College is supposed to challenge your assumptions, but right now I’m experiencing the most annoying challenge possible.
As planned, I went down a couple of days ago to talk to the rabbi—ordained Reconstructionist, though he insists that the congregation is “unaffiliated”—about my options for converting. He told me, of course, that I and my patrilineal status would be accepted in the Williamsburg, VA community because no one there is halachic anyway. In fact, he kept repeating, as if trying to warn me, all the ways the congregation wasn’t halachic. “We only do three aliyot on Shabbat,” he told me, “and I read from the tikkun while someone else follows along in the scroll. Only about three people walk to the synagogue, and that’s just because they live on this street. And I drive.” I started to prepare for the impending Debbie Friedman “Mi Shebeirach,” the inclusion of which can tell you a lot about a synagogue.
For someone who applied to and was rejected from both JTS and Stern College before coming here, it’s all a bit much. William & Mary is unusually accepting religion-wise (I saw flyers promoting at least one interfaith September 11 service, as well as a Christian community service event held in the middle of campus, and the Wren chapel is apparently open during the day for anyone to waltz right in,) but I’m realizing that students, too, are supposed to take on this pluralistic acceptance. I wanted to avoid that, maybe stand on the sidelines, but I’ve been here about three weeks and I’ve already been dragged into this mess. One reason I applied to JTS and Stern was to voluntarily cloister myself and actually focus on Judaism for once in my life. Alas, I’m now in an entirely different situation. Judaism, or at least observant Judaism, is hanging on for dear life right now. What else is new?
I was on board with this “pluralism” thing at first—in fact, last week I attended an interfaith meeting whose mission statement was simply that we “learn about each other”—but that led to my getting invited to an Eid al-Fitr dinner held on Shabbat, which somehow also led to my being hassled to attend that September 11 interfaith prayer service I told you about. All this is compounded by the fact that as a Religion major, I ought to be the first to jump on these opportunities. You know, learn about new religions! We’re all one!
I couldn’t tell you exactly why, but none of this is sitting well with me. I don’t want to celebrate some other religion’s holiday on Shabbat, even if technically I wouldn’t be breaking it by going. I don’t want to go to some vague squishy prayer service, which probably is going to include lighting candles and a “moment of silence.” It also might be held in the Wren chapel, and I don’t want to ruin a moment of peace and goodwill by having to explain why I’m not going to pray in a room with a cross in it.
I’m sure part of this distaste has to do with the fact that I can’t even observe my own religion properly. I just came back from both the Friday and Saturday services at my new synagogue, and the rabbi was right—no one’s worried about halacha (and for the record, we did sing the Debbie Friedman song. Twice.) Lots of things were amiss, from the fact that we skipped the middle of Aleinu to the fact that the rabbi literally led us in the “blessing over the tallit,” a serious case of shepherding if ever I saw one. There was clapping. There was lai-lai-lai’ing. There was fun, perhaps even joy. But there was no real substance. We only sang the first two lines of any given psalm; and to accommodate everyone, we did so as slowly as a dead turtle. Every section of the service was interrupted by a long explanation of what we were about to do. (“Now, we’re going to turn to page 45 and chant the first two lines in Hebrew. Then, we will repeat the lines in English. The transliteration is on page 46. Please follow along.”)
Worse, the Jewish friend I brought with me loved every second. When the kids got up to sing some pointless misplaced niggun, she whispered “How cute!” to me, as I sat sulking, completely disgusted that they actually interrupted the blessings of the Shema for this. And now I’m going to have to figure out how to tell the rabbi that I absolutely hate everything he ever loved. I don’t dislike religious pluralism (although I’d prefer to avoid those interfaith services), but having to accept this odd form of “do whatever feels right” Judaism is giving me cramps. It’s the only place in town, and I know perfectly well that for better or worse, this is my new community for the next two years and I’ve got to make the best of it.
I’m glad that these people are finding a connection to Judaism, but I’d feel better if they’d stop laughing at how dumb the laws of parashat Ki Teitze are or if they cared as much about kashrut as they did about making gluten-free challah (which they did, and it tasted like Play-Doh). I get the spiritual search; we all know I’ve been to the Catholic church more than once, but for what it’s worth, I happen to think that if you believe Judaism ends with slow Hebrew/English hybrid singing, lai-lai-lai’s, and bagels, you’ve quit too early. Before and during the service, the rabbi and others kept mentioning how important it was to “wrestle” with the text. That doesn’t mean ignoring what you don’t like and figuring you’ve at least got a hold on the “spirit” of the law.
I hope I came to this school for a reason. I don’t yet know what that might be. I’d like to think that I’ll bring the Joy of Observance to these people, but somehow I doubt that anyone will be receptive to my archaic and outdated ways. I guess I’ll have to take on the rhetoric of Modern Orthodox kiruv experts; that doing mitzvot is a good and pragmatically useful “choice.” Fine; I’m up for that. I think I have to be.
Laura Cooper is a Religious Studies major at the College of William & Mary in Williamsburg, VA. Her other interests include graphic novels, punk rock, and fancy teas. Her column, The Jew in the Boonies, appears here on alternating Sundays.
