JEWISH SELF-IDENTITY AND AGNOSTICISM
by Candace Groudine
There was never a time when I did not consider myself to be Jewish. This was
something I never had to think about: I just was Jewish. Even when I came to
the realization - when I was about 12 years old - - that I did not believe in God,
I still considered myself to be Jewish. Over the years. I came to realize that I
was more of an agnostic than an atheist because, well, who knows, right? My
view about God and spiritual matters has never been ideological but rather, a
result of never having felt the presence of what I considered God to be, viz.,
some supernatural force, beyond human comprehension, and the creator of
the universe, perhaps sometimes intervening in human affairs and sometimes
not, even though one might wish or pray for such intervention for one reason
or another. Moreover, I've never thought that being and "feeling” Jewish
necessitated a belief in God in the Judeo-Christian sense, or in any other sense.
I identify as Jewish because of what I understand to be Jewish "culture" and how
I came to see, feel and understand how many non-Jews perceived me because of
that culture. though their perception was almost always based on their conflation
of Jewish culture with the religious beliefs of Judaism. Before offering a less personal view of what I understand Jewish culture to be, some personal background and experiential information will help provide a fuller understanding of my views.
Both my parents and both sets of grandparents and great-grandparents were Jewish. My parents referred to themselves as "Conservative" Jews, whereas my maternal grandparents and great grandparents considered themselves "Orthodox" Jews. My nuclear family did not attend synagogue on a regular basis but did attend on the High Holy Days. We always celebrated Passover and attended seder until my maternal grandmother died, as she was the glue that held our family together for such services. When I was a child. I celebrated a few other Jewish holidays like
Succoth and Hanukkah with my maternal grandparents until both died. On the
other hand, my parents were proud that they, my sisters and I could "pass" as
non-Jews because our last name didn't "sound" Jewish, because none of us
"looked* particularly Jewish to non-Jews, and none of us had been given "Jewish-
sounding" first names (My younger sister's name is "Dayle" and my older sister's
name is "Cathy*). For many years while working at International General Electric in
New York City, my dad let his colleagues and clients assume he was Christian
because anti-Semitism was obvious and widely accepted in his workplace. When
Yom Kippur fell on a weekday, he never took that day off until he was about five
years from retirement.
In spite of those pathetic and sad attempts by my parents to hide our Jewishness,
an awareness of the Holocaust at a very young age, and what Robert Mnookin refers to as "...the environment's attitude toward Jews" contributed greatly to my Jewish self-identity. (See Mnookin's 2018 book, The Jewish American Paradox: Embracing Choice in a Changing World; New York: Public Affairs; p. 24). I think of Tiger Woods here, who in his early years as a professional golfer was asked if he identified as Black or African-American. Woods said that he considered himself to be bi-racial as his mother is Asian and his father is Black. I remember that my reaction, as well as that of my African-American partner, was that while Woods may feel more comfortable referring to himself as bi-racial, most people (both Black and white), and not just Americans, consider him to be Black. In effect, there is something of what I'll call a *social metaphysics of race" at play with how most people perceive Woods that is analogous to a "social metaphysics of Jewishness." As Mnookin notes, "I know that nobody who has grown up in a Jewish environment can ever be not-a-Jew, whether the Jewishness he experienced was defined by his family's sense of history, by its religious observances. or indeed, by the environment's attitude toward Jews." (Ibid.). I would just add that there are, of course, some people (my younger sister being one of them) who have never had a sense of being Jewish, and, who converted to Christianity as a young adult. And even though my parents were pleased we could all "pass," they were vehemently opposed to me or my sisters marrying a non-Jew. The reason my dad gave to all of us when we were adolescents was that in a heated argument, our husband would most likely call us a "dirty Jew." That visceral anti-Semitism, they thought, was part of what being a non-Jew was, and this further deepened my sense of being a member of a sometimes despised and/or vulnerable group. The flip side of my parents maintaining that this visceral anti-Semitism was real, is that I've always had a visceral sense of being Jewish because of widespread anti-Semitism.
So a good deal of my self-identity as a Jew comes from a sense of history, i.e., of being a member of a group of people who have experienced -- and still experience -- negative stereotyping, unconscious bias, discrimination, and persecution to some degree or another. An early awareness of, and numerous re-educations about the Holocaust --as well as my personal belief that it could happen again, even if not in my lifetime -- has strengthened that sense of history. Years ago, a lapsed Catholic, atheist friend of mine perceptively described my feeling about Christian evangelicals when I see them gather for a large rally. He said that it seemed to him that I viscerally saw such folks as*resting up between pogroms." While I'm not aware of having been directly targeted by anti-Semites, on several occasions over the years I have been witness to anti-Semitic remarks by a few colleagues in the workplace. On each of those occasions, after I informed them that I was Jewish, they immediately tried to recant what they said and sort of mumbled an apology.
So, back to what I mean when I refer to "culture" and what I mean when I refer to "Jewish culture" as something I share with other self-identifying Jews. Here I get just a bit academic and draw on some research I did many years ago for my doctoral dissertation. Most anthropologists as well as organizational theorists will agree that a reference to "culture" must include reference to the importance for people of symbolism of some kind, to the importance of rituals, stories, and even myths about the interpretation of events, ideas and experiences that are shaped and influenced
by the particular groups among which they live. Culture also seems to have something to do with a shared way of thinking and a collective way of behaving -- not necessarily all the time throughout one's life -- but rather, a way of thinking and behaving about both important as well as inconsequential facts and events that spring from collective values and assumptions we all make about social and political reality. I think culture also implies a link that persons have and feel to a common set of habits. and for many a common way of life. A kind of social cohesiveness emerges where the individuals come to feel that they are part of an inner circle of like minds, hence, what can be called, of like "culture."
Assuming you have accepted my understanding of what constitutes a "culture," what, then, could be considered "Jewish" culture? Again, disclaiming any knowledge beyond my own experience and having that experience acknowledged and validated by other self-identifying Jews, I offer the following characteristics, traits, traditions, whatever you want to call them, as constituting the essence of what I would call "Jewish culture." Many of these elements, considered independently, could certainly be attributed to other groups of people. But I think taken all together, they construct a view of, or picture about a people that most Jews and perhaps even most non-Jews alike would
understand. Again, a reminder here that what I'm about to explain is heavy on the anecdotal side and weak on the personal scholarly research side.
The first characteristic that comes to my mind is that of an intense insistence upon teaching the young and inculcating in them the group's traditions and customs. I think that what makes this characteristically "Jewish" is that it is teaching based on something textual, something that is considered to be (whether correct or not) derived from books and/or scholarly instruction. But not teachings that should never be, or even only infrequently, questioned. Just as I'm a consequentialist (i.e.. vs. an "originalist”) who understands the U.S. Constitution as an evolving document to help our nation attain a more perfect union, I appreciate that, as Mnookin notes, “Reform rabbis view Jewish law not as God given or sacred but as rabbinical adaptations to historical conditions and, therefore, open to change. To the extent that the law is inconsistent today with scientific knowledge or the needs of contemporary life, it can be ignored." (Ibid, p. 52). Further, respect for civil argument and debate, allowance for indefinite analysis, and generations of interpretation of the group's body of "laws" (here, the reference is to the Halacha) are values that are embraced by Jews and to a degree I'm not sure is shared by most other cultures; my understanding is that the Talmud ranks study higher than prayer as a religious act. And I don't think it is a coincidence that during U.S. Supreme Court Justice Amy Coney Barrett's Senate confirmation hearings, it was Senator Diane Feinstein
who stated to Barrett. "The dogma lives loudly within you" when she questioned the influence of Barrett's Catholic faith on her judicial views.
On the personal side again, I don't think it was coincidental that my late maternal grandfather, who was born in Minsk (what is now part of Belarus) and not even a high school graduate, would come to our apartment when I was a young child with four newspapers in hand (that's when New York City had 4 major newspapers) every day...literally, every day. The expectation my grandfather had. and, which struck my parents, my sisters and me as perfectly normal, was that we would all read every single one of those publications, or at least skim each of them. We all grew up thinking that authority figures should be respected, but also, that respect should not cloud one's reason nor one's right and obligation to question that authority when appropriate. Anyone who has been to a Passover seder can understand this. The seder is a time of questioning and reflecting. not a time to be lectured to about absolute truths. Mnookin makes the point that Judaism is not a "confessional religion." Whereas Christians and Muslims and some Protestant denominations must “affirm a belief in God," that is not the case for self-proclaiming Jews. There is no fixed set of principles, nor a universally agreed-upon set of questions and answers regarding this or that issue. Mnookin further notes that "Judaism has no pope or any other centralized institution for enforcing consensus, and none has ever developed around Maimonides principles (...Of the Jewish Faith)," and that "each Jew is expected to work out his own relationship to God, which is not one of simple obedience." As Jews,
we are taught to honor and value what might be a clearer or more perceptive interpretation of even a revered ancient text. Also, l'm guessing that when one says, "I'm Catholic," or "I’m a Methodist," or "I'm Muslim," the person is identifying with a specific set of religious beliefs, whereas when one says, "I'm Jewish," one is identifying with a shared culture, but not necessarily one grounded in religious belief.
It is this reflecting, analysis, interpreting, and arguing about what has always been the case, along with a commitment to education that I closely associate with another trait I think of as characteristically Jewish, namely, the commitment to social justice and to “tikkun olam,"i.e. "repairing the world." Mnookin notes that this central tenet of Judaism "dates back to the Mishnah, the body of rabbinic teachings codified around 200 CE. As many Jews define the concept today, it expresses our obligation to pursue social justice and help make the world a better place through acts of kindness and compassion, particularly for the less privileged." And to values of diversity and inclusion, and generosity (the number of American Jewish philanthropies is staggering when considering that Jews constitute only around 2% of the American population; and where many leading social justice organizations were founded with a sizeable Jewish representation e.g., the NAACP Legal Defense Fund, the Southern Poverty Law Center, and the ACLU to name just a few). What follows from this commitment to social justice is an emphasis on the here and now, and that one must act morally
and ethically because it is the right thing to do, not because a central authority commands one to do so, and not because of some reward that might await one in an after-life. Moreover, because Judaism's significant figures are all too human, with more than enough flaws to work on, we and we alone are responsible for our actions. Again, this is anecdotal on my part, but I have rarely heard someone who is Jewish say, "She's in a better place," when learning of a person's death.
So, am I Jewish? Can I legitimately refer to myself as Jewish even though I doubt the existence of God? In addition to all the reasons I've offered today that leads to a "yes," there are other parts of what I've been calling Jewish culture that are more fun to consider, and because I think they are hysterical, I am certain I'm Jewish. The centrality of food in Jewish life is one of these and food often plays a key role in Jewish humor. There is an old saying (or is it Jewish Haiku?) that goes: "They
tried to kill us, we survived, let's eat." What I love about that saying is that in a nutshell, it says that Jewish culture reflects stubbornness, toughness, a bit of fatalism, and "I'll show YOU" sensibility, and in the end, an appreciation for the sensuality of food that can alleviate all drama and heartache. Zen Judaism by David M. Bader (also author of Haikus for Jews) offers many others and I'll share just two more with you: 1). "Drink tea and nourish life./With the first sip, joy. With the second./ satisfaction. With the third, Danish." And 2). "What is the sound of one hand clapping? How
could the Buddha weigh four hundred pounds and still do yoga? What exactly
is *stuffed kishke*"?
And then to seal the deal that I'm certainly Jewish, my reaction to much self-deprecating humor considered to be typically Jewish is equally positive. Just a couple of examples from the same writer of Zen Judaism: 1)."Those who know do not kibitz. Those who kibitz do not know."; or 2). "Do not kvetch. Be a kvetch. Become one with your whining." Or 3) "The Tao has no expectations. The Tao
demands nothing of others. The Tao does not speak. The Tao does not blame. The Tao does not take sides. The Tao is not Jewish."
I have heard the following about Jewish humor from several sources that I am unable to name right now, but it is worth trying to reconstruct. Jews seem so often to turn depression, anxiety, anger, and fear into wit. And when you combine the love of education, questioning, and argument with humor, you get a kind of irreverence, i.e., "chutzpah," where no one is spared. I think such temperament is also closely connected to a more democratic culture than is the case with other religious groups. (But don't get me started about Israel which is notably absent from my presentation today!)
A few final comments:
My sense of being Jewish has grown stronger with age. I think I have a better understanding of my world and society than I did as a teenager. Also, I have a greater need to be part of a community with which I feel comfortable and safe in a world that often seems Hobbesian. That life is often a struggle that we must strive to overcome (not only for ourselves but for others as well) is the one perspective about the "meaning of life" that makes sense to me and that also seems to be consistent with Jewish self-identification.
But some may still want to convince me to give up my agnosticism because (as I've heard a number of people tell me) "it is important to have faith." Or that "faith is what sustains us as human beings." However, I prefer to cling to "hope" instead of faith. As Jane Goodall notes in her recent book, The Book of Hope: A Survival Guide for Trying Times, ( with Douglas Abrams and Gail Hudson; New York: Celadon Books; 2021, pp. 8-10), hope is more humble than faith.“Faith is when you actually believe there is an intellectual power behind the universe, which can be translated into God or Allah or something like that. You believe in God, the Creator. You believe in life after death or some other doctrine. That's faith. We can believe that these things are true, but we can't know. But we can know the direction we want to go and we can hope that it is the right direction." Hope also "requires us to work hard to make what we want to happen actually happen."
Early in his book, Mnookin asks, "Why do we care about being Jewish?" I agree with his answer: "Each of us must take responsibility for educating ourselves about our heritage and then choosing what's meaningful to us-and how we want to express it. In a very real sense, the "chosen people must become the choosing people."
