AVRUM'S BLOG is hosted and authored by me, Avrum Rosensweig, the founder and president of Ve'ahavta: The Canadian Jewish Humanitarian & Relief Committee. I am also a writer, artist and a father.
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B'shalom, Avrum (avrum@veahavta.org) 
I was raised a Godless heathen.
OK, OK, I’m being dramatic for effect, but I think it would be accurate to say that I was brought up in a fairly irreligious household. I am technically a Christian, and my grandparents were all quite religious Protestants, but my parents live pretty secular lives. Although they were not churchgoers, they wanted me to be free to make my own decisions, so they encouraged me to try out churches of different denominations to see if anything resonated with me.
I remember going to Catholic services, Anglican, United and possibly a few others. I recall thinking that I hated wearing dresses, the services were too long, the pews were uncomfortable and the kneeling hurt my knees. Since the age of 10, I have only entered churches for weddings and funerals.
This is not to say that I was raised without a moral foundation. My parents instilled me with strong values, many of which are the same as those found in scripture. They simply did not attach those values to a particular religion tradition. Rather than encouraging me to act ethically in order to serve God or to ensure my place in the afterlife, I was simply told to be good. Full stop.
I read what I then considered the “Old Testament” on my own, without any guidance, when I was quite young. I found the whole thing terrifying. God seemed so wrathful, and for some time I lived in fear that I would carelessly commit a sin, and God would reach a reproachful finger through the clouds and smite me where I stood.
Several members of my father’s family were fundamentalist Christians, and I found many of their views to be quite intolerant. I’ve never understood people who feel the need to build up their own belief system by tearing down or judging those who think differently from them. At some point in my youth I developed a brief and harmless interest in the occult. Upon discovering this, my uncle took my father aside and warned him that he was a bad parent for raising me a pagan, and that there would be dire consequences for my immortal soul. I was incensed. My father is my role model for goodness. He is kind, accepting, loving, non-judgmental, open-minded and embraces those members of society that most people reject.
He embodies spirituality to me.
Later, my uncle and one of my aunts wrote me a letter quoting scripture, saying that I was straying from the path of righteousness and would certainly be doomed to hell. I was 12 years old.
These experiences made me suspicious of organized religion, I would say almost to the point of hatred. In grade 7, when our teacher started forcing us to read the Good News Bible (something that in 1984 was undoubtedly illegal in the public school system), I became an atheist in a burst of reactionary rage. This was short-lived, as I soon recognized the arrogance of thinking I could know there was no God. I know so little about even my immediate surroundings.
How could I presume to know the universe?
Despite my skepticism, I think a part of me has always been searching for divinity. In university I studied the Philosophy of Religion, but the arguments for the existence of God always left me wanting more. To me, St. Anselm’s ontological argument or Aquinas’ description of “the great watchmaker” started with a faith-based presupposition: “God exists therefore God exists.” Because I was coming from a secular perspective, I wanted more “proof”. What would have sufficed for me? Did I need to witness a miracle? Say a prayer and have it immediately answered? Did I want to God to tap me on the shoulder and say “Hey stupid, I’m right here.” I don’t know, but I think I have been looking for the key that will unlock my mind to allow God in.
About a year and a half ago I started reading the Torah. I decided to do this for a few reasons:
1) I had recently befriended Avrum, who told me that he was “more Jewish than he was anything else.” I felt that to truly know him I needed to understand more about Judaism.
2) I had read “The Chosen”, and was completely drawn to the scenes of Danny and Reb Saunders engaging in heated Talmudic debate. I love the idea that Judaism encourages questioning and critical thought, and that it is constantly evolving. My experience with Christianity (which I am not claiming to be representative of the religion as a whole), was that it stifled dissent and had an ideological rigidity.
3) I wanted to try reading scripture again as an adult, and to approach it with a more open mind. After all, it is the single-most read written work in the history of humanity, it is the starting point of monotheism, and it has influenced every aspect of our culture. How can I understand life without better understanding Torah?
Reading Torah has enriched my life in many ways. The first benefit I found was the intellectual challenge. The methods by which I have been learning satisfy my brain’s desire for order, depth and complexity. I love reading the weekly portion, then the haftorah, and then finding different commentaries by different rabbis. I am inspired by the variety and richness of thought and interpretation, and by the interplay of ideas. I am comforted to see that struggling with God is not seen as a rejection of faith, but a step towards strengthening it.
This summer I was fortunate to meet a man whose love of Judaism, God and Torah emanate from him like a bright light. After some thought, I wrote to him and asked him if he would be willing to learn with me, or more accurately teach me, as he is a wealth of information and insight. He sent me some lectures to listen to by Rabbi Fohrman, starting right from the story of Adam and Eve.
Listening to the first lecture was so meaningful, but also made me realize that I truly know so little. What to me had been a childhood story about a tree and a snake took on a whole rich life, full of questions of morality and nakedness and personal responsibility and the purpose of life. I had so many questions, but I was nervous sending them to my learning partner. I felt like a neophyte, a child. I was worried my questions would be too rudimentary, that I lacked the tools to create a meaningful analysis of what I had heard and read. I was worried about wasting his time.
Instead of throwing up his hands in despair at my ignorance, he was gentle and encouraging. He answered my questions thoughtfully, and he directed me to different sources where I could do more research on my own. I now look forward to sharing my thoughts and questions with him, and I gain so much from his responses. I had enjoyed reading Torah on my own, but it is so much richer having someone with whom to share ideas.
I feel like something has shifted in me. What started as an intellectual pursuit has become deeper, more meaningful. The Torah has gotten inside me. I find myself thinking about what I’m reading and learning all the time: the moral and philosophical implications of the stories, the lessons that can be learned and applied to my own life, how I can expand my thinking.
This morning on the subway, rather than focusing on whatever social awkwardness I may have experienced yesterday or what I need to do at work today or the million other trivialities that take up my mental energy, I was thinking about Rebecca encouraging Jacob to steal his brother’s blessing, and feeling pain for Moses that after all of his commitment and fidelity to God, one act of hubris stopped him from being able to enter the promised land.
I know that I have started a lifelong learning process, one that feels like a blessing. Where will it lead? Will this be the key that opens my heart to God? I have no idea, but whatever happens, I know it will be a beautiful journey.
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