The Importance of Religious Foundation in a Secular World

By Alyssa Blumenthal
KOC Co-Editor
Queens College

Many of my friends are products of Jewish day school education. They can rattle off Hebrew fluently and recite passages of the Mishnah (Oral Torah) on the spot. They know exactly which page in the prayer book to turn to and they never seem to question the laws of kashrut (keeping kosher).

I never attended day school. Two days a week, my friend Cole and I would take the bus from Lido Elementary to Temple Beth Sholom and play on the swing set until class time rolled around. At four o’clock, the twenty or so students in our year would pile into Mrs. Turetz’s classroom on the second floor and emerge two hours later with brains filled with the aleph-bet (alphabet) and stories of Jewish tradition. On Saturday mornings, we would gather for Junior Congregation, and on Sundays we would meet for bagels and Torah talk.

I learned about my heritage and became proud of being Jewish, but in eighth grade, when I wanted to join a Long Island-wide symphonic band that met Saturday mornings, I could not understand why my parents were so adamantly opposed.

Throughout that year, I grappled with my Judaism. I was frustrated and confused. Many of my Jewish friends disconnected after becoming Bar and Bat Mitzvah, but my family and I still attended Shabbat morning services regularly. We still put Judaism first.

A year later, my perspective changed. I was sitting in my ninth grade Global History classroom and we were talking about religion. The conversation moved to Easter, and one of my peers raised his hand. He wanted to know why this holiday, so intimately connected to the story of Jesus’ rebirth, had a bunny as its mascot and painted eggs as its apparent focus.

Seeking to help us understand, my teacher related Easter egg hunts to dreidel playing on Hanukkah and explained that both practices were nothing more than fun ways to engage children and hold their attention.

My religious foundation would not stand for this explanation. After all, there is so much depth in the story of Hanukkah. There is so much beauty in using a spinning top to secretly teach Torah when any sort of Jewish observance has been strictly forbidden. In that moment, I realized that I have too strong of a connection to my faith and too much pride in my ancestry to allow this great ingenuity to be dismissed as a frivolous form of childhood entertainment.

I raised my hand and explained the dreidel’s history. I enlightened my class as to this practice’s true origin and meaning. And instead of being interested and thankful for this new knowledge, my teacher felt affronted and put out.

While I certainly did some teaching that day, I also did a lot of learning. In that moment, I started my own personal exploration of the Jewish faith. I started to figure out where it fit into my life specifically. I garnered a small taste of the difficulty of being Jewish in a secular world, and I decided that I was willing – maybe even eager – to confront these challenges.

Hebrew school taught me the basics, but the most lasting aspects of my Jewish education came from sitting in a public school classroom and learning that I had the knowledge, ability, and desire to defend my religious faith. This momentary decision to raise my hand set me on the path towards deeper Jewish and spiritual exploration. I discovered that Judaism was something I wanted for myself – not because I was born Jewish or because it was expected of me, but because it was a beautiful thing.

It still is a beautiful thing. And as I continue my walk down the path of Jewish enlightenment, I am proud of where and who I am and thankful for the forces in my life which have led me here.

[Posted 12/26/11]