
Vus vet zayn? Still the butt of jokes even today, but for the most part free of bitterness at the rest of the world, Jews have succeeded in outlasting almost every culture that has ever opposed them. They have honorable goals for the outcome of humanity. They value this life. Step away from the orthodox nastiness of the extreme wings of the religion, and you’ll find Judaism to be an interpretation of life, the universe, and everything else, more so than a hardwired religion, and one with which I share more than a fringe of common ground.
While I cannot faithfully call myself Jewish even by those liberal standards, I bear little enmity for such a thoughtful enterprise. And I look back fondly, and proudly, at this piece of my identity. In more immediate, specific terms, this very reminiscence is also the answer to the question.
