kindling lights
December 19, 2009
Hanukkah has just finished. All week, people have been asking me if I am celebrating.
“No,” I reply. “The Hillel center at Stanford is closed, and I’m not part of a synagogue.”
All of which is true, but doesn’t tell the whole story.
So far, my exploration of Judaism has been mostly solitary. A lot of reading, a few Friday night services, and some downloaded podcasts. Judaism is, of course, about more than just reading; it’s about community and family and dialogue. Danya Ruttenberg, in her memoir, talks about the embarrassment of the convert, the overwhelming feeling of ignorance and shame. Thomas Merton also talks of it, recognizing the “tremendous, agonizing embarrassment and self-consciousness which [those new to religion] feel about praying publicly…The effort it takes to overcome all the strange imaginary fears that everyone is looking at you, and that they all think that you are crazy or ridiculous, is something that costs a tremendous effort.”
At coffee with two friends I was confronted by my shame. Both friends were raised Jewish. Somehow the discussion wandered to the short stories of Isaac Singer. Years ago, in a class on pogroms, I had read one, perhaps two, of Singer’s stories. My friends recounted their favorites–
“Yes the one with the goat–”
“The one about the little boy–”
The discussion wandered to Jewish humor.
“All Jewish humor emerged from the village of Chelm,” one friend pronounced.
I had no idea what they were talking about.
In a course I took last term, we discussed the idea of cultural capital, especially in relation to class. In that moment with my friends, I felt I somehow lacked a vital cultural capital, two decades behind on children’s stories, jokes, folktales and turns of phrase.
So, the real reason I’m not celebrating Hanukkah is because I’m ashamed, afraid to acknowledge publicly how much I don’t know. But shame is such a self-pitying emotion (more I, I, I). So, this is my public admission of how much I don’t know (an infinite, daunting and inspiring amount) as well as a promise to myself not to be ashamed of not knowing, only eager to learn.
Rereading: Surprised by God by Danya Ruttenberg
