Unfinished Journey: A Rabbi’S Bout with Doubt

By Xlibris US

Unfinished Journey: A Rabbi's Bout With Doubt represents a collection of personal observations of the diverse groups affiliated with his congregation where he served as rabbi in Fair Lawn, New Jersey.

The author also delves into the thorny issues of religious faith that trouble the laity, but also members of the clergy of all faiths who are reluctant to ask themselves whether they honestly believe what they publicly preach.

Since his retirement from the active rabbinate, the author began to re-examine the provocative views of his mentors who taught at the Jewish Theological Seminary in his student years. Rabbis, educators and laymen looked to the intellectual "giants" for clarity and religious guidance. Two of these great teachers, Rabbis Mordecai M. Kaplan and Abraham Joshua Heschel, were both eloquent and courageous interpreters of Jewish thought although they represented sharply divergent views on questions such as the meaning of God, the efficacy of prayer, or the concept of the Chosen People.

As he reviewed many of the sacred texts, the author began to question and even to doubt what he was taught to accept as irrevocable truths. In recent years, however, he has begun to define what he can comfortably believe in while still maintaining his personally integrity as a teacher of religious values and traditions. . He maintains that his "bout with doubt" has helped him find a more mature understanding of what faith can and cannot achieve for the modern generation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 9, 2014
• ISBN: 9781499042191

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Copyright © 2014 by Simon Glustrom.

Library of Congress Control Number:         2014911387

ISBN:          Hardcover          978-1-4990-4220-7

                   Softcover            978-1-4990-4221-4

                   eBook                 978-1-4990-4219-1

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Rev. date: 06/20/2014

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CONTENTS

PREFACE

FAITH, PRAGMATISM, AND TRUST

PRAYER, POVERTY, AND PARTNERSHIP

GOD AND MAN:MUTUAL EXPECTATIONS

PROCESS THEOLOGY, HESCHEL, AND RADICAL AMAZEMENT

THOUGHTS ON ATHEISTS AND AGNOSTICS

CHANGE IMPLIES RISK:MY PERSONAL JOURNEY

OUR JEWISH COMMUNITY—A MOSAIC

THE CONSERVATIVE MOVEMENT AT THE CROSSROADS

WILL ISRAELISM REPLACE ZIONISM?

ARE WE EVER PREPARED FOR PASSOVER?

DEFINING MORAL VALUES: JEWISH CONCEPTS

REFLECTIONS ON DEATH AND DYING

SOME ETERNAL QUESTIONS—STILL ASKING

POSTSCRIPT: THE NEED FOR MORE HUMOR IN OUR LIVES

SEARCHING FOR BALANCE

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

To Helen

I loved you long before we met under the Astor clock.

"What intrigues me in my life is: How did I come to be what I am.

How did this person develop, this I whom I rediscover each morning and to whom I must accommodate myself to the end?"

—François Jacob, geneticist

The Statue Within (1988)

PREFACE

Some authors I have long admired are fond of informing their readers that they spend almost as much time finding an appropriate title for their books as they do actually writing the text. I can identify with their claim. I have solicited family members, colleagues, and old friends to react to my suggested book titles, only to find that in the final analysis, the responsibility lies heavily on my shoulders.

A memoir that I completed in the year 2000—covering my early years in the South and extending to my retirement from the active rabbinate—plagued me for many anxious days and restless nights, until I finally arrived at a title I felt I could live with. The title was not my own creation. After showing the unfinished text to several colleagues, I was advised by a creative writing teacher to try this on for size: I Would Do It Again—Perhaps.

The title sounded appropriate. It contained a bit of both humor and mystery, leaving the potential reader with the incentive to read the table of contents in the hope that he/she would wish to explore the text itself in order to discover the mind-set of a rabbi. The inquisitive reader would also find more about my views on the rabbinate, including such questions as Would I recommend a rabbinical career to young people? and How can a rabbi lead the service on a Sabbath or holiday when he finds that some of the prayers and concepts are no longer relevant?

After more than a dozen years since the memoir appeared, people have reminded me of the title, with the usual leading question: So would you have done it again?

A more recent book dealing with an interpretation of the Ten Commandments also prompted a dozen phone calls with the publisher, trying to find an appropriate title. The publisher suggested Timeless Tablets: Why the Ten Commandments Still Speak to Us. Truthfully, I had preferred the more humorous name, Two Tablets: No Expiration Date. My friends seemed to agree, and I was advised to follow my own instinct. Ultimately, however, I deferred to my more cautious publisher, whose professional judgment I trusted.

In choosing a title for this volume, I have tried to give some indication of the growth, and changes, in my thinking since leaving the rabbinate. The title, Unfinished Journey: A Rabbi’s Bout with Doubt, reflects the often-vigorous arguments I have waged—frequently within myself—over the past several years.

A little history. Since my retirement, I have taken to walking on the track at the Bergen County Y. My goal has been to walk a brisk two miles, three times weekly. When I was joined by a walking partner, I found that the time spent on these power walks passed very rapidly; but when no one was available, I would still walk the same distance. Since the track is indoors, I was not deterred by the elements outdoors.

Initially, I found the half-hour solo walk somewhat tedious. Gradually, I began to use the time spent alone more productively; I found that I was conversing with myself, hoping that no one was questioning my mental state. I asked provocative questions and attempted to come up with cogent responses. Most of my questions were attitudinal, such as What do I really believe in matters of religious faith? and How do I relate to fellow Jews or non-Jews with whom I differ philosophically? I also questioned my points of agreement and disagreement with the major religious movements and explored my personal views about Israel and Zionism, which have undergone tangible changes since I spoke from the pulpit and in adult classes, where I was more reluctant to ruffle feathers.

When I returned to my study, I would record some of the thoughts of the day before losing them; I then proceeded to refine some of these random thoughts—discarding some, enlarging on others.

It occurred to me that I should leave some of these accumulated ideas for my family, friends, colleagues, and former congregants, so that they might know more about my real identity. I would be in the enviable position of revealing my unvarnished views without worrying about public approbation or disapproval.

I want to impress on anyone who reads this text that my views do not consist of a systematic study following a single theme or thesis; thus, the title Unfinished Journey. It may be better understood as an ongoing personal diary or journal than as a formal thematic work.

The subtitle, A Rabbi’s Bout with Doubt, is meant to be more than a catchphrase. My intention is to convey that many, if not most, believers—no matter how vibrant their faith—probably experience periods of religious doubt and even skepticism if they are willing to confront their candid feelings. I am convinced that the greatest of our philosophers, Maimonides, wrote his Guide For the Perplexed not only for the questioning students of his day but also for himself, as he searched for answers to troubling questions—for example, how to reconcile Judaism with Greek philosophy and how to integrate religion with reason. In working out his own religious problems, he was better able to untangle some of the doubts that assailed the younger philosophers, helping them to retain their Jewish faith without having to renounce reason.

Faith seldom travels a smooth and seamless path, unencumbered by personal tragedies as well as the self-imposed and natural tragedies that shake our faith in God’s concern for us. Faith and trust often evolve only after experiencing inner conflict and struggle. The patriarch Jacob finally emerged as a man of faith only after wrestling with God’s emissary, who sorely tested his faith. Only after his victorious struggle would Jacob earn the new name Yisra-el, for you have striven with beings Divine and human, and have prevailed (Genesis 32:29). Yisra-el was never again the same physical specimen after his bruising encounter with the divine messenger, but he eventually arrived spiritually. His struggle with his faith was a necessary step in finding a sustaining relationship with God.

Frankly, I find it difficult to accept the testimony of the person who denies having had any bouts with doubt, even though that person may have lived a charmed life, escaping the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. Only the self-deluder can make the claim that God’s presence was never a problem in his adult life.

My unscientific observation has convinced me that the believer and nonbeliever do not inhabit different hemispheres. In fact, they often exchange places, meaning that the confirmed believer can hardly escape periods of skepticism—even outright denial of God’s presence in his/her life. Fortunately, the period of skepticism is usually a transitory stage and eventually returns to religious affirmation as conditions change. By the same token, the religious skeptic, even the most outspoken, experiences periods, albeit brief, of feeling a sense of closeness to God.

The period of belief may involve the birth of a child or grandchild, the recovery from a near-death experience, the loss of a beloved family member, or an awesome experience that cannot be explained or understood in human terms. The talented Protestant preacher, Harry Emerson Fosdick, once addressed his congregants with a moving sermon delivered at Riverside Church. He titled it Doubting Our Doubts.

So I find it understandable that a person who is intimately involved with the religious life will occasionally join the skeptics and question God’s presence. I openly admit that I have endured some of those blackout periods, for want of a more fitting description. Occasionally, I have had the audacity to tell God that I expect more of Him, just as God expects more from me.

To be sure, I feel that I have been blessed with a quality life, a caring wife, and a loving family. I recognize this gift every day. In one way, however, I can associate with Job of the Scriptures. Like Job, I have not questioned the existence of God. Rather, the two of us have displayed the chutzpah to question the absence of justice in our midst. The poor continue to feel the brunt of suffering and relentless deprivation, while the privileged will probably never spend the wealth they have inherited or accumulated.

Even in my most fervent period of trust in God, I can’t bring myself to believe that God has the power to wave a magical wand and fix the perennial problem of grinding poverty versus overabundance. Still, those who feel God’s presence should be able to ask, What does the Eternal require of us if we desire to enter into a real partnership?

I have yet to find a more meaningful prescription containing God’s expectation of us than the powerful message expressed by the prophet Micah (eighth century BCE):

He has told you, O man, what is good,

And what the Lord requires of you,

Only to do justice

And to love goodness,

And to walk humbly with your God.

While the words—and the sentiments they express—are praiseworthy, as I have become a more reflective individual, I have increasingly begun to ask myself what these words mean in real life. And while I have continued to ponder man’s relationship with God, I have also begun questioning some of the positions I have taken for granted for many years. Is God omnipotent? Is He perfect? Are we like mindless sheep, with God as our shepherd? Are Jews the chosen people? In the following pages, I will struggle with these doubts—inviting the reader to join me in this effort.

Please note: I would have preferred to use inclusive terms for God throughout this text rather than using male terminology. However, the inadequacy of our language and the cumbersome He/She, Him/Her alternative has left me little choice but, regretfully, to follow the archaic usage.

SG

FAITH, PRAGMATISM, AND TRUST

One of the most colorful faculty members around the Jewish Theological Seminary in the years I attended (1944–1948) was Dr. Max Arzt. Max taught a course called Practical Theology, a title that I never quite understood. He was learned, diligently studying Jewish texts and sources on a daily basis along with raising substantial funds for the Seminary, a job that required extensive travel to special events throughout the country. When Max was involved in Jewish scholarship and sought answers to intricate questions, he was able to find answers in the famous Seminary library near his office, or he would seek assistance from other members of the Seminary faculty, world-renowned walking encyclopedias such as Professors Louis Ginsberg, Saul Lieberman, Louis Finkelstein, and other illustrious scholars.

In the scholarly field, Dr. Arzt produced an elegant volume on the meaning of the liturgy for the High Holy Days, Justice and Mercy (1963). His highly acclaimed volume became a handbook for rabbis and congregants who sought to prepare themselves before the annual Days of Awe. Occasionally, I would find a few of my congregants reading from this book in place of the mahzor during the course of the long holiday service.

In addition to his fundraising skills and scholarly bent, Max could be a comic character. In the classroom and at rabbinical conventions, he showed a rare talent for relieving tensions among his rabbinical colleagues. I will mention just two examples. At one serious moment, when we were locked in a heated discussion, Max pushed his corpulent body up to the microphone and exclaimed, Will all rabbis who are happy with their jobs meet with me in the telephone booth after this session is over? At another convention, Max introduced his well-planned lecture on a theological topic with this disarming thought: If anyone says to you, ‘I want you to know, Rabbi, that I don’t believe in religion,’ you can bet that he is probably Jewish.

I have taken a circuitous path to introduce my theme: Why do so many Jews shy away from identifying with their religious roots?

In my forty-five years in the active rabbinate—along with my years in retirement, where I have continued to teach and to hold informal discussions with Jewish friends and acquaintances—I have found fervid resistance from the laity to discussions on theology or religious themes. I was in a tennis group for over forty years. All the players had formed a warm social relationship before, during, and after the game. Occasionally, my tennis pals would ask me about a Jewish practice or a tradition that they observed at a wedding or a bar mitzvah, but they almost never invoked the name of God, unless it was combined with an expletive.

Mind you, I was partially, if not completely, at fault for never inquiring about their religious beliefs. Obviously I chose not to erect a social barrier between us by pulpitating when we were together, which would end up spoiling the fun. I have continued the same noninvasive approach at the YMHA, where I have gone to work out with regularity over several years.

I am not suggesting that my social acquaintances are ashamed or reluctant to admit that they are Jews. They speak of Israel with pride and display their sensitivity, if not hostility, when a politician, Jewish or non-Jewish, is critical of Israel or partial to the Palestinians.

These same friends feel deeply hurt and ashamed when a prominent Jewish personality who is active in the political or financial arena brazenly violates the law for personal gain. By the same token, they point with pride when they see the names of prominent Jewish scientists or literary artists who are publicly recognized for their accomplishments. They will admit that they search out recognizable Jewish names in the newspaper or magazine, and they never fail to scan the obituary page for name recognition.

I once asked a congregant why he scanned The New York Times for Jewish names on the obit page. His response was direct and revealing. The percentage of Jews in America is decreasing with regularity. Every loss, especially among the young and middle-aged, becomes a catastrophic blow to the future of American Jewry, and that concerns me. I am disturbed by our diminishing numbers.

I have often told this story to illustrate the subject at hand. A young Jewish family moves to the Upper West Side in Manhattan. The parents find a prestigious