STRAPS ON A PLANE!!!

This post appeared on my old blog about a year ago, before we began experiencing technical  difficulties.

     The atheist cybersphere is having a field day with the story about the seventeen-year-old boy Jewish boy caught praying on an airplane last week, which led to the pilot's diverting the flight and making an emergency landing in Philadelphia. The boy was on the way from New York's LaGuardia airport to Louisville, Kentucky to visit his grandmother.  The reactions I've seen run from "people who pray are weird" to the unrepeatable. Of course there are atheists who believe the boy must be insane if he feels the need to "talk to his imaginary friend." But now they learn this boy not only tried praying, but he tried doing so with phylacteries. So some Jews tie these funny-leather-straps-and-boxes thingies onto their arms and heads when they pray. Who knew?

      Um, lot of people, actually.  
      Not only does atheism have no good holidays or food, it isn't exactly famous for producing a lot of great comedians, either. And these people are Not Amused. Less than a month after a Muslim man tried blowing up an airplane with a bomb in his underwear, people are understandably skittish about airline passengers who behave strangely. And what, atheists wonder, can be stranger than תְפִלִין? Not funny strange or curious strange, but appalling strange.  Intolerable strange.  The millennia-old tradition that spawned Jesus, Albert Einstein, and Jon Stewart, it seems, is nothing more than a bizarre cult. Surely there could be no rational motive for this behavior, could there?  Isn't prayer just unthinking superstition?  Something that only crazy religious fanatics do, anyway?  And aren't all religious fanatics the same? Mr. Arrogant A. Atheist has never seen Jews wearing t'fillin before, so doesn't that prove that practicing Jews are even more insane than he previously suspected? 

     Perhaps even more than the praying itself, our atheist friends are outraged at the suggestion that anyone on the plane should have understood what he was doing. Why would normal people know anything about Jewish prayer? How could we expect any pilot or FBI agent to realize this Jewish boy wasn't just one more suicide bomber? People who think they know everything don't take kindly to the idea that there's anything else worth knowing. Nope. They don't gotta know 'bout nuthin' they don't wanna know 'bout, and religion is something only crazies want to know about, right?

     Of course, the Jewish world is also abuzz with the same story. I'm sure there has been more than one Friday evening or Saturday morning sermon on the subject.  My rabbi had some intelligent things to say about it this past weekend.  But you are probably reading this to find out what I think.

      Would I ever put on t'fillin on an airplane?  No.  Would my husband, or my seventeen-year-old?  No.  But I don't believe it's fair to call this boy an insane, unthinking fanatic, either, or to assume he was acting on any superstitious fears about Big Bad Skydaddy crashing the plane and killing him if he didn't.  He is young, and he knows plenty of people who have prayed on airports without hassles.  Perhaps he wasn't afraid of running into anti-Semitism where he was going, because he associates it with his grandmother and not with rednecks.  Although he was acting upon the commandment to say his morning prayers within the prescribed time slot, he might reasonably have felt a genuine desire to pray with his תפלין, and I can understand what his motive may have been. 

     Asking favors from God is not the only theme of Jewish prayer, not even Thursday morning prayer.  I'm not going to argue that people ought to pray or believe in God.  Those are difficult things to do.  I will only say that if one is in doubt about God, there is no place where belief in God makes more sense than on an airplane.  Jewish prayers are designed to elevate our awareness, to help us appreciate all that is wonderful in the world, to stop us from taking anything for granted, and to keep us mindful of the responsibility to live our lives in accord with what is sacred.  Humans don't normally fly hundreds of miles through the air from within hours.  Some people don't have grandmothers, and some can't afford plane tickets.  This boy might have felt thankful that he was able to make this journey, which once took weeks and weeks of dangerous overland travel.  As he sat on that plane, looking out upon the Firmament and down at the Earth, with nothing between him and death but the engineering genius of people he will never meet, perhaps he felt a greater than usual awarness of something greater than himself.  If he never before wanted to touch those verses from Deuteronomy telling him to love God with all his all his heart and all his soul and all his strength, perhaps in that moment it was clear and compelling for him.

     So what do I think of his praying there and then, in that particular manner?  I think that it was both brave and naive.  I'm not saying he was wrong.  His little leather boxes obviously made it through airport security, so the flight attendant should not have freaked out.  When one goes to visit family, air travel time can easily feel like a waste unless one can find a way to occupy oneself.  Knitting one's grandmother a pair of mittens or clipping one's fingernails is now Verboten, according to TSA regulations.  Judaism doesn't allow much flexibility about when a man should pray.  The Free Exercise Clause of the First Amendment protects prayer.  Yet given the paranoia and prejudice that pervade our world today, he probably could have made a better choice.

      1. He might have tried arriving at the airport a bit earlier, and had he asked around among his friends and contacts and known what their schedules are, joined one of the regular prayer groups that meets there every day somewhere between the security check and the gate.

      2. He might have done his praying quietly and in his seat, perhaps without his תפלין.  He probably wouldn't have aroused much suspicion just sitting there reading from his prayerbook, especially since his sister was there to reassure anyone who might freak out.  They might have thought he was stupid or crazy to sway and move his lips when reading, but they wouldn't have worried about him being a threat to them.  

     3. He might have waited until he got to his grandmother's house, where he knew he could pray without being hassled.

     I like my rabbi's take  on the situation.  He says prayer should make us more mindful of other people and their needs, not less so.  If they are afraid someone might strap a bomb onto his body and blow up the entire plane, or if they feel uncomfortable with people praying in a language they don't understand, perhaps it's best to put one's consideration for the other people on the plane first and make other arrangements.   Even if they're all a bunch of redneck bigots who don't deserve respect, one's motive for prayer should not be to demonstrate one's disagreement with those around one.

Is there a God?

This post appeared on my old blog about a year ago, before we began experiencing technical  difficulties.


     So this rabbi walks into a bar, and he sees one of his former congregants.

     "Well, if it isn't Sam Goldberg!" The rabbi says. "I haven't seen you in ages! What are you drinking?"

     "Uh, beer," says Sam. "Well, you see, Rabbi Klugmann, I sort of stopped going to that temple of yours."

     Rabbi Klugmann orders a couple of beers and gives one to Sam. "So why don't you come to shul anymore?"

     "Well, I don't want to sound rude or anything, but it's all that mumbo-jumbo in the Bible. I mean you don't seriously expect any sane twenty-first century person to believe any of that, do you? About God creating the world in six days? It's all just scientifically impossible! Any sixth grade kid can tell you the Earth is billions of years old! And Noah getting two animals of every species into that little ark? There's no way that could ever happen! I mean, I could just go on and on about how stupid religion is!"

     "Okay, Sam," says Rabbi Klugmann. "So how are you doing? Do you want another beer?"

     And for the next couple of hours Sam knocks back the beer the rabbi buys him and talks all about his views on religion, politics, sports, his family, and whatever else is on his mind. Finally, Sam looks at his watch and says he needs to go home.

     "Well, it was great to see you again, Sam," the rabbi says. "You should come to shul, and then we can talk some more."

     "That's not going to happen, Rabbi," says Sam.

     "Why not?"

     "I told you, I'm an atheist. I don't believe any of that stuff about God ."

     "Me too."

     "What? I've been talking to you for two hours, and you haven't heard a word I said!"

     "Sure I have. You said no sane twenty-first century person can believe all that mumbo-jumbo in the Bible about God creating the world in six days and Noah getting two animals of every species in the Bible and everything. You said you're an atheist. I'm an atheist, too."

      "Wait, a minute. How can you be an atheist? You're a rabbi."

      "Nu? The God you don't believe in I don't believe in it, either."

      Before I can answer the question of whether I believe in God, I have to ask the person who's asking to define "God."  I tend to stay out of discussion with Christians who ask such questions, and nobody Jewish has ever asked me that question that I can recall, either.  Jews don't discuss beliefs very much, and although I spent most of today around Jews, including two hours of prayer services this morning, I didn't hear anybody make a big deal  about it. 

     The only people in my experience who seem intent on discussing the existence of God are atheists.  The atheists among my own family and friends are pretty good at minding their own business, but I find atheists on the Internet who seem to have some compulsion about identifying God-believers wherever they can, in order to heap scorn upon them and set them straight.  I find that argumentative atheists abound on the Internet, some of whom seem unable to respect anyone who believes in anything anyone calls "God." They appear to have a fixation with some magical "SkyDaddy" or "imaginary friend" deity, as depicted on the Sistine Chapel ceiling, something indistinguishable from Zeus, Thor, Isis, or the Tooth Fairy, in which they imagine all religious people believe. They seem convinced that if we all listen to Reason, a quality that atheists alone possess, then they will cure us all of this absurd Delusion.  In other words, their understanding of theology is roughly that of a fourteen-year-old.

     I used to be the most obnoxious supercilious atheist I knew, arguing with all the religious kids in school about how stupid they were to believe in that fairy tale God. Then something happened to me in eleventh grade that made me stop, and no, it wasn't any kind of mystical religious experience. I wouldn't say that my beliefs have changed in any way or that I reject my previous atheism.

      My brother, the math major, had turned me on to that great twentieth century atheist, Bertrand Russell, in tenth grade, and I tried reading everything of his that I could comprehend: his autobiography, Why I Am Not a Christian, and then his History of Western Philosophy. The turning point for me was when I got to his chapter on that great seventeenth century atheist, Spinoza. Russell called Spinoza "the noblest and most lovable of the great philosophers," so I knew I had to like him, too. To my surprise, this notorious atheist had a belief in something he chose to call "God," and Russell still managed to respect him. In spite of what I'd always heard about a God I couldn't believe in, I found that Spinoza posited a God that made tremendous sense to me. From the moment, I realized that all disagreements about the existence of God were semantic, and to continue to argue with people about it was a foolish waste of time.

          That probably won't end as long as atheists feel a need to look down their noses at other people, but if they're as rational as they believe themselves to be, they'll define their terms before they engage in these theological disputations.

What does it mean to be religious?

This post originally appeared in my old blog about a year ago.


I have seen people throw the words "religious" and "secular" around quite a bit lately, especially in reference to Judaism, and I have asked if they can explain what these words mean.  Of course, they cannot, and there's a reason for that.  They don't mean anything.

I have asked a number of the Jews I know whether they would call themselves "religious" and they find the question too difficult to answer.  That is because the Hebrew language really has no word for, nor a concept of religion.  Most Americans' ideas about religion are based on their knowledge of Christianity, which  essentially sees itself as a "faith" or system of belief.  One is a Christian because one believes in the religion called Christianity.  One is a Muslim because one believes in the religion called Islam.  One is a Buddhist because one believes in the religion called Buddhism.

I can't say much about Christianity, and even less about Islam or any other religion, but being Jewish in not about accepting a set of doctrines.  Unless one converts to the Jewish religion, one is a Jew because one's mother was a Jew, and her mother before her was a Jew, and her mother before her, going back into the mists of time, either to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob/Israel or to some ancestor who became a Jew and so merged his or her family's history with that of the Children of Israel.  The great-great grandparents who came from the little Polish shtetl in steerage, passed through Ellis Island, settled on New York's Lower East Side, joined the garment workers' union and the Arbeter Ring, subscribed to the פֿאָרװערטס, and ate kosher pastrami on seeded rye with a half sour pickle every day didn't need to establish their Jewish credentials for anybody, and if they ate treyf every day of their lives and never set foot in a synagogue, they knew they were Jewish enough.

Many American (and Israeli) Jews might describe themselves as "culturally Jewish," whatever that means.  They might say they celebrate the holidays and follow the ethical teachings of Judaism but ignore the religious  commandments.  But where does one draw the line between culture and religion?  Is following the Jewish dietary laws a religious choice if one's decision to do so is based on social motivations and not on any belief in God?  Religion, language, and diet are all aspects of culture.  Someone once told me that if one takes the religion out of Jewish culture, all that's left is the hole in the bagel.

Even if one does practice the Jewish religion, there are different varieties of that.  One might apply the word "religious" to anyone who belongs to or attends a synagogue regularly, be it Reform, Reconstructionist, Conservative, or Orthodox.  Or one might apply it only to Orthodox or "Ultra Orthodox."  But what of the man who participates in daily prayers and who keeps strictly kosher, but whose personal theological views run more toward agnosticism or atheism?  Or the "deeply spiritual" New Age practitioner of her own yoga prayer rooted in Buddhist meditation and Kaballalistic tradition?   

I'm Not Very Religious

What does that mean?

Very little, in fact. There is no word in Hebrew for "religion" so when Jews say they're not religious, they could mean one or more of many different things. Among the possible meanings:

• I sometimes go to McDonalds, sometimes even on Saturdays.
• I love doing a Passover seder every year, and all my social activism is based in Judaism's ethical teachings about תיקון עולם, but I don't belong to a synagogue or think about God at all, and I don't believe in separatism or any of the ritual trappings of religion.  
• I belong to a synagogue, but I only go there twice a year.
• I belong to a synagogue and go there every week, but it's not Orthodox.
• I belong to an Orthodox synagogue, but it's not as Orthodox as Rabbi T's synagogue.
• I belong to Rabbi T's synagogue, which I suppose people will call "ultra-Orthodox," but I'm still willing to go to movies and let my children attend coed summer camps and public schools.
• (men) I don't wear a black hat; a modest little crocheted yarmulke is good enough.
• (women) I sometimes wear slacks in public, and I only cover my hair in the synagogue.
• I belong to a synagogue, but I don't pray three times a day; once a week is about all I can handle.
• I don't really believe in God so much, at least not the kind of God who cares about whether I pray or not, so even though I go to synagogue twice a day to make everybody else happy, when they do all those prayers and stuff I kind of tune it out and think about the book I'm writing.
• I'm proud of my Jewish heritage and I send my kids to parochial school and summer camp and I love studying all the Jewish religious texts, but my own personal focus is more on the ethical aspects of Judaism than on all the rituals.
• I'm into the Jewish holidays, the ethics, and the rituals, but I just can't get into all that spirituality/prayer stuff.   

Most often, in this country, it also means, "When I was a kid growing up, I wasn't really exposed to the Jewish religion, and I don't really know very much about it at all."


This post appeared on my old blog about a year ago, before we began experiencing technical  difficulties.

What a Doll!

This post appeared on my old blog about a year ago, before we began experiencing technical  difficulties.

This is one of my pet peeves. What could I say to these people? As much as I wanted to slap them across the face or scold "HOW DARE YOU!" I realized that many people might not understand what was bothering me. They might have even thought I was the one being rude.

Of all the sounds I heard umpteen years ago, from midnight colicky cries to accidentally tripped car alarms. none annoyed me more than this remark from people looking into my Snuggli or stroller: "Oooo, she's just a doll!" To make matters even worse, some of the same people who called my daughter a doll would see which toy she was waving in her chubby little hand and say, "Yes, you have a baby!" Even among educated adults, the stuffed or molded plastic toy purchased at a store, a toy representing a nine-year-old or an adult fashion model with exaggerated breasts no less, was allegedly a "baby," and my own living, thinking, breathing human child, the fruit of my womb, was "just a doll" as far as these people were concerned.

My husband used to shush me when I reacted to this error on people's parts and he would tell me the polite response was "Thank you." I disagreed. Thanking people for saying such a thing about one's child will simply allow them to believe that it's acceptable to go on saying such a thing about other mothers' children. To him, it was "no big deal."

But to me, it was, and remains, a very big deal. A baby is a living, breathing, thinking person who just happens to be extremely new on the job. A doll is an inert, mindless object produced by some manufacturer for somebody's amusement. I would argue that the inability of some people to tell the difference between a person and an object might well be the most serious problem in the world today.

I wanted to do something to let people know that it's wrong to confuse human beings with objects. Telling someone that she has offended one with a remark intended as a compliment is no simple matter. Eventually, I thought of a response which, while perfectly polite, might gently help people realize that they might want to take their feet out of their mouths and reconsider whether parents want to hear such remarks about their children.   What I did was to shake my head and whisper, "I'm so sorry you feel that way." If that didn't get an apology or a flustered reaction, I would add, "We like to think that our child is so much more that that."