An atheist in the temple

I’m something of a black sheep in my family. Not only am I the only atheist, but I also have a reputation for not being shy about expressing my opinion on any subject regardless of the company I’m with. I’ve been like that since childhood. I remember that while on vacation in San Francisco during the psychedelic ‘60s, my parents drove through the Haight-Ashbury district with the windows rolled up for fear of me saying something provocative to the hippies there. At the time I didn’t know what I was more miffed about; my parents lack of trust in me or the missed opportunity.

So when my sister recently approached me about my niece’s upcoming bat mitzvah (the feminine equivalent of a Jewish boy’s bar mitzvah, or coming-of-age ceremony), I could understand her trepidation over what she had to ask me.

“You know,” she said, “As Mollie’s uncle, you’re expected to say something before the congregation during the services.” I nodded my understanding.

“It doesn’t have to be anything about God,” she added quickly. “Just something inspirational to reflect the joy and solemnity of the occasion.”

“Don’t worry,” I reassured her. “I’m sure I can come up with something appropriate.” My sister gave me a small, uncertain smile. Somehow, she didn’t look reassured.

By the day of my niece’s bat mitzvah, I had come up with a few paragraphs on something I thought everyone could feel good about. It was some comments on the Jewish version of the Golden Rule that had been stated by Rabbi Hillel in the first century Before the Current Era (BCE): “Do not do unto others that which is hateful to you.” Many people don’t see it as very different from the Christian version of the Golden Rule and it isn’t, except, I think, in emphasis. The Christian version is more proactive. You are enjoined to do something unto others instead of not doing. To me, that summarizes one of the best things about Judaism; that grace is not a matter of accepting saviors or pushing others to believe as you do. It’s about the individual trying to live as a righteous person in the world community. “All the rest is commentary,” Hillel had added. “Go and learn.” I didn’t have to mention God to justify the Golden Rule and, indeed, neither the Christian nor the Jewish version mentions God for justification. It’s the kind of rule that just makes sense to anyone who considers themselves to be part of the human community even if, like me, they‘re atheists.

Anyway, that’s what I would have talked about had I been given the chance. As it happens, I wasn’t.

It was a beautiful Saturday morning when I arrived at the temple. The sky was blue, the birds were singing, and all seemed right with the world. I had gotten there a little before services were scheduled to start so I could help my sister and her family set up things for the reception afterwards. The bat mitzvah itself would be included as part of the regular Sabbath services.

My niece had to be at least a little nervous. After all, the bat mitzvah is one of the most important events in a Jewish girl’s life, marking, as far as the Jewish community is concerned, the transition between childhood and adulthood. However, you couldn’t tell it by looking at her. She looked cool and pretty in her new red dress. My sister, on the other hand, looked frazzled and nervous. This didn’t bother me overmuch. My sister is a born worrier. It would be nice if she looked relaxed, but I probably wouldn’t have recognized her if she did. She hurried up to me with what looked like one of the temple’s prayer books in her hand. She waved it in front of my face.

“I’ve marked the passage I want you to read when it’s your turn to stand in front of the congregation,” she said.

“But I already wrote something myself that I wanted to read,” I protested.

“Too bad,” she said firmly. “The rabbi has to clear anything that’s going to be read in the temple and there just isn’t any time now for him to do it now.”

I let my mouth fall shut. I understood her position perfectly and, if I were in her shoes, I might have done the same thing. My reputation for being a smart-ass had just come back to bite me right in the aforementioned part of the anatomy. It was my niece’s big day so I accepted the situation with as much grace as I could muster and said, “OK. What would you like me to read?” My sister relaxed a little, but only a little.

“It’ s on page 42,” she said warily. “I’ve marked the passage with a felt pen so you can’t miss it. We didn’t want to offend you but it’s the only passage in the prayer book that doesn’t mention God.”

I shrugged. How bad could it be? Since this was a reform temple rather than an orthodox one, it wasn’t unusual to find a prayer book that included inspirational material from other than Jewish sources and that’s what I expected to find here. I opened the book to page 42 and started to scan the marked passage. I felt the blood drain from my face as I read it.

“I… I can’t read this in front of the congregation,” I stammered. “I’ll be laughed out of the temple!”

“It’s the only passage in the prayer book that doesn’t mention God,” my sister repeated. “It’s the best we could come up with.”

For once I was too stunned to think of anything to say. I made my way to a chair and fell into it like I’d been pole-axed. Gradually, the seats around me began to fill up. My mind was racing so fast I barely noticed. The passage I had been condemned to read was from a feel-good book written by a man named Robert Fulghum about 10 years earlier. It had been a bestseller. I had never read it but I had heard of it. It was called “ALL I REALLY NEED TO KNOW I LEARNED IN KINDERGARTEN” and the passage went:

“Most of what I really need to know about how to live and what to do and how to be I learned in kindergarten. Wisdom was not at the top of the graduate school mountain, but there in the sandpile at Sunday School.

These are the things I learned.

Share everything.

Play fair.

Don’t hit people.

Put things back where you found them.

Clean up your own mess.

Don’t take things that aren’t yours.

Say you’re sorry when you hurt somebody.

Wash your hands before you eat.

Flush.

Warm cookies and cold milk are good for you.

Live a balanced life -- learn some and think some and draw and paint and sing and dance and play and work every day some.

Take a nap every afternoon.

When you go out into the world, watch out for traffic, hold hands, and stick together.

Be aware of wonder.”

This was kid’s stuff! How the heck do you read a kindergarten essay to a room full of adults dressed in their Sabbath best? I couldn’t play it for laughs. I was in a temple, for chrissake! I was nonplussed. After a lot of fidgeting and nail biting, I decided my only option was to play it straight; read it as dispassionately as I could and let the chips fall where they may. If people laughed, so be it. It was my niece’s big day, not mine and I would draw as little attention away from her moment as the material would allow. That decided, I allowed myself to relax a little bit; just in time too, for the rabbi and the cantor (in Judaism, a singer who leads prayer services) had just walked in and the services were about to begin.

I hadn’t been in a temple for years. Since I became an atheist, the only time I’m in one is for weddings, funerals and events like bat mitzvahs. I was pleased to discover that I could still read Hebrew and that the rising and falling rhythms of the prayers were as familiar to me as if I had never been away. There’s a lot of rising and falling in Jewish services too. The whole congregation bobs up for this prayer, then sits down for that one. I bobbed up and down with the rest of them but I didn’t join in the prayers. Though the rhythms were both familiar and moving, I was unwilling to be more of a participant than that.

My niece read the bat mitzvah part of the service before the congregation and led them in some of the prayers. She also played a violin solo. All she did was performed flawlessly and I joined with everyone else in feeling pride and showing admiration for her. If I hadn‘t been in a temple, I would have whooped and cheered. At various intervals, one or another of my relatives was called up to say something in appreciation of the bat mitzvah girl or, if they hadn’t written anything, to lead in a hymn or prayer. Me they saved for last.

Prayer book in hand, I marched up to the podium feeling like a condemned man on his way to the gallows. I could feel a flush creeping up the back of my neck and, as I looked out at that sea of solemn yet expectant faces, I could almost feel the rope settling over my head. Then there was no more time to think. “Open your prayer book to page 42,” I said.

I read the essay as dispassionately as I could. I didn’t hurry through any of it nor dawdle either. I just read it as if I were reading that Golden Rule essay I had originally written. And for the first few lines, things went very well. But after “clean up your own mess,” I noticed some of the congregation starting to smile. More began smiling when I read “wash your hands before you eat,” and someone snickered when I said “flush.” By now I was sweating pretty good but I kept my composure. “Warm cookies and cold milk are good for you,” brought some wide grins but things settled down after that. By the time I finished, they were still smiling but I thought they were friendly-looking smiles. Still, I could feel my face radiating heat as I made my way back to my chair.

The last part of the services went by pretty much as a blur to me. I just sat there trying to look more composed than I felt. To my astonishment though, when the service was over, a fair number of people came up to me in groups of ones and twos to congratulate me on an inspiring reading! Some complimented me on my aplomb, but most spoke of the message of the essay. Gradually it began to dawn on me that I had been guilty of what in Greek mythology, was the worst possible sin: hubris, or overweening pride. I had come there that day with an essay on the Golden Rule that showed off my erudition at least as much as it spoke to the subject and, while neither Rabbi Hillel nor I would have put it that way, this silly little kindergarten essay was just as much about living as a righteous human being in the community of Mankind as anything we had intended. “All the rest is commentary. Go and learn,” Hillel had said. I came to teach and I had been taught.

And just in case you think that was the end of the matter, let me tell you that it was not. The bat mitzvah reception was a beautiful thing. We ate, we drank, we sang, we laughed. I danced with my niece and my sister and everyone else both singly and in the traditional Jewish round dance called the hora. We saw each other living as righteous human beings in the community of Mankind and we were filled with joy.

Photo Credit: 1) Mollie's bat-mitzvah cake. 2) My beautiful nieces- Rachel and her sister, Mollie.

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