Finding God

I may have mentioned before, when I told my mother I was converting to Judaism, I was surprised she was so enthusiastic. I asked her why and she said, "I'm just happy you've found God." 

Except, I hadn't. In fact, I embraced Judaism - reform Judaism, to be specific - because it challenge me to find my own definition of God. At the Beit Din, the conversion Court, I told the rabbis, "I believe there are a lot of things that we don't understand, and possibly never will understand. If people choose to call that God, I'm okay with that."

At a Limmud event, I heard a debate about which were more important, beliefs or actions. One argued that if you believed in God, then you would want to act according to his (hers?) laws. The other argued that first you had to perform the acts, and only then could you understand enough to believe. 

It seemed pretty chicken-and-egg, and irrelevant to me. I even gave a talk at a local Limmud event about converting to Judaism whilst remaining an atheist. Nobody was particularly bothered. 

For seven years now, I've been doing the acts: I attend synagogue, I light the candles, I make the prayers. I prefer saying the prayers in Hebrew because, even if I understand the words, I know I'm performing a ritual, not acknowledging an invisible God.

Except, I'm not. I am grateful to an unseeing hand that has brought me to this time and place, given me a loving family, and enriched my world immeasurably. Had I not performed the acts, I don't know where I'd be, but I cannot imagine it could be better than this.

So who do I direct this gratitude towards? The universe? Karma? I lack the words, the subtlety to express myself. If I say I'm grateful to God, people may have a different understanding of God, but they understand exactly what emotion I'm trying to convey. And that's the point of communication, isn't it?

So, I've realised why my mom was so enthusiastic when I told her I was converting to Judaism. Maybe she knew I hadn't found her God, but she knew I was engaging with something bigger than myself, and by converting I was committing myself to a path--that it wasn't just an intellectual exercise--and that if I performed the acts, I would eventually believe. 

Last week I watched all three kids on the bima. When I'd first met them, the eldest was preparing for her bat mitzvah; now the youngest was celebrating the first anniversary of his bar mitzvah. I marvelled at how they had all changed in five short years, and I thanked God for letting me be part of their lives. 

And as they came off the bima and took their seats, each one hugged me and told me they loved me, and I know that was God answering back.