Tikkun Olam

About 6 or 8 months ago I learned this phrase, tikkun olam. It's Hebrew for perfect or repair the world and the idea is a huge tradition in Judaism. The phrase is new, but the idea is not. When you're a little kid, you learn that there are poor people in the world. So around Thanksgiving and Christmas when your school does their annual canned foods drive, you take cans from your mom's cupboard to donate. And maybe in the spring your school collects coins to give to some charity or another and you ask your dad for some of the coins in his change cup. You're worried about the people who don't sleep in a house or can't buy a winter coat. One day you realize, there are too many people in need, how can your 5 dollars in change possibly make a difference.

For me, even though I realized I could never help all the people in need I still felt obligated to help. I thought about what the world would be like if I didn't help, and what it would be like if the churches stopped caring, and what it would be like if Mother Theresa didn't devote her life to service. The world would be a worse place.  I knew from a young age that everyone has a responsibility to do whatever they can to help, because what is the alternative? Let the world slowly decline until everything is destroyed? Every time I learned about a new problem in the world, I would think "I have to do something! Someone has to do something!" I couldn't wait to get older so I could do something, I would get a job and give my money or get a job that was a life of service, then I could fix things. Sometime in junior high, I realized that I don't need to be an adult to help make things better. I started tutoring in junior high and did random service projects through my school. In high school, I was involved in more service groups and activities than just about anyone else in my school. Yeah, I was that girl who did everything on top of getting good grades. But I didn't see any alternative. I have the time and ability to help so why wouldn't I? It'd be selfish not to.

When I was 16, I made the decision to become a teacher. I made this decision in an instant, and I've never regretted it. For the next three years, so many people I went to school with told me how stupid it was to become a teacher. They said I was too smart to be a teacher. I should be a doctor or a lawyer, or anything that could make me some money. What a waste, they said, it was for me to "just be a teacher." How could anyone think that it's possible to be "just a teacher" and that it's not a noble profession? Teachers do so much for their students, and most of those students never appreciate it. People never realize how different their lives would be without each of their teachers. Everyone has at least one teacher who inspires them and challenges them to do more, to be more. And then they go out and affect other people, inspiring them to do more and to be more. They help someone and then that person helps someone else. The effects are endless, and most people never think about that. I want to be that person for a student or two.

While there are still a lot of people out there who think my career path is an easy way out, a less than noble profession, and that the service I've done in high school and continue to do in college doesn't make a difference, Judaism does not teach this. Judaism teaches that each person has a responsibility in the world, and that each generation must make the world a better place for the next generation. And Judaism places a special emphasis on education in order to do this. This oldest extant religion teaches that if you only know alef, bet, then you must teach bet to someone who only knows alef. For those of you not familiar with Hebrew, this teaching is simply about learning the alphabet: if you only know A and B, then teach B to someone who only knows A. Everyone has a responsibility and an obligation to pass on their knowledge so that the next person or next generation can ride on their shoulders and continue to improve the world. 

I'm studying to be a math teacher. I don't by any means love mathematics. But math is truly vital to functioning and succeeding in this world, and for so long I took my math education for granted. I have the ability to teach math in a way that others understand it, so I have a responsibility to become a mathematics educator. And along the way, I'll hopefully be able to inspire some kids to change the world in small but meaningful ways. And Judaism understands that, respects that, and encourages that.

Shortly after I started hanging out at Hillel on Friday nights, someone told me I should join Hillel's community service group, called Starfish. I immediately knew why it was called Starfish, I'd read the story somewhere long ago. If you don't know it, here it is:

The Starfish Story
Original Story by: Loren Eisley

One day a man was walking along the beach when he noticed a boy picking something up and gently throwing it into the ocean. 

Approaching the boy, he asked, “What are you doing?”

The youth replied, “Throwing starfish back into the ocean. The surf is up and the tide is going out. If I don’t throw them back, they’ll die.”

“Son,” the man said, “don’t you realize there are miles and miles of beach and hundreds of starfish? You can’t make a difference!” 

After listening politely, the boy bent down, picked up another starfish, and threw it back into the surf. Then, smiling at the man, he said…”I made a difference for that one.”

I joined this group without hesitation because it embodies everything I grew up believing about service to the world. My Jewish friends also believe in doing what you can to help others, and not one of them has ever told me that I should try to be more than just a teacher.

My Mother

How cliche will it be if I tell you that I love my mom more than anyone in the world? Don't care. I do. She's given me everything, has made unbelievable sacrifices, and loves me even when I push her away. But why does any of this matter to this blog? Well, she's my mother so obviously she had something to do with my religious education.

She and my dad enrolled me in public schools from the start so I had only one hour of religious education a week during the school year. For a lot of parents, if they choose this route they spend a few hours each week at home with their children teaching them about their religion. My parents didn't do that, thank G-d. Instead, my mother spent a lot of time outside with me. She loves to garden, so we spent hours and hours during the spring, summer and fall, digging up the soil, occasionally cutting earth worms in half, accidentally of course, planting flowers, watching birds and butterflies, catching frogs and the like. I was one of those kids who asked why about everything. Why is the sky blue? Why are some clouds more fluffy than others? How are some flowers pink and some yellow? My mom's a smart lady but she's not a scientist. So when she ran out of answers, she'd simply say because G-d made it that way. When science couldn't take us any further, we found G-d. But she never implied to me that the way things work didn't matter because G-d created everything perfectly. Science and G-d always seemed to go hand-in-hand.

When we weren't outside, we would paint or draw at the dinning room table. Being able to illustrate the way I see the world has always been important to me. My mother read to me everyday, until I was old enough to start reading to her. When I wanted to know something, she taught me how to look it up in the encyclopedia. Inquiry was a big part of my childhood.

My mom never taught me about original sin, or many other of those big hallmarks of Christianity. In fact, for the longest time, I thought that original sin just meant having sex because "the Virgin Mary was without original sin." It makes sense, right? And she definitely never taught me that only Catholics go to heaven and that non-Catholics go to hell. She always taught me that being a good person and doing your best in life was all that mattered when it came to the afterlife.

I don't know how my mom sees herself religiously anymore. But I do know that she's not sorry she sent me to CCD and took me to church. She told me that it's important to have a framework, i.e. religious tradition, in which to teach your children about G-d. Even though she feels a lot of the same frustrations with the Church as I do, she's not sorry she made her children a part of it. And I'm not either. I'm glad she cared enough to do that for me. As a teenager and adult, I haven't wanted to be a part of the Church. But at least as a child I was a part of something. I had structure and some meaning in my little life. I belonged somewhere.

When I think about my friend's funeral in the eighth grade, I feel a huge appreciation to my parents for putting me somewhere. Some of the prayers and songs in the service were printed in the program guide for his funeral. But some of the service was just from the standard church service. The friend who I went with is not religious at all. She might have been baptized, but her religious association didn't go further than that. So we get to part of the service when the congregation says the "Our Father." We're all saying this prayer, and my friend leans over to me and asks, "How do you know this?" She was looking for the words in the program packet. I told her that it's the same prayer we said at my church. Then she looks over and sees her mom saying it. She asks her mom how she knows it and she replies "I went to Catholic school growing up." Her mom said it with such a "DUH" tone. Then my friend just sat back in her seat and looked quite confused. She obviously felt very left out. She'd only been to church a few times in her life but most of her friends were being confirmed that year. In that moment I was so glad that I belonged to something, even if I didn't quite know what that was. And for this I have my parents, my mother, to thank.

Someday, I'll have my own kids, and I want them to feel like they belong somewhere. I want them to belong somewhere. I just can't make them a part of an institution I don't believe in. I can't teach them ideas I don't believe, many of which I don't even agree with their basic premise. That's at least partly why I'm on this journey I'm on: I want something more meaningful for my kids. I don't want them to grow up to find out that they don't agree with and can't bear to be apart of the Church, or a church, or whatever. I want them to have a lasting tradition.

When I told my mom a long time ago that I thought I wanted to leave the Church, she didn't object. She asked me if I wanted to write a letter to the bishop. A letter like that would be officially leaving the church with no possibility of ever returning. I couldn't believe she suggested it, but I think she knows the pain I feel when I think about my name being on the Church's roster. As long my name is still on their list, it in someway gives my approval to their actions. I just don't want to hurt anyone. I don't want to hurt my grandpa or my brother or my niece. One day I'll have to actually deal with these things, but at least my mother understands.

Relating to Christianity

Sometimes, you do things without realizing what you're doing. A while back, about the time I started going to Hillel, my best friend from home asked me what exactly I'm doing. She asked, "Are you trying to find G-d? yourself? what?" I couldn't really give her an exact answer. I don't need to "find" G-d; I figured out He's real years ago. I don't need to find myself, I already know who I am. Later, I came up with a better, more concrete answer: I'm trying to figure out who everyone else is, and how I fit into that. One thing she and I never talked about, though, was the religion I've left.

A week or two ago, I realized that much of the last three years have been about figuring out Christianity and how I relate to it. In some way, I will always have a relationship with Christianity: I grew up celebrating Christian holidays, nearly all of my family members are some kind of Christian, and I have Christian friends.

I'm finally to a point in my life in which I can accept Christianity as a valid religious tradition that can make people's lives better, it's just not mine. Figuring out Christianity is something I had to do, because if I kept on relating to it the way I did in high school, I would probably lose a lot of friends and sever ties with my family. In high school, I thought of Christianity as out-dated and ridiculous for the ways it conflicts with science. I thought of kids who still went to church as either ignorant or not in control of their own lives. I just wanted everyone to wake up! But I am the one who needed to wake up. You can be a Christian and an intelligent person. You can be a Christian without giving up science. It's just taken me a long time to see that.

The one thing that is most difficult for me, and that I still haven't fully figured out, is how to relate to the Catholic Church. There is so much to criticize in the way the Church operates. I don't need to list them here; if you read the news, or really if you've not been living under a rock your whole life, you know what there is to be critical of. It's taken a lot of time and effort, but I've figured out that I have to distinguish between the Catholic faith and the Catholic Church. In certain areas, this gets messy and might not even be possible to do. But if I don't try to make that distinction, I won't be able to be friends with my roommate or to get a long with my dad's side of the family. Like my dad has said, you don't have to agree with everything the Church does to be Catholic. I just read a Pew survey that supports his claim.

I probably won't ever totally get over my problems with the Catholic Church. The problems don't just exist in the history of the Church, they continue every day and I don't believe they'll be resolved. The Catholic Church is the one thing that I believe can't be changed. It's sad to say but I really think it's true. The Church is deeply rooted in tradition and they eliminate anyone who tries to alter that tradition, even if the change is going in a direction to stay on par with the rest of society. The Church is too complicated and has so much money that changes that my liberal mind hopes for will never happen.

Mary

In an earlier post, I explained how I came to be sure of G-d's existence, but I left out a few points. After my brother's military experience, the biggest factor comes from my aunt with whom I share a name. My aunt and our name are important here. You'll see why.

My Aunt Mary is living proof of G-d. (Now you know my first name, but I'll be keeping my last to myself, at least for now.) When she was two years old, she was diagnosed with Cystic fibrosis (CF for short). This was about fifty years ago so this diagnosis was basically a death sentence. Even today, doctors inform parents of kids with CF that their life expectancy is 30 years old. So the doctors told my grandparents that she would die in the next ten years. When she made it to 10, the doctors said she wouldn't make it out of her teens. When she did, they said she wouldn't ever get married or have kids. Not only did she get married, she's seen both of her children get married, and has already welcomed one grandchild into this world. As if this terrible disease wasn't enough, she also has diabetes. CF requires one specific diet and diabetes requires another. She also has an insulin pump. Between these two diseases, she is in the hospital a lot. There's more...

My freshman year of college, Aunt Mary was diagnosed with colon cancer. She underwent surgery the day before my twentieth birthday. A large part of her colon was removed and she had to get an ileoscopy bag.  By the end of the summer, she had started chemo. When I saw her at Christmas, her hair was thinning and they had a bed set up for her downstairs so she didn't have to battle the stairs. The following spring, she had a second surgery to get rid of the ileoscopy bag and reconnect her colon. As of the writing of this post, she is in remission. She's not out of the woods yet, but she has survived thus far. And she's survived a hell of a lot. The statistics have this woman dead by now. She is alive by G-d's good grace. How can anyone who knows her history deny G-d's existence? Certainly, not I.

Besides acknowledging that her life is something miraculous, I am inspired by my aunt's own faith. When lots of bad things happen to people, they are quick to dismiss G-d, saying that if G-d existed then all those bad things wouldn't have happened. But for my aunt, all of these things she has battled against and happily so. Most people would understandably be disgusted by having to have an ileoscopy bag, but my aunt just said "Well if that's what I have to do to live, then I guess I have to do it." She prays to G-d and goes to church. She always brings her Bible with her into the hospital. She doesn't know why G-d's kept her alive, but she's glad He has. Even though our conceptions of G-d are different, it is still inspiring.

It is not uncommon to identify with the people with whom you share a name. I have known and experienced my aunt's story for my entire life. Of all my aunts and uncles, I was always most concerned with her and her life because I had her name. To some people, my name is just a generic Christian name. But my mother named me after her own mother and her sister. My mom considered some random baby-book names, but ultimately she chose a name with deeper meaning for her and a deeper meaning for me.

Other kids have always picked on me for my name - don't get me wrong, I know way worse things could have happened to me, but that doesn't mean getting teased didn't hurt. At my Christian preschool kids sang "Mary had a little lamb" at me all the time. There was also the rhyme "Mary, Mary Quite Contrary." When I was in CCD, everyone snickered any time the Virgin Mary was mentioned. That happened for all 8 years; no one ever matured. In high school I always got the totally respectful and not at all private question, "Mary, are you a virgin? Are you Virgin Mary?" At times in my life, I really hated getting teased and I resented the kids who did it. I wanted to change my name - I even went so far as to pick out a new one. I chose Sarah, but my parents wouldn't comply and call me by it. Eventually, I got over it, though, and became very proud of my name.

I wouldn't be who I am or where I am, if my name were anything else. I would never really change my name. I am quite honored to be named after my aunt who is a wonderful human being, is an inspiration, and is very proof of G-d's existence.

Evil Trickster?

So a while back I was hanging out fairly often with this guy who I met at Hillel. People I've met there have been fairly fascinated by me and like to tell me about their own experiences with Judaism and to talk about the specifics of what they believe. One day we were sitting outside and we started to hear the preacher guy who's always on campus going on about some Christian fundamentalist nonsense, and so we got on the subject of Jesus. Go figure.

This guy started to tell me that Jesus practiced some kind of dark magic that is so bad that the Torah doesn't even talk about it that much and that there used to be a lot of books about this magic but they've disappeared because the rabbis outlawed them. This magic could enable people to walk on water and turn water into wine. Do those miracles sound familiar?

Basically, this guy told me that he actually believes that Jesus performed all those various miracles but that he did it through dark, illegal magic. I'd never heard anything like that, and just said "Oh. Interesting." Later that night I started to feel really creeped out by everything he told me and I didn't know why. I tried googling what he said but I couldn't find anything. I didn't know what was going on. Was I personally offended by what he was saying? Was this the night I discovered that I am actually, secretly a Christian and was just temporarily confused?

No. After a good night's sleep, I was able to figure out why I got so upset by this. I don't believe in that kind of magic (magic between two people, yes, but not magic that people literally perform). I have spent a long, long time believing that the stories of Jesus' miracles were fabricated. And I will continue to think that. If Jesus was using dark magic to do those things, that would mean he was tricking people into believing he was the Messiah and/or G-d. And I'm sorry, but I don't want someone telling me that a person I grew up learning about was actually an evil trickster. As a kid I definitely looked up to Jesus. I went to Sunday school and CCD to learn about what a good person he was. And I still believe he was a good person. I believe that his story went through a telephone process and ended up in a completely different form than how it started. I believe he had a good message and that it's still buried under all the miracles and whatnot. There are many good people who've done good things based on Jesus' teachings and parables.

 I just don't believe that Jesus was/is G-d. So if you believe that Jesus was an evil trickster, I really don't want to hear about it.