Living With Meaning

How unlikely it is that Judaism exists at all! In an age of limitless choices, when Jews are free to mingle, marry, and move as they chose, what is striking is not how tepid Jewish life often is, but how vibrant it still remains. Just think about how busy most of our lives are, and how indistinguishable are our daily lives are from our neighbors. Yet the vast preponderance of Jews religious and secular, observant and not observant, attend services on the High Holy Days and seders at Passover, no matter when it falls. What this suggests is that we still feel addressed by our Judaism, still respond from our very depths, as though we were being called by something. And most of us respond to that bid by showing up.

Our willingness to attend, even sporadically, constitutes one of the miracles of Jewish survival. It is noteworthy because we don't have to respond there is no social compulsion to be Jewish. And it is noteworthy because Judaism constitutes an assertion that life has meaning, that what we do has significance. In an age of cynicism and secularism, the effort to connect however ambivalently to such a world view is an act of courage worthy of celebration. The continuing existence of Jews, and our enduring aspiration for Judaism comprises a supreme act of faith, in life, in each other, and in God.

That faithfulness is far from easy, and certainly is not inevitable. There is another, alluring, way to look at life: we might adopt the still popular view of the Stoic philosophers of ancient Greece. They asserted that life has no meaning, a cosmic (and rather terrifying) coincidence. We happen to be born, just happen to live, and happen to die. That is the end of it, the sum total of human worth. With such an attitude, it is difficult not to conclude that there is little reason to arise in the morning, since all anyone says or does lacks any significance. There is no grand meaning. One cannot connect with anything bigger than ourselves. In such a skeptical view, life is an absurdity. Life becomes ridiculous, a pathetic joke, a way to torture people for a short period of time, before they are snuffed out forever.

Judaism has always taken such a cynical view seriously enough to oppose and to reject it. The traditions of the Torah insist that each of our deeds has meaning, purpose, and significance. We relate to something eternal, something of ultimate significance, of which we are creatures and with which we are partners. Our lives become significant to the extent that we join in that greater context of meaning, to the degree that we allow ourselves to become an embodiment of divine thought and an expression of God's word. That so many of us still show up is a witness to the power and scope of this transforming idea. We do, in some mysterious sense, affirm that our lives have meaning and purpose, and we wish to join and make sense of that significance. We Jews show up, as we have for millennia, to stand in God's presence, to stand in the presence of the Torah, and to join ourselves to something that extends far beyond our own finite lives.

The age old Jewish search for meaning still continues. Of interest, then is Judaism's response to a far more complex task: granted that our deeds matter, that there is significance and a purpose to our lives, how do we conduct our lives in such a way that reveals this pervasive meaningfulness in our deeds? What is it in human consciousness that alludes to purpose in creation?

All of us share three basic needs, one of which is connection. We all have a need to be connected to something beyond ourselves, to connect to each other. Being able to recognize a shared meaning provides a powerful link with other human beings. We all have that need for connection. We all have the need for the enrichment that comes from connections. While it might be possible to purchase a new set of candlesticks, those novelties can't possibly possess the resonance of one's great grandmother's Shabbat candlesticks. Connection to other people is an abiding and profound human need, allowing us to express our deepest humanity and to recognize that no one is ever truly alone. The wisdom and practice of Judaism provides for that fundamental need.

Another great human need is that of context: we need to feel a sense of purpose extending beyond our own immediate requirements. We flourish when we recognize that we belong to something larger, something that will last.

As a congregational rabbi, I have the privilege of addressing bar/bat mitzvah students and their families just before their special day. We meet in my Study and talk about their Sidra. Each time we sit together, I can't help thinking about how unlikely it is that an Israelite Prophet's words spoken 2,700 years ago in a small corner of the globe finds fulfillment in the trembling voice of a thirteen year old here in Akron. We listen to the words of ancient Israel's prophets and they are fulfilled through us, and through Jews everywhere. We feel addressed by them. It's hard to imagine a more compelling context in which to situate our lives and direct our souls. Context is the second profound human need, and it, too is profoundly satisfied in Judaism.

Yet another pervasive need is compassion. One of the most striking truths about human beings is that we all have the need to show love. Recent scientific studies have provided empirical support for that intuitive hunch: when researchers brought pets into old age homes, the health of the seniors improved. They found that loving contact could even extend their longevity. In that same study, congregational affiliation is a factor in extending life. Why is that? Because we all have a need to give love. All of us seek to share the warmth in our hearts with others

Our drive to share our love inspires both individual acts of kindness (gemillut hasadim) and collective efforts toward social justice (tzedek ve mishpat). While sending a dozen roses and signing a petition may appear to be distinctive expressions, both implement a profound urge to care for others. Both forms are the warp and woof of Jewish communal life. Ours is a religion that commands us to love our neighbors and to pursue justice.

Mitzvot, the sacred deeds of Judaism, are a way of taking those three needs connection, context, and compassion and of giving them form. We all feel the tug of these deep seated drives. There is an age old plan for how to live life with meaning, how to show that everything we do is significant and that every action can repair the world. Jews label those deeds "commandments" because we feel a calling, a summoning from deep within, urging us to shoulder the responsibility of living with purpose.

The Mitzvot, if you will, are God's tool box for building a better world. We provide the only hands God has in the world. So God needs each us to make the investment of soul, time, and energy, to learn about God's commandments and to implement them. And we need to do so to express our own fullest humanity.

Teaching a Jew to embrace our heritage is no different than encouraging a child to walk. Rather than allowing some posited conclusion to discourage engaging the process in the first place, we can encourage each other with each new venture in Jewish living. Every time we try out a new mitzvah, read a new Jewish book, or practice a familiar mitzvah in a more thorough fashion, we should hoot and holler as we would for that growing toddler. Spiritual steps are no less worthy encouragement.

Pikei Avot teaches, “zachar mitzvah mitzvah…The merit of a mitzvah is the mitzvah itself.” The more we can accomplish each day during our life is the gift we give to humanity and to God. It is the reward of the spirit and the promise upon which we build tomorrow. And it is through our relationship with God that we forge the strongest connections between others and ourselves.