Does Religion Make You Nice?

Does atheism make you mean? By Paul Bloom Posted Friday, Nov. 7, 2008, at 7:05 AM ET Many Americans doubt the morality of atheists. According to a 2007 Gallup poll, a majority of Americans say that they would not vote for an otherwise qualified atheist as president, meaning a nonbeliever would have a harder time getting elected than a Muslim, a homosexual, or a Jew. Many would go further and agree with conservative commentator Laura Schlessinger that morality requires a belief in God—otherwise, all we have is our selfish desires. In The Ten Commandments, she approvingly quotes Dostoyevsky: "Where there is no God, all is permitted." The opposing view, held by a small minority of secularists, such as Richard Dawkins, Daniel Dennett, Sam Harris, and Christopher Hitchens, is that belief in God makes us worse. As Hitchens puts it, "Religion poisons everything." Arguments about the merits of religions are often battled out with reference to history, by comparing the sins of theists and atheists. (I see your Crusades and raise you Stalin!) But a more promising approach is to look at empirical research that directly addresses the effects of religion on how people behave. In a review published in Science last month, psychologists Ara Norenzayan and Azim Shariff discuss several experiments that lean pro-Schlessinger. In one of their own studies, they primed half the participants with a spirituality-themed word jumble (including the words divine and God) and gave the other half the same task with nonspiritual words. Then, they gave all the participants $10 each and told them that they could either keep it or share their cash reward with another (anonymous) subject. Ultimately, the spiritual-jumble group parted with more than twice as much money as the control. Norenzayan and Shariff suggest that this lopsided outcome is the result of an evolutionary imperative to care about one's reputation. If you think about God, you believe someone is watching. This argument is bolstered by other research that they review showing that people are more generous and less likely to cheat when others are around. More surprisingly, people also behave better when exposed to posters with eyes on them. Maybe, then, religious people are nicer because they believe that they are never alone. If so, you would expect to find the positive influence of religion outside the laboratory. And, indeed, there is evidence within the United States for a correlation between religion and what might broadly be called "niceness." In Gross National Happiness, Arthur Brooks notes that atheists are less charitable than their God-fearing counterparts: They donate less blood, for example, and are less likely to offer change to homeless people on the street. Since giving to charity makes one happy, Brooks speculates that this could be one reason why atheists are so miserable. In a 2004 study, twice as many religious people say that they are very happy with their lives, while the secular are twice as likely to say that they feel like failures. Since the United States is more religious than other Western countries, this research suggests that Fox talk-show host Sean Hannity was on to something when he asserted that the United States is "the greatest, best country God has ever given man on the face of the Earth." In general, you might expect people in less God-fearing countries to be a lot less kind to one another than Americans are. It is at this point that the "We need God to be good" case falls apart. Countries worthy of consideration aren't those like North Korea and China, where religion is savagely repressed, but those in which people freely choose atheism. In his new book, Society Without God, Phil Zuckerman looks at the Danes and the Swedes—probably the most godless people on Earth. They don't go to church or pray in the privacy of their own homes; they don't believe in God or heaven or hell. But, by any reasonable standard, they're nice to one another. They have a famously expansive welfare and health care service. They have a strong commitment to social equality. And—even without belief in a God looming over them—they murder and rape one another significantly less frequently than Americans do. Denmark and Sweden aren't exceptions. A 2005 study by Gregory Paul looking at 18 democracies found that the more atheist societies tended to have relatively low murder and suicide rates and relatively low incidence of abortion and teen pregnancy. So, this is a puzzle. If you look within the United States, religion seems to make you a better person. Yet atheist societies do very well—better, in many ways, than devout ones. The first step to solving this conundrum is to unpack the different components of religion. In my own work, I have argued that all humans, even young children, tacitly hold some supernatural beliefs, most notably the dualistic view that bodies and minds are distinct. (Most Americans who describe themselves as atheists, for instance, nonetheless believe that their souls will survive the death of their bodies.) Other aspects of religion vary across cultures and across individuals within cultures. There are factual beliefs, such as the idea that there exists a single god that performs miracles, and moral beliefs, like the conviction that abortion is murder. There are religious practices, such as the sacrament or the lighting of Sabbath candles. And there is the community that a religion brings with it—the people who are part of your church, synagogue, or mosque. The positive effect of religion in the real world, to my mind, is tied to this last, community component—rather than a belief in constant surveillance by a higher power. Humans are social beings, and we are happier, and better, when connected to others. This is the moral of sociologist Robert Putnam's work on American life. In Bowling Alone, he argues that voluntary association with other people is integral to a fulfilled and productive existence—it makes us "smarter, healthier, safer, richer, and better able to govern a just and stable democracy." The Danes and the Swedes, despite being godless, have strong communities. In fact, Zuckerman points out that most Danes and Swedes identify themselves as Christian. They get married in church, have their babies baptized, give some of their income to the church, and feel attached to their religious community—they just don't believe in God. Zuckerman suggests that Scandinavian Christians are a lot like American Jews, who are also highly secularized in belief and practice, have strong communal feelings, and tend to be well-behaved. American atheists, by contrast, are often left out of community life. The studies that Brooks cites in Gross National Happiness, which find that the religious are happier and more generous then the secular, do not define religious and secular in terms of belief. They define it in terms of religious attendance. It is not hard to see how being left out of one of the dominant modes of American togetherness can have a corrosive effect on morality. As P.Z. Myers, the biologist and prominent atheist, puts it, "[S]cattered individuals who are excluded from communities do not receive the benefits of community, nor do they feel willing to contribute to the communities that exclude them." The sorry state of American atheists, then, may have nothing to do with their lack of religious belief. It may instead be the result of their outsider status within a highly religious country where many of their fellow citizens, including very vocal ones like Schlessinger, find them immoral and unpatriotic. Religion may not poison everything, but it deserves part of the blame for this one. Paul Bloom is a professor of psychology at Yale University, and author of Descartes' Baby: How the Science of Child Development Explains What Makes Us Human. He is currently writing a book about pleasure. Article URL: http://www.slate.com/id/2203614/

Slate Article: Does Religion Make You Nice?

Lynne has sent you an article from .

faith-based Does Religion Make You Nice? Does atheism make you mean? By Paul Bloom Posted Friday, Nov. 7, 2008, at 7:05 AM ET Many Americans doubt the morality of atheists. According to a 2007 Gallup poll, a majority of Americans say that they would not vote for an otherwise qualified atheist as president, meaning a nonbeliever would have a harder time getting elected than a Muslim, a homosexual, or a Jew. Many would go further and agree with conservative commentator Laura Schlessinger that mor! ality requires a belief in God—otherwise, all we have is our selfish desires. In The Ten Commandments, she approvingly quotes Dostoyevsky: "Where there is no God, all is permitted." The opposing view, held by a small minority of secularists, such as Richard Dawkins, Daniel Dennett, Sam Harris, and Christopher Hitchens, is that belief in God makes us worse. As Hitchens puts it, "Religion poisons everything." Arguments about the merits of religions are often battled out with reference to history, by comparing the sins of theists and atheists. (I see your Crusades and raise you Stalin!) But a more promising approach is to look at empirical research that directly addresses the effects of religion on how p! eople behave. In a review published in Science last month, psychologists Ara Norenzayan and Azim Shariff discuss several experiments that lean pro-Schlessinger. In one of their own studies, they primed half the participants with a spirituality-themed word jumble (including the words divine and God) and gave the other half the same task with nonspiritual words. Then, they gave all the participants $10 each and told them that they could either keep it or share their cash reward with another (anonymous) subject. Ultimately, the spiritual-jumble group parted with more than twice as much money as the control. Norenzayan and Shariff suggest that this lopsided outcome is the result of an evolutionary imperative to care about one's reputation. If you think about God, you believe someone is watching. This argument is bolstered by other research that they review s! howing that people are more generous and less likely to cheat when oth ers are around. More surprisingly, people also behave better when exposed to posters with eyes on them. Maybe, then, religious people are nicer because they believe that they are never alone. If so, you would expect to find the positive influence of religion outside the laboratory. And, indeed, there is evidence within the United States for a correlation between religion and what might broadly be called "niceness." In Gross National Happiness, Arthur Brooks notes that atheists are less charitable than their God-fearing counterparts: They donate less blood, for example, and are less likely to offer change to homeless people on the street. Since giving to charity makes one happy, Brooks speculates that this could be one reason why atheists are so miserable. In a 2004 study, twice as many religiou! s people say that they are very happy with their lives, while the secular are twice as likely to say that they feel like failures. Since the United States is more religious than other Western countries, this research suggests that Fox talk-show host Sean Hannity was on to something when he asserted that the United States is "the greatest, best country God has ever given man on the face of the Earth." In general, you might expect people in less God-fearing countries to be a lot less kind to one another than Americans are. It is at this point that the "We need God to be good" case falls apart. Countries worthy of consideration aren't those like North Korea and China, where religion is savagely repressed, but those in which people freely choose atheism. In his new book, Society Without God! , Phil Zuckerman looks at the Danes and the Swedes—probably the most godless people on Earth. They don't go to church or pray in the privacy of their own homes; they don't believe in God or heaven or hell. But, by any reasonable standard, they're nice to one another. They have a famously expansive welfare and health care service. They have a strong commitment to social equality. And—even without belief in a God looming over them—they murder and rape one another significantly less frequently than Americans do. Denmark and Sweden aren't exceptions. A 2005 study by Gregory Paul looking at 18 democracies found that the more atheist societies tended to have relatively low murder and suicide rates and relatively low incidence of abortion and teen pregnancy. So, this is a puzzle. If you look within the United States, religion seems to make you a better person. Yet atheist societies do very well—better, in many ways, than devout ones. The first ! step to solving this conundrum is to unpack the different components of religion. In my own work, I have argued that all humans, even young children, tacitly hold some supernatural beliefs, most notably the dualistic view that bodies and minds are distinct. (Most Americans who describe themselves as atheists, for instance, nonetheless believe that their souls will survive the death of their bodies.) Other aspects of religion vary across cultures and across individuals within cultures. There are factual beliefs, such as the idea that there exists a single god that performs miracles, and moral beliefs, like the conviction that abortion is murder. There are religious practices, such as the sacrament or the lighting of Sabbath candles. And there is the community that a religion brings with it—the people who ! are part of your church, synagogue, or mosque. The positive effe ct of religion in the real world, to my mind, is tied to this last, community component—rather than a belief in constant surveillance by a higher power. Humans are social beings, and we are happier, and better, when connected to others. This is the moral of sociologist Robert Putnam's work on American life. In Bowling Alone, he argues that voluntary association with other people is integral to a fulfilled and productive existence—it makes us "smarter, healthier, safer, richer, and better able to govern a just and stable democracy." The Danes and the Swedes, despite being godless, have strong communities. In fact, Zuckerman points out that most Danes and Swedes identify themselves as Christian. They get married in church, have their babies baptized, give some of their income to the church, a! nd feel attached to their religious community—they just don't believe in God. Zuckerman suggests that Scandinavian Christians are a lot like American Jews, who are also highly secularized in belief and practice, have strong communal feelings, and tend to be well-behaved. American atheists, by contrast, are often left out of community life. The studies that Brooks cites in Gross National Happiness, which find that the religious are happier and more generous then the secular, do not define religious and secular in terms of belief. They define it in terms of religious attendance. It is not hard to see how being left out of one of the dominant modes of American togetherness can have a corrosive effect on morality. As P.Z. Myers, the biologist and prominent atheist, puts it, "[S]cattered individuals who are excluded from communities do not receive the benefits of community, nor do they feel willing to contribute to the communities that exclude! them." The sorry state of American atheists, then, may have not hing to do with their lack of religious belief. It may instead be the result of their outsider status within a highly religious country where many of their fellow citizens, including very vocal ones like Schlessinger, find them immoral and unpatriotic. Religion may not poison everything, but it deserves part of the blame for this one. Paul Bloom is a professor of psychology at Yale University, and author of Descartes' Baby: How the Science of Child Development Explains What Makes Us Human. He is currently writing a book about pleasure. Article URL: http://www.slate.com/id/2203614/

Copyright 2008 Washingto! npost.Newsweek Interactive Co. LLC

The Chanukah Song (Part 1)

Click here to link to the SNL version of trailer for Apocalypto, Mel Gibson's new movie!

A Chanukah house!

Saw this on University, just east of Henderson.

Saw it on a tee-shirt...

"The Rapture is not an exit strategy!"

Really, if I had the extra money right now, I'd buy one of these for Dr. Cohen, just for making us read that awful Left Behind book!

Lynne's paper

Oh, dear fellow class members, I am going to post my paper, but let me tell you, I have no idea if it even makes sense. I had all my notes, a pile of my books on my desk, ready to write...and last night came down with a nasty sore throat and chills. So, I'm writing but feeling awful, and have no idea if the thoughts in my head were in any way translated to the page...

It just goes to show, I may be older, but not necessarily wiser! You'd think I would have learned to do things NOT at the last minute!




Lynne Foster Shifriss
F358/Jewish Identity
8 December 2006


Developing a Jewish Identity: the process of becoming a “real” Jew


For wherever you go, I will go; Wherever you lodge, I will lodge; your people shall be my people, and your God my God.(Tanakh, Ruth 1:16, p. 1420)

A young man studying for conversion turned to his teacher and said, “But, Rabbi Kushner, Fitzpatrick isn’t a Jewish name.”

To which Kushner replied, “It will be.” (Diamant, unnumbered page)




Introduction

I converted to Judaism in 1981. At that time, the rituals of Judaism were not a major part of my life or that of my husband, Jordan. While Jordan had always continued to observe major holidays and enjoy Jewish cultural connections, he had found a more authentic spiritual connection in a meditation group. We both belonged to the meditation group for several years after we met. At the same time, I had a tremendous attraction to Judaism. I was drawn to the rituals and the beliefs.

My parents considered themselves to be Lutherans, but did not attend church from the year when I was in first grade to my adulthood. I was not impressed with what I heard about local churches in my area of Indianapolis – my good friend, also a spiritual seeker, attended a church while we were in high school and told me of the church’s dilemma about admitting a black family. (The church’s solution to this “problem” was to allow the black family to attend, but not to offer full membership.)

During college, I actively searched for a religion. I took many Religious Studies classes. I attended Friends’ Meeting for a while, but the silent worship and lack of ritual did not quite fit me. I attended the Episcopalian Church, which in Bloomington was very casual with an emphasis on social action. As I continued my studies after college graduation, eventually becoming confirmed at a church in Indianapolis, I was quietly uncomfortable. The atmosphere of the Indianapolis church was much more formal, much less social action. I remember questioning and questioning my teacher, an Episcopalian priest: Why should people connect with God through Jesus? Why don’t they connect directly to God? Doesn’t assuming that Jesus’ sacrifice atones for human sins – doesn’t that absolve people of personal responsibility? And on and on. Clearly I was not meant to be an Episcopalian.

When I became connected with the meditation group, the feel of community, the emphasis on personal growth, growing spiritually by doing service in the world – all of that appealed to me very much. What didn’t appeal to me was the overlay of Indian culture and customs.

Through my own inner feeling and after a couple of talks with my future in-laws, I decided that a family needs to have one religion, and that I would formally convert to Judaism.

I studied through the Hillel Center rabbi and then, because I found his class somewhat unsatisfying, substituted an IU class on Jewish feminism, taught by Rabbi Sue Levi Elwell. Though that was stimulating and fun, I probably missed some basic training in Judaism that I should have gotten.

We had two weddings on the same day. In the morning, a small wedding performed by our meditation teacher. In the afternoon, we had a large Jewish ceremony to which we invited friends, family, our meditation group, and all of Harmony School (where my husband taught, and which was much smaller then).

We eventually moved to Cambridge, Massachusetts, where we lived with our meditation group and my husband attended graduate school.

I eventually stopped attending classes with our meditation group and felt really rootless, spiritually. I felt that I did not have a connection with any Jewish group (and the money to belong to a synagogue would have been a real issue at that time in our lives).

When we observed Jewish holidays, it was often with my in-laws, and so my mother-in-law was the facilitator and I was a guest. When we did things at our house, I often referred to us as “loosey-goosey Jews, we just do what we want.” But that did not feel satisfying, either.

After we returned to Bloomington, I worked at Hillel for Rabbi Sue Shifron for two years. Her open-mindedness and teaching really affected me. She used to say “Just do one Jewish thing. If you don’t light the Shabbat candles, start with just doing that.”

Later, after we joined the synagogue (because I felt so rootless, religion-wise, I wanted to make sure that our children felt at home in a synagogue, no matter what spiritual paths they might take as adults) – I began to be pulled into Jewish life. I began to participate.

All along, we had Jewish friends who invited us to joyful celebrations. We had a Jewish wedding. We did all the holidays, one way or another.

But I did not feel that I could let go of the “fake Jew” sign on my forehead (Diamant, 208) until I started to volunteer for various things in our Jewish community, until I began to be seen as someone who could be called on. Being called to help with a real-life situation, whether bringing a dish, attending a shiva minyan, putting together a bulk mailing, peeling hard-boiled eggs in the Beth Shalom kitchen, or becoming a member of the Chevra Kadisha and helping with the ritual of washing and dressing a deceased person – I finally felt as if I had earned my place.

That’s what, for me, finally made me feel like a real Jew.

As I did some interviews and reading in preparation for writing this paper, I found a mixture of answers, a mixture of paths taken. But following through and learning about others’ reflections on their journeys made me feel much more clear when thinking about my own.

And now, some exploring on “Just what path did you follow, and what was it that finally made you feel like a ‘real’ Jew?”


“It felt like home”

What is it that makes a person feel that he/she must give up their previous religious life and study to become a Jew?

Rabbi Sue Shifron described what she’s seen over years of teaching a conversion class:

I have also been amazed throughout the years the number of people who have come to study for conversion that have some family connection to Judaism and have somehow felt dawn to Judaism because of it. So many people have also said to me that they just felt at home once they began learning about Judaism.

Shane Caudill echoed that in his comments to me:

Starting after graduating high school I began a very long journey of exploring various religions both western and eastern. In 93 I approached a rabbi on the possibility of conversion but was turned away, I did not realize the it was common for a rabbi to turn someone away at least three times. After studying and practicing Zen Buddhism for the next four years I found myself in a position feeling unsatisfied with my experience so I started studying Judaism on my own and finding what I felt was missing. This is when I approached a new rabbi and began my process for conversion, and I might add it was a really wise choice for myself. Afterwards I found out that my family from my mother's side has German Jew ancestry, so I like to think I'm bringing the Jew back into the family.

Joy Kingsolver was drawn to read and study Jewish history and folklore, and to study Hebrew after she talked to her Jewish friend, who told her about some of the traditions of Pesach. She finally knew that converting might become a reality for her after reading a book about converting by Norman Lamm.

For Dan Price, it began with his contact with Judaism after his wife converted. Her conversion didn’t necessarily make him want to convert, but it did make him want to see if it would be possible that he could worship with Jews:

The discovery that I could worship with Jews led to the obvious conclusion that Jewish worship was perfectly valid worship; something that my Christian background said was impossible. Ultimately, the resolution of this contradiction was my conversion to Judaism. The bottom line here is that it’s easier for me to be a Jew who accepts Christians, than to be a Christian who accepts Jews. As a Jew, I need only overcome Christianity’s somewhat colored history with Jews; as a Christian, I needed to overcome my own theology.


An interviewee who preferred to remain anonymous said that for her, she just began to attend services and found Rabbi Wasserman a charismatic and helpful teacher. (Anonymous #2)

Another interviewee who preferred to remain anonymous said that she “always had a Jewish boyfriend.” She felt that her (now) husband saying to her that he didn’t care if she was Jewish or not freed her to explore Judaism. (Anonymous #1)

John Applegate said that he came to the realization that “with everyone else in my immediate family being actively involved in the Jewish community, I was in fact living a Jewish life.”

I found it interesting that one of my interviewees said she always had a Jewish boyfriend. In fact, my husband was not the first Jewish man I dated. I was always very attracted to Jewish men. For me, though, a set of books I read as a child were very influential: Reading All-of-a-Kind Family and its sequels made me – a little Protestant girl in the 1960s Midwest – long to be part of the very Jewish world of the Lower East Side.

From the beginning

At the same time that I think service and living one’s ideals is vitally important, I recognize that there are other integral parts of learning to feel like a Jew.

In the beginning, there is the studying, and that is essential. The framework of Jewish life has to be an understanding of what it means, the history, the philosophy, the stories.

As Joy Kingsolver said in her e-mail interview with me (explaining how she would give advice to someone who was converting about developing their own Jewish identity):

Study everything – language, history, literature – it all works together. Study with others if possible. Read everything. It will help you find your own place in Judaism.

And Dan Price points out:

It’s not so much that knowing stuff builds my Jewish identity; it’s rather that ignorance deflates it. When I have to admit that I don’t know something about some holiday or point of kashrut, I suddenly feel like an imposter. This is not a matter of condescension from other ‘real’ Jews, it’s an internally generated embarrassment. I find myself thinking: ‘I ought to know that, why haven’t I bothered to learn it?’

That comment really resonated with me, especially because I don’t speak or read Hebrew and often feel a little left out, even now. I felt that John Applegate also touched on that concern:

I think that converts often feel that they need to be – to mix metaphors – more Catholic than the Pope. I really struggle against that, to be observant to the extent that it is meaningful to me, and not to try too hard.


In thinking back, if I had had a more organized and demanding conversion process, it may have contributed to me feeling more at home within Judaism. As it was, I take comfort from John’s words and try to relax with the Jew that I am, and not what I wish I were.

Culture, schmulture!

One could study from books for a long, long, time, and that would still not teach a person to feel comfortable with Jewish customs and values. And though it can be said that it’s a gross generalization (and I just know that Dr. Cohen will say that!) the fact is that Jewish behavior – or, at least, the Eastern European/Israeli/New Jersey behavior of my future in-laws --was a profound shock to this Midwestern girl! I kept saying to Jordan, “Why are they arguing?” and he would say, “They’re not arguing, they’re just talking!”

Anita Diamant discussed that in Choosing a Jewish Life:

… getting used to Jews’ ethnic style can present a challenge, too. Although there are plenty of cool, distant Jewish families, Jewish households tend to be demonstrative, overinvolved, and ‘hot.’


If I had read a book like What to Do When You’re Dating a Jew when I was first introduced to the Jewish community, it would have made it easier for me to connect, or at least to understand. The book is aimed at non-Jews who want to know all about interacting and fitting into Jewish families with as little friction as possible. It has lots of down-to-earth information. For example:


SHABBAT

What: The day of rest

When: Every Friday starting at sundown

Lasts: One day, starts and ends at sundown

Where: Temple or home

Why: After creating the universe, God rested

AKA: The Sabbath, Shabbes (Yiddish)

Importance: ***** (most important holiday)

Food: Challah

What to bring: Kosher wine, dessert, flowers

What to say: Shabbat Shalom (pronounced ‘shah-baht shah-lome’, meaning ‘peaceful Sabbath,’ or ‘Good Shabbes’ (‘shah-biss’), meaning ‘good Sabbath.’

(Weiss and Block, p. 56)


What to Do When You’re Dating a Jew also discusses things like Jews talking with their mouths and their hands, Yiddish and Hebrew phrases to throw around, great Jewish recipes, Jewish beliefs on heaven and reincarnation, Jewish law on sex, etc. At the very beginning, a new Jew or a potential Jew just doesn’t know this practical and fun stuff. How helpful it would have been to have a heads-up!


Outside the home

In his book Being Jewish, Ari Goldman tells a story about his daughter, Emma, who always made sure he gave money to beggars on the street. She was uncomfortable with not being able to give on Shabbat, so she found a solution:

Before leaving for synagogue Saturday morning, she butters some bagels or takes a bag of potato chips or a box of raisins with her. When we encounter the homeless, Emma offers them food.

I like to think that Emma’s undaunted charitable impulse grows out of the Jewish rituals that she’s learned at school and at home. To be a Jew in the world means translating Jewish ritual into action. (Goldman, p. 249) (Emphasis is mine.)


Several people whom I interviewed mentioned this idea as well – that being asked to do something or knowing that one had to do something was an affirmation of Jewish identity.

For John Applegate, being asked to do an aliyah was important:

The son of a friend of ours was becoming bar mitzvah at an Orthodox schul in Manhattan. I was asked to do an aliyah (which in the view of the schul was probably not totally kosher, but they didn’t ask and they knew that I was ‘ben Avraham v’ Sarah’). ... having an aliyah under those circumstances made me feel like a ‘real Jew’ for the first time. Needless to say, being president of the congregation here was a daily confirmation of that feeling.


Joy Kingsolver said that working at a Jewish institution is important to her, that she finds it “very satisfying to be able to give something back to the Jewish community.”

She also mentioned participating in a service:

One thing that really makes me feel Jewish is wearing a tallit and being called for an aliyah or being asked to do some small thing during the service. This is really important to me.


Shane Caudill also said that participating in a service was integral to his feeling like a Jew: “When I attended a minyan and was counted as one of ten required to complete the minyan.“

When asked what makes him feel like a Jew, Dan Price replied:

Beit Midrash, Hebrew classes, Jewish Studies lectures and other learning activities are important, but involvement in more practical issues is also important. I have served on the Beth Shalom Board and two committees, as well as participating in various social justice issues. All of this is community involvement which naturally builds a sense of belonging to the community, but it is more than that. One could be involved in a community by attending pitch-in dinners and picnics. Community involvement that serves Divine purpose, however, enables one to become closer to not just the community, but to G-d.


And, indeed, the advice one interviewee (Anon. #2) had for converts on developing their own Jewish identity spoke to involvement in the community: “Read. Attend services. Keep the Sabbath. Join the mitzvah committee or the social action committee.”

One interviewee (Anon. #1) said that her Jewish wedding was the first time she felt like a real Jew. She, as was discussed earlier, is more active as a convert than many born Jews – not only in doing things like lighting yahrzeit candles, “constantly learning more about practice and custom of my new faith,” and giving to the community through volunteer work.

Doing something to give back is key, I think, to feeling a sense of entitlement, a sense of being at home within Judaism.

Although Jewish parents frequently joke with their children “Do it because it’s a mitzvah!” – it’s true that the opportunity to do service crops up everywhere in life. Anita Diamant tells of Rabbi Arnold Jacob Wolf, who uses an interesting image to describe the process of embracing mitzvot.

He described them as ‘jewels’ embedded in the Jewish path; as you walk along, you reach down to pick up these gems and discover that some come up rather easily: ‘Don’t murder’ isn’t much of a problem for most people. ‘Don’t eat shellfish’ and ‘Honor your mother and father’ are a bit more challenging.

… As a Jew, you are obliged to grapple with the mitzvot and to discover which ones evoke in you a sense of being commanded …. You are free to experiment with the mitzvot and to discover how to make them your own. But you are also obliged to act upon what you learn.

When one Jewish friend says to another “So-and-so’s family is coming for Passover, too. They needed a place.” you can bet that the friend understands that there is really no choice when presented with the opportunity for a mitzvah like that – and that is expressing a profound Jewish value.

I believe that learning about history and philosophy is important as a basis, and picking up cultural traditions and mores will make a person more comfortable with Judaism. But it is in action, in participation, that one can really stop being a visitor and become one of the family.

As with any relationship, being asked to help implies intimacy and trust. Being asked to participate, whether going up for an aliyah or peeling hard-boiled eggs in the kitchen, means that one belongs.

I believe that each small thing that a person does to contribute becomes part of a rich, complicated weaving of memories and feelings, a weaving that one can wrap around like a tallit.

The rituals of conversion will formally mark your acceptance into the Jewish community and your commitment to Judaism. But the work of creating Jewish memories for yourself, of shaping the Jewish human being that you will become, is a much more subtle and long-term process. Most of us, even those who were born Jewish, take a lifetime with this task. Try not to be impatient with yourself or with the process. (Cukierkorn)

Works Cited


Anonymous person #1. E-mail interview. November 2006.

Anonymous person #2. E-mail interview. November 2006.

Applegate, John Strait. E-mail interview. November, 2006.

Caudill, Shane. E-mail interview. November 2006.

Cukierkorn, Rabbi Celso. Conversion to Judaism. December 3, 2006. www.convertingtojudaism.com

Diamant, Anita. Choosing a Jewish Life. Schocken Books, Inc., New York, New York.1997.

Goldman, Ari L. Being Jewish. Simon & Schuster, New York, New York. 2000.

Kingsolver, Joy. E-mail interview. November 2006.

Price, Dan. E-mail interview. November 2006.

Shifron, Rabbi Susan. E-mail interview. November 2006.

Tanakh. Jewish Publication Society. Philadelphia and Jerusalem. 1985.

Weiss, Vikki, and Jennifer A. Block. What to Do When You’re Dating a Jew. Three Rivers Press, New York, New York. 2000.


Appendix


Questions asked in my e-mail interviews:

Is there a particular experience which led you to be
interested in conversion?

What kind of study did you undertake in order to
convert?

Did you feel that your course of study contributed
toward your beginning to actually feel like a Jew?

What exactly was it that first made you feel like a
"real Jew?" When did that happen?

If you were going to give advice to someone who was
converting about developing their own Jewish identity,
what would it be?

What is it in your life now that makes you feel like a
Jew?

Chanukah column

I wrote this as a column for the H-T, but to run at this length, it would have to go on an editorial op-ed page, and Bob Z probably won't let me. I will probably have to cut it to 400 words (it's about 700) for it to run on a religion page on the 9th or the 16th. Also, I'm waiting to hear back from the record company about permission to post some of the music from the CD on the HT website. But at least I can post my column here! (Within the column, I followed Associated Press style -- I think -- on how to spell the name of the holiday. But of course I prefer another way!) Chanukah sameach!


From “Celebrate Hannukah":

Don't let the light go out: it's lasted for so many years.
Don't let the light go out: let it shine through our love and our tears.
"Light One Candle," Peter Yarrow

Not by might and not by power
But by spirit alone shall we all live in peace
“Not by Might, Not by Power” Debbie Friedman (adapted from Zechariah 4:6)


You are the Rock of our life, the Power that shields
us in every age
God, where can I flee from your presence?
Wherever I go, you are there.
If I climb up to the highest mountain,
Wherever I go, you are there.
"Tzur Chayeinu," Joe Black

Candles shining through the window into the cold winter night. Family and friends gathered around the table: delicious food, laughter, games, presents -- tradition.

This is not a Christmas scene.

It is Hanukkah. A minor Jewish holiday celebrating recapture of the ancient Jewish temple in Jerusalem, it's not nearly as big a deal in Israel as here. But Jews are nothing if not adaptive, and American Hanukkah has become what it is because of the
overwhelming-ness of the American Christmas season.

In the first years after I became Jewish, it was difficult to give up cherished traditions. Walking home at dusk through Harvard Square, a very small evergreen strapped to the top of our daughter's stroller, I smiled – feeling I was carrying on the magic of my childhood. Our housemates weren’t Jewish, so we all decorated the tree with angels and snowflakes – our "non-Christian" holiday tree.

Within a couple of years, I realized that what my husband Jordan and I taught our children would be the memories and traditions they would carry on -- and I was very uncomfortable trying to keep customs from one religion while my heart and mind were with another. Although American culture can make it very awkward and even lonely for non-Christians during the holiday season, I was determined to find some "magic" for our children within our own beliefs.

Slowly, we began to develop our own traditions. We read Hanukkah stories aloud after lighting the candles. We bought the Hanukkah version of an Advent calendar from the Jewish Museum and our small children delighted in opening a tiny window each night.

We joined the synagogue and our children made friends who celebrated the same holidays -- and who didn't need explanations about them.

Each year, Jordan makes a new menorah (candleholder used only during Hanukkah). We have many menorahs -- made from clay, from stone, from a wooden branch -- as well as beautiful ones passed down in our family and given to us as presents.

Some years we get it together to bake gifts for neighbors and friends -- a carryover tradition from my mom Pat's generous holiday giving during my childhood.

We make extra contributions to charity -- in fact, there is no way I could visit Kroger's during the holiday season without buying a bag of food for the food bank donation box. And I could never walk past a Salvation Army kettle without giving.

Not only would I be overwhelmed with guilt for having so much and giving too little, but I’ve come to feel that the huge emphasis on extravagant present-giving at this time of year -- fighting to get the newest toy, spending more than one can afford – is the exact opposite of how we want to live.

Years ago, we stopped the American custom of giving a present each night of Hanukkah. Now, we pick one night when our family can be at home together and exchange presents. And the nights when there are no presents are just as golden in my memory, and I think also in the memories of our children.

Often, in the car and at home, we listen to Hanukkah CDs. A favorite is “Celebrate Hanukkah,” compiled by Craig Taubman:

One song, "Ocho Kandelikas" ("Eight Candles") is hauntingly lovely -- even more so to me after I learned the Sephardic Jewish musical tradition of author Flory Jagoda was passed down through her family for hundreds of years after the Jews were forced out of Spain in 1492 and her family ended up in Sarajevo.

Immersed in the Hanukkah music from different cultures, I feel so much a part of generations of Jewish families coming together to re-tell the Hanukkah story – a story of fighting for the right to worship one God – and it is plenty magic enough for me.

I sit dreaming, watching the candles, remembering: Jordan often asks visiting friends and family to say a blessing as each candle in our many menorahs is lit. Sometimes people are a little embarrassed to speak up at first. But slowly, as each one takes a turn, people get inspired to talk about things which are from a deep part of themselves. We share thoughts of those no longer with us, wishes for a better world and for healing, our gratitude – and become part of each other's Hanukkah traditions and memories.

Lynne Foster Shifriss is assistant to the editor at The Herald-Times and is vice-president of the board at Congregation Beth Shalom.

Hanukkah begins at sunset Friday. Listen to selections from "Celebrate Hanukkah" on HeraldTimesOnline.

OK, I'll say it...

Actually, I HAVE to say it. Those Left Behind books are for ignorant people. They are crap. It is offensive to me that anyone with any sense at all can think that a God who is greater than the entire universe would care what club or organization or religion we would belong to on this one planet. And to think that anyone is going to suffer because they don't profess to believe in one philosophy -- even worse, to be AFRAID that bad things will happen because of that -- is just incredibly offensive.

And, having said that, here am I, committed to Judaism, going with my mom and some friends to see Chimes of Christmas at the IU Auditorium next week! And I even bought the tickets! My mom is Christian and my dad died several years ago. So, I don't want her to feel lonely around the holidays. And I will enjoy the music.

A creature of conflicts, that's me, I guess! But while I may enjoy the music and the memories of my childhood, I have no conflict about what I think. I think that any group which uses fear to make people belong to it is bad.