My 1,010 Word Jewish Journey

The following essay was originally prepared last week for an application for a Jewish learning summer program. It has been modified to fit your television. Edits were made to achieve some slight semblance of anonymity, and to tone down areas that would unnecessarily concern me to post publicly.

In college, I managed a carefully intertwined existence that allowed me to feel that my Judaism was always an important part of me. Although my time was not necessarily spent at Hillel, my experiences in leading Hillel, in keeping kosher and observing holidays, in davening, and in having conversations with friends about Judaism, were so central that they kept Judaism as a primary thrust. Having graduated from college last June, I am now intent on building a Jewish community that allows me to be a Jewish professional. In the process, I have found that only in limited situations am I Jewish before everything else. Inexplicably, writing a paragraph on welfare policy in rural America has not felt as informed by my Judaism as did writing my senior thesis on college mental health. Although both topics were similarly connected and distant from Jewish tradition, my past seven months have allowed me to compartmentalize my Judaism.

I come from the south suburbs of Chicago, where I was one of five people in my high school of three thousand who kept kosher. I loved my Jewish community growing up. I clearly understood that I was in a small minority, but I was in a small, wonderful minority and part of a very loving community. I felt a strong Jewish identity. Yet, in a certain sense, I was also raised Jewishly at Camp Ramah. It was at camp that I participated in my first vibrant Jewish community. Even as a twelve year old, I understood the difference between the five hundred kids excited about Jewish summer camp and the aging and strained community at home. At camp, I learned additional elements of the communal aspect of Judaism.

When I applied to college, I wrote my personal statement about reading haftarah and my activity essay about the B’nai Brith Youth Organization and Camp Ramah, and my high school guidance counselor told me that my application was “too Jewish,” and that I should write about one of my other activities. At the time I felt that they were most important in presenting me to the college admissions office so I held strong.

I arrived at college and quickly fell in love with going to Friday night services at the conservative minyan. I co-planned a big social event during my freshman spring and then started to feel comfortable at Hillel.

Sophomore year, I became close friends with my first traditionally observant Jews. Over the course of the fall semester, my Jewish community became fuller and stronger and I had extended conversations with people who hadn’t had any non-Jewish friends until college. I was bewildered by that experience, but I also learned a lot about their sense of being defined by Judaism and the importance of Judaism in their everyday lives. I was starting to want to keep Shabbat, rather inexplicably. In part this instinct was both driven by my new Jewish community and what drew me to build that community for myself. I started keeping Shabbat slowly, first by not spending money, then by not using my phone or email, and finally by considering myself traditionally Shabbat observant, though flexible.

The summer before my junior year, I went on a three week trip to Israel that was attached to retreats during the year. The trip focused on Jewish selfhood, community, and social action. In my application essay, I wrote, “More than content, what my Jewish education lacked was a framework to think critically about Judaism… As I struggle now to relate myself to my Judaism, and my Judaism to Judaism, I find that I am relatively unequipped. Growing up I was provided with a solid background, and from that derived commitment and faith. But now as I try to mature in my relationship with religion I find that my Jewish education does not provide the scaffolding I need. I have learned to ask questions, but now struggle to answer them.” I went on that trip looking for a rationale for traditional observance, and came back with the provisional answer that my Jewish practice was founded in the joy of doing something that my ancestors did before me, participation in a community, spirituality, and personal fulfillment.

When I started keeping Shabbat, I saw it as a two year trial period. Although I found my reasons compelling, I did not and do not have the learning requisite to understand Jewish tradition in a framework, so on some level it feels more like aping than practicing. I also could not imagine that I would be able to organize my life post-college such that I could remain observant. However, as a senior I found myself applying only to jobs that would be flexible with my work hours for the holidays and that would let me leave early on Fridays. I have continued to keep Shabbat and I have found my spiritual home in a community that sits observance-wise somewhere between traditional egalitarian and Shira Chadasha style.

In spite of this renewed commitment to Jewish observance, I have felt my Judaism growing somehow more distant. Adjusting to life post-college has been challenging for me, in terms of how I relate to my time, defining my goals, and understanding my identity. I graduated with the tentative plan to work for three years, apply to grad school and then defer, so that I could go to Israel for a year and learn about Judaism. I find now that this approach has two important flaws: first, that I cannot compartmentalize my Jewish learning to one year in the abstract future, and second, that three years from now is far too long to go without working on my connection to God and without starting to structure the basis for my future Jewish education. In my essay for the Israel trip three years ago, I wrote, “I am not prepared with tools to strengthen my faith by questioning its foundation.” Today, my faith is more mature and the tools I need are different, but I find that kick-starting my adult Jewish education is both urgent and electrifying.