Why I'm Not Going to Synagogue This Year
I was born into a relatively religious family. I had a Jewish education from the time I was born through the time I became a Bar Mitzvah at age 13. To this day, my parents keep Kosher in the home, celebrate most of the holidays, and honor our deceased relatives by attending yarzheit services at our synagogue. My parents pray occasionally, but usually only during illness.
Culturally speaking, I attended day and sleepaway camps from the time I was a toddler through middle school. I spent every weekend in 7th grade at lavish Bar or Bat Mitzvah receptions across New Jersey and Manhattan. I always had school days off during the Jewish High Holidays. Growing up, my best friends were Jewish, and we frequently shared family dinners together. In high school, I was a chapter president in the Jewish leadership organization, BBYO. During a winter break in college, I went on a Birthright trip to Israel. I had an amazing time, met incredible people, and began to feel again after an emotional slump. Overall, everything in my life was interconnected and meaningful.
But eventually, my in-born skepticism took root when I started to examine my life. How could I remain traditionally religious when I didnât believe in an all-knowing God? Why should I believe a mythical, powerful man in the sky allows tragedies and distress? Most importantly, why are so-called âMessengers of Godâ preaching hate and inequality in an otherwise enlightened age?
Going back another generation, my maternal grandparents were essentially conservadoxâa compromise for acculturated immigrants. In the early 20th century, science couldnât explain many questions. Religion provided answers to questions that didnât make sense. Religion and belief in a higher authority helped bring solace to those struggling through the Holocaust. Who can blame them, though?
I havenât been to a formal temple ceremony in years. I attended occasional Hillel High Holiday services at my collegeâs interfaith chapel, but it was mostly to placate my parents. Popping into the chapel for an hour between classes didnât do much. Flipping through pages and humming verses felt familiar but didnât do anything. In the grand scheme of things, how could humming a few Hebrew words impress God? Why should we even be impressing someone that might not be listening? Hillel was more about showing face and feigning interest. The truly pious students went to the local Chabad houseâa much more religious organization that isnât limited to college campuses. I was âenjoyingâ the diet or light version of my religion. I felt like I was cheating, despite not really caring about living up to higher expectations.
When I was a child, I remembered High Holiday services at our hometown temple as glorified fashion shows and gossip fests. The rabbi and cantor were speaking or singing while the congregants whispered about who looked old, who got divorced, or where so-and-soâs daughter went to college. The most religious time of the Jewish year was reduced to petty arguments, icy glares, and idle chatter. The sanctuary was filled with warm bodies, but mentally, many of the congregants were elsewhere. Spending thousands of dollars a year to sit in a room and gossip made no sense to me. Additionally, when I was too old for childrensâ services, my classmates and I would roam around the building and cause trouble in the restrooms and coat room. Was this any way to honor a culture or tradition?
This year, I want to honor my Jewish roots in a non-traditional fashion that is meaningful to me. Although I wonât be physically occupying a sanctuary, I will be reflecting on my own time and terms. Iâm not quite sure what my itinerary is, but it might include time alone in a public park, my backyard, or some other location where I can reflect. I will be forsaking electronics for the day. I might check out books from a library and learn more about my culture and roots. Perhaps Iâll sketch some Judaic scenes from my trip to Israel. After all, Iâve been the most self-assured when thinking about the legacy of the greatest Jewish minds and landmarks.
I know everything Iâve ever accomplished was due to my own hard work and support from friends and family. I noticed a distinct improvement in my quality of life when I started believing in myself and not a pre-determined destiny set by a man in the sky. I also learned to stop blaming my bad thoughts or actions on others and to take responsibility for myself. Most importantly, I stopped trying to impress God. Simply put, no one made me act a certain wayâit was all my own doing.
My parents have come to terms with the fact I wonât be attending temple for Rosh Hashanah or Yom Kippur. At age 23, my parents really canât force me to do something I donât believe in. I have no qualms about them honoring their commitment to Judaism in a temple. I just wish my parents would understand my perspectiveâas a disillusioned, post-9/11 millennialâwho chooses to honor a lifestyle and identity in a unique, unorthodox way. Reflecting on my own doesnât make me any less of a Jew than my temple-going contemporaries showing off designer labels during Mournerâs Kaddish.
