When I was in Hebrew School, we were taught a song that starts, in new age, non-gender-specific translation, “Oh G-d, my G-d, I pray that these things never end: the sand and the sea, the rush of the water, the crash of the heavens and the prayers of all.”
The song is, in essence, a prayer for humanity to pray, a prayer for the basic elements, a prayer for the majesty and healing of the world.
It is the beginning of the month of Elul, which culminates in the Jewish Days of Awe, during which Jews repent and atone for sins. This leads to introspection (one hopes) about the gulf between who we are and who we want to be. That introspection is supposed to help one re-set one’s internal compass, toward righteousness and good. The annual gut-check, and if you are really not so righteous, a sucker punch to the gut (or groin).
I am not religious. Really. But tradition is important because it ties me to those generations who came here and struggled so I could have advantages, opportunities and the life I lead. I stand on their shoulders and my generation’s prosperity fueled their dreams and they stood tall with pride. Tradition also ties me to the generations that will follow mine. From generation to generation.
My grandfather renounced religion (it was the original Kumbaya Age: the Age of Socialism and communal living) and preached free love (he was ahead of his time — free love idled until the 1960s) but got married and never missed religious ritual built around the family. So Passover, Bar or Bat Mitzvahs were important, but non-family self-inflicted synagogue time? Hmmmm. Not so much.
But whether or not one is a deist, taking the time to think about life and mistakes, and things to do better, can’t be bad. The problem I have is that people can off-load responsibility on some sort of fatalistic rationalization based on the existence of G-d. Judaism doesn’t really afford that off-loading option but lots of Jews don’t seem to acknowledge that.
With all these caveats, there is something mystical about starting the month leading into the Days of Awe enjoying and marveling at the sand and the sea, the rush of the water, and the crash of the heavens (a little too much crashing, if you ask me, but rarely does anyone ask me). Maybe prayer isn’t so bad, as long as the responsibility to make the prayers come true rests with us singularly and as a human collective.
Maybe I believe in G-d, somehow, some way. The only compelling argument I heard for the existence of G-d was from an orthodox Jew with a nihilist edge (and not an insignificant case of depression). He said, “could everything be so screwed up by accident?” Can’t argue with that.
