When is ish ..ish... and how do we keep it from becoming either ISH or -ish?
Don’t worry I will translate the above question into English, or at least Americanish.
I have recently become fascinated by the contradictory amount of emphasis indicated by the suffix ish. It can be a state of being so fundamental to our self-image as to inform every aspect of our lives. When I say that I am Jewish I am pointing out a part of my existence that is the core of my being. No ritual or process or experience is truly capable of changing this.
The only Jew in a Catholic neighbourhood in the days when Catholics were forbidden to eat meat on Friday drove his neighbours crazy by barbecuing a steak outdoors every Friday. The aroma was more than they could stand. Finally after many months of pressure and persuasion the Jew agreed to convert. The whole neighbourhood was present for his baptism where the priest solemnly pronounced, “You were born a Jew, You have lived as a Jew, Now you are a Catholic.” The next Friday all of the man’s neighbours waited with bated breath to see what would happen. Sure enough at the same time as usual the man lit his barbecue and brought out a large steak, but as he put it on the grill they heard him say “You were born a cow, you have lived as a cow, now you are a fish”.
But this very “ishness” has inherent dangers associated with it. How do we prevent it from becoming either superficiality on the one hand or fanaticism on the other? How can we allow it to colour how we see the world without blinding us to the other colours that surround us? Thus the question that began this article can be “translated” as asking the following. When is my being Jewish (the first ish) truly Jewish (the second ish) and how do I prevent it from becoming either so intense and all embracing as to exclude all who are not part of MY JEWISH world (ISH) or so superficial as to become merely a detached form of being sort of Jew-ish?
I can provide no universal answer to this question. I am not at all certain that there is a universal answer at all. But I suspect that if any answer exists, it has something to do with synagogue, the integrity of our relations with all those with whom we come into contact, and our deep-felt desire to have meaning in our lives.
The institution that we call the synagogue is called in Hebrew Beit Keneset (house of assembly), Beit Midrash (house of study) and Beit Tefilah (house of prayer). Thus the institution that has been at the core of Jewishness for over 2000 years has as its core social, educational and ritual activities.
A cream tea, musical evening or any other social event can be as holy as a service or as instructional as an educational class. Education can and should be as entertaining as a social gathering while recognising that its core is holy, for only by seeking to understand the world and all that is created can we hope to approach even a vague comprehension of what it is to be holy. The Jewish worship service began as Torah study and requires a social environment of at least ten adults to be worship. It is here that we learn what it means to act with integrity and that it is in the company of others that we search out and find meaning in our lives.
But we can not achieve this by merely joining a synagogue nor can we appoint a surrogate to be Jewish on our behalf. Knowledge can not pass via osmosis. In other words no one can be Jewish for us nor can we understand true Torah by having the books sitting unopened on our shelves. Of course the forms of social interaction, learning or spiritual seeking that are most conducive to you as an individual may not currently be on offer at the synagogue.
If this is the case I would urge you to use the synagogue as a means to initiate those activities that would be of greatest value to you and make them available to others. I suspect that you will find that your journey may be more companionable and enjoyable than you expect.