“Why I Am a Unitarian Universalist Jew”
The fourth sermon in an occasional series
by Reverend Charles Blustein Ortman
March 26, 2006
My sermon this morning, "Why I Am a Unitarian Universalist Jew," is the fourth in an occasional series being presented throughout the course of this year. The earlier sermons were titled, "Why I am a Unitarian Universalist Spiritual Humanist," "Why I am a UU Christian” and “Why I am a UU Pagan." Click on the sermon title links to read them online,
or look for them on the rack in the Church narthex. My intention with this series is to view life as a Unitarian Universalist, through a number of theological perspectives, in ways that I hope will be of value to those of us who claim to be religious liberals embracing diversity and freedom of conscience in religious matters. Our faith tradition encourages us to look through different lenses with the hope of seeing larger glimpses of truth.
Since the title of each of these sermons begins with, "Why I am a Unitarian Universalist...," I'll start there by reviewing what I said in the earlier installments. I am a Unitarian Universalist because here I am not told what to believe, but am asked what I do believe. And more, I am asked how that belief matters, not only in my own life, but in the world around me. I am asked here to accept things on faith, but on my faith-not anyone else's. I am a UU because I know my life's path is a journey and while I don't know just where it may lead or to what end, I do know that the content of my life consists of the experiences and choices that I make along the way. And I know that the quality of my life's journey is also closely related to the company I keep along the way. And so, I am a Unitarian Universalist because this faith tradition calls me into community – to make the most of, to do the best with, and to love the most fully I possibly can with the life I have been given. I am a Unitarian Universalist because I believe in the potential for human beings to learn and grow. And with that potential, I believe in the possibility of a better world, rooted more firmly in the ideals of truth, beauty, love and justice.
Why I am a Unitarian Universalist Jew. Okay, you’ve got me on this one. I’m not really Jewish, although Unitarian Universalism does provide me, as it does you, with an engaging invitation to consider my Jewish roots. The truth is I do have Jewish roots and they’re not merely religious. I grew up in Rock Island, Illinois, where you might not think there’s a large Jewish population. And you’d be right - there isn’t. But there is a Jewish neighborhood just the same, and the Ortman house sat within the perimeters of that neighborhood.
I grew up surrounded by Jews, the smells of holiday cooking, hamentashen shared over the backyard fence at Purim, the Sukkoth choopas in the autumn. (Of course, we called them stick huts in those days, and we thought they were very cool.) The local rabbi’s house and yard were adjacent to our own. He came once to my Catholic grade school to teach us about Judaism, and that I knew him made me something of a celebrity that day among my classmates. I was a Shabbas goy for our next-door neighbor Rosie Levy, even before I knew what a Shabbas goy was. So my proximity to Jews and to Jewishness has always been very close.
It might seem odd and somewhat tangential, but I don’t think it is, that both my brother and I grew up to marry Jewish women. Having a partially Jewish home, as an adult, has seemed as natural to me as growing up in a partially Jewish neighborhood. I already had quite a taste for the food, and can still never get enough of it, especially potato latkes, lox, gefilte fish, and brisket. And did I mention blintzes? And on the Blustein side of our family, I continue to be the only family member who can correctly pronounce the guttural sound of “ch” as in choopa or Hanukkah.
It wasn’t until a few years ago that I began to suspect an even closer familial connection to Judaism. I was talking with a Unitarian Universalist ministerial colleague, Rev. Anita Farber. I mentioned to her that my grandmother – my father’s mother – was also named Farber. Anita asked if, like herself, my grandmother was from a Jewish family. I said no, that she wasn’t, but it did begin my thinking that she possibly could have been.
There was never any mention of it in my German Roman Catholic family. But I suppose if her family had been Jewish, that would be the way it would play out in my family – there would be no mention of it. Many German Jews converted to Christianity and my grandmother’s family, the Farbers, could surely have been among them. It even seems likely. By Hitler’s definition of Jewishness, I could very easily be Jewish. This, of course, would make me a Unitarian Universalist Jew.
But even more than cultural or familial affinities that I may feel towards Jewishness, or potential family history that I may have, I feel a very strong connection to Jewish theology, especially in the reformed or more liberal Jewish schools of thought. First of all, the idea that the name of God cannot be spoken, I think is genius. To name God is to put ourselves on familiar footing with the most incredible mystery in the universe - the cause of being. That takes a lot of chutzpah! And more, the idea is that naming God is not only a sin of arrogance, it is also a mistake to think that the name we might give, and therefore the idea we might have, could or should be the same for any other person. I like the idea that God cannot be named. The idea that God is an unknown and unknowable quantity suits me just fine.
I’m also quite taken by the idea of the importance of performing mitzvahs, the doing of good deeds. Each year at the High Holy Days on Rosh Hashanah, the Book of Life is opened and reviewed for one week. On Yom Kippur, the book is closed. If your name is in it, then your name is there for one more year. The way to get your name there in the Book of Life is by performing mitzvahs, doing good deeds in your home, in your community, and in the world. It seems to me that the world would be a much better place if everyone’s focus was on doing such mitzvahs.
The Jewish approach to religious teaching and learning is very similar to our own Unitarian Universalist approach. We ask a lot of questions; so do Jews. The Talmud and Midrash represent centuries of a Questing and questioning religious tradition. Our own inquiring Unitarian Universalist faith draws on many sources to encourage us in religious community and on our spiritual paths. There are four sources that we draw on above all. They are Christianity, Humanism, Earth Centered Traditions, and Judaism. While the connection to each of these four sources is an important part of who we are, I often feel that theologically we are primarily linked to Judaism, and again – especially liberal Judaism.
I feel this way because of the reasons I’ve already mentioned, but there is another reason, which for me makes it particularly so. And that is the central way in which we commonly make use of the metaphor in religious discourse. I’m sure that there would be many Jews who would disagree with me on this, and I’m as sure there are many Unitarian Universalists who would disagree. Just the same, it is my experience in both Unitarian Universalism and in Liberal Judaism that religious language is used not in any dogmatic, literal or fundamentalist way. Religious language such as God, heaven, hell, sin, and many other words are used not so much to name actual people, places or events. They are primarily used as guides to help us look more carefully within ourselves in order to connect better with that which is in us and that is permanent and holy. And they are used as guides to help us look more carefully out into the world, so that we might live more meaningful lives in our day-to-day existence, which is so transient.
As an example, when Martin Buber says, “Any natural act, if hallowed, leads to God, and nature needs man for what no angel can perform on it, namely its hallowing,” to me it’s like Henry David Thoreau or Ralph Waldo Emerson saying when we act in nature, treating it as sacred, with intention and propriety, that leads to goodness, and nature relies on humanity for what no supernatural entity can provide it, its goodness—its sacredness.
Another way in which liberal Judaism and Unitarian Universalism connect theologically is through the telling the stories. For it is in the telling of stories where we are often best able to find and learn the meaning of our experiences. We still have much to learn from Judaism on this account, and I suspect that’s why so often we borrow stories from that source. Similarly, Judaism offers a set of traditions spanning nearly 6,000 years of history. While our Unitarian Universalist stories and traditions reach back a mere 400 years, they are strengthened by the richness of our older forbear.
An example of what I’m talking about will take place next month in Fletcher Hall, when we gather together on Wednesday, April 12, to celebrate our Passover Seder. The Haggadah we will use for that event will tell the story of the struggle for freedom which was the story of Exodus, and it will reach all the way foreword to include us in our own time and the struggles for freedom in our world, including places like Iraq and Darfur.
I’m a Unitarian Universalist Jew, or at least a Unitarian Universalist Jewish adherent because I find a strong affinity with what I perceive to be as the core of Jewishness. It’s interesting because I find that core to be structured in much the same way as the Ten Commandments are structured. First, it’s about the nature and relationship of what is divine, and second, it’s about the nature and relationship of humanity.
The great Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel of the 20th Century spoke of the “Holy” this way in his book, The Sabbath:
“We must not forget that it is not a thing that lends significance to a moment, it is the moment that lends significance to things.
“One of the most distinguished words in the Bible is the word kadosh—holy; a word which is – more than any other – representative of the mystery and majesty of the Divine. Now what was the first holy object in the history of the world? (He asks) Was it a mountain? Was it an altar?
“It is indeed a unique occasion at which the distinguished word kadosh is used for the first time...in the Book of Genesis at the end of the story of creation. How extremely significant is the fact that it is applied to time: "And God blessed the seventh day and made it holy." There is no reference in the record of creation to any object in space that would be endowed with the quality of holiness.”
That is why Rabbi Heschel tells us that we cannot touch or know the divine. It is because it is not a person, nor a place, nor a thing. That which is divine… is time. And time is always new; we are always in a new relationship with it. And if we are going to be in right relationship, we will need to relate to time with intentionality and integrity. That’s why the Sabbath is so important; it’s about taking time, being with time, being with the holy.
As for the nature and relationship of humanity, we can turn all the way back to the Babylonian Talmud. In answering the question, “Does Judaism have an essence?” The Talmud answers that one question with four more that it calls, “God’s first questions.” “In the hour when an individual is brought before the heavenly court for judgment, the person is asked:
- “Did you conduct your business affairs honestly?”
- “Did you set aside regular time for Torah study?”
- “Did you work at having children?”
- “Did you look forward to the world’s redemption?”
In citing this verse, Rabbi Joseph Telushkin in his book, Jewish Wisdom, asks us to note that the first question asked in heaven is not “Did you believe in God?” or “Did you observe all the rituals?” but “Were you honest in business?” The first order of business to be addressed at the pearly gates is a question of ethics and how you treated your fellow human beings. The second question regarding the Torah is about how a person learns to be a fully moral human being. Not only have you tried to be fair, but have you tried to be good? Have you tried to promote goodness? The third question is about raising children, whether they are born to you or adopted, or even if they have been in some other way entrusted to you. This question is about being responsible stewards and caretakers of the next generation, as humanity moves forward in perfecting the world. The fourth question is about moving beyond ourselves, beyond our families, beyond even our communities to being responsible citizens of the world. Tikkun olam, the repair or perfection of the world, is the final and the largest question asked of the individual in the summary of their life. This Talmudic passage is not so very different from some of our Unitarian Universalist principles and purposes.
There are many reasons why I am happy to combine the ideas of Judaism with my Unitarian Universalism. Another one of my great Jewish teachers was Victor Frankl, through his incredible book, Man’s Search for Meaning. It’s a book I’ve mentioned here many times before. The central idea of it is the existential thought that we create meaning in our lives, we find meaning in our lives by reaching beyond ourselves, by transcending our own pain, and connecting through love with the world around us. Dr. Frankel’s thoughts were born of his experiences in a Nazi concentration camp where all of his family members were put to death.
There is much that can feed us as Unitarian Universalists, which comes to us from our Jewish roots. We would do well to nourish those roots and to heed the lives that we are called to through them. As Martin Buber said in one of our readings earlier this morning, “Every single person is a new thing in the world, and is called upon to fulfill his or her particularity in this world… Every person’s foremost task is the actualization of his or her unique, unprecedented and never recurring potentialities… This is the life that our Jewish roots call us to, a life that is filled with purpose. I’ll end here with another story and yet one more admonition from Martin Buber:
Rabbi Shneur Zalman, The Rav of Northern White Russia (died 1813), was put in jail in Petersburg, because the [adversaries of Hassidism] had denounced his principles and his way of living to the government. He was awaiting trial when the chief of the gendarmes entered his cell. The majestic and quiet face of the rav, who was so deep in meditation that he did not at first notice his visitor, suggested to the chief, a thoughtful person... He began to converse with his prisoner and brought up a number of questions which had occurred to him in reading the Scriptures. Finally he asked: 'How are we to understand that God, the all-knowing, said to Adam: “Where art thou?"
'Do you believe,' answered the rav, 'that the Scriptures are eternal and that every era, every generation and every [person] is included in them?'
‘I believe this,’ said the other.
‘’Well then, said the [Rabbi], ‘in every era, God calls to every [person]: “Where are you in your world? So many years and days of those allotted to you have passed, and how far have you gotten in your world?” God says something like this: “You have lived 46 years. How far along are you?”
When the chief of the gendarmes heard his age mentioned, he pulled himself together, laid his hand on the rav’s shoulder, and cried: “Bravo!” But his heart trembled.
Our hearts should tremble, too. There are questions to be asked, and questions to be answered. Where are you? How far are you along your journey? Where is your holy space? Where is your holy time? What is your ethic in dealing with your fellow human beings? How do you study and promote the causes of goodness? How does your life serve the generations yet to come? And what are you doing to make the world a more just and loving place?
The work of the religious person, any religious person, is never done. L’Chiam! |
