Sometimes I Wonder if God Believes in Me

My brother tells me that our cousin's son has become an Orthodox Jew. He has committed to an arranged marriage in Jerusalem, which will take place this month.

He used to be an actor.

The young man, J, met a Rabbi a few years ago who introduced him to the "Shuva" movement, which apparently means the "return" or the "answer," and is intended to bring secular young people back into the religious tradition.

J's bride-to-be was chosen for him by the Orthodox community in Israel. I don't know if they have ever met.

Everything in me recoils at the idea of allowing others to make the most important decision of ones life. My mistakes, marital and otherwise, were mine. The idea of marrying for anything other than love is deeply threatening to me.

When I read of women being married off to consolidate land holdings or for any kind of family advantage, economic or otherwise, it shocks me. I know that so-called "romantic love" is a relatively new concept in the world and that in many places it still does not exist. But it should, damn it. It should.

I cannot even fathom the degree of trust a person would have to have in her parents and in God to abdicate responsibility for choosing the person with whom to live out ones life, every day of it. I would not be capable of getting into bed with someone I did not find highly attractive, who could make me laugh, and who shared my most important values.

Judaism has traditionally had three major divisions: Orthodox, Conservative, and Reform. Plus the one my parents subscribed to, which I always called Resigned.

My brother and I were raised with no religious practice other than being kept home from school for the High Holy Days. The family credo was that we were "Just American." I regarded those conspicuous absences from school as an embarrassment, even a punishment, and generally experienced Judaism as a lack of something, rather than the rich tradition it surely is.

We did not attend Sunday School or Hebrew School, nor did we have the traditional coming-of-age ceremonies at age 13. My parents' participation in Christmas was half-hearted. We had no tree or lights, yet presents were exchanged. We knew nothing of Hannukah.

I was given an Easter basket once or twice, but never associated it with a cute, fluffy animal that hopped. Not that the peeps and jelly beans were not yummy anyway. They just had no attachment to anything remotely Animal, Vegetable or Biblical.

I was fascinated with Catholicism. Their churches had gorgeous stained glass windows and glorious pageantry. I was especially enamored of the "bridal dresses" little girls wore at age 6 for their First Communions. I lusted for a white dress and veil, and patent leather maryjanes.

On Sundays, when all my friends wore their shiny shoes and pretty dresses to church, I skulked around the neighborhood in jeans and sweatshirts, feeling like a pariah. I always welcomed Mondays because I fit in again.

It did not escape my attention that Catholics enjoyed a number of Saints' Days, for which they were actually excused from school.

I informed the principal that my parents were Jewish and Catholic, one of each, and that they wanted me to observe all their combined holidays. He bought this wild fabrication, and for several years, I attended church on Saints' Days with my friends while my parents kept me home on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, although we never attended a synagogue. On Protestant holidays, the schools were closed.

It was a lovely state of affairs for truants.

This delightful existence continued until the Ash Wednesday I met my mother on the street. I was walking with a group of Catholic kids, and we all had ashes on our foreheads.

To protect the faint of heart, I won't go into details here. Let's just say it wasn't pretty. And the upshot was that my exquisite dalliance with Catholicism was abruptly canceled.

In Confession, I would murmur, "Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. I am not a Catholic." And the priest would assign me Hail Mary's and Our Fathers as atonement. I read a dog-eared Catechism in my room at home, memorizing the questions and answers, which didn't always seem to match up. I attributed this to my own ignorance and lack of indoctrination as I did not have the benefits of a Catholic home.

I finally decided that organized religion was not for me as my beliefs were an amalgam of ideas from many religions. The system that comes closest to the mark is Buddhism, yet I know that Buddhist nuns are not treated as well as their male counterparts. This offends me as much as the patriarchal practices of Judaism and any other system which does not consider women as valuable as men.

All religions have rules and dogma. Being human, we all break rules sometimes, and dogma can trip us up. This causes guilt, which doesn't really further anyone's quest to function on a higher plane. Some religions have a political bent as well, which seems inconsistent with God's will.

After searching for answers for many years, I have concluded that while all religions which teach ethical behavior are good, the answers we seek really lie within us. Truth is where we stand to look at a thing, and our own eyes, hearts and experiences instill our deepest values.

I think the creed that can unify us all is the one which practices compassion for all. It has no name, but it has roots in many traditions. Perhaps it should just be called "Lovingkindness."

God knows there are already enough religions.