Fog
Have you ever driven for miles through a fog that obscures the horizon and restricts your vision?
I have. This winter we had an early snow in Minnesota. The heavy snow pack and cold temperatures, followed by relatively warm weather, provided an opportunity for periods of blinding fog to develop overnight and linger through the morning.
One morning, I found myself driving through the countryside on a road that I knew well but could not see – the entire four-lane highway was obscured by dense fog. What was out there? All I had to guide me was my memory of the road and of the vista. I had to make rough calculations about time and space as I tried to picture the fogshrouded landscape in my mind, but at least I had a memory of what surrounded me. What if I had never passed that way before? Imagine what my impression of the landscape I could not see might have been. It could be anything; it could even have been accurate.
Mount McKinley in Alaska’s Denali National Park is the tallest peak in North America. If you have been there you know that you must be reasonably lucky to see this magnificent landmark. Many tourists travel to Denali to see the mountain, only to find it obscured by clouds. It is visible only 60 percent of the time. Whether you see it or not, Mount McKinley is still there, but if you did not know of the mountain’s existence, it would never exist in your consciousness.
We as Conservative Jews sometimes live our religious spiritual lives as if we were driving in a fog. We have a vague idea that Conservative Judaism is a beautiful landscape, but we are not quite able to place ourselves in it. We are not sure where we belong in the landscape of observance of halakhah, which we experience through the recognition and performance of mitzvot. Some of us can use the clock of our lives to calculate where we are in that landscape. We draw on what we learned as children, and sometimes as adults, to gauge our position so we can imagine what the landscape might look like if there were no fog.
Those of us fortunate to have been raised in Jewish families and communities that made certain that we learned the traditions and celebration of Shabbat and the festivals retain a memory of those experiences that provides a mental image that persists even if the fog of our secular lives obscures the view. That landscape still is there, even if it is hidden.
Lifecycle events serve some people as cues to help judge where they are along the road of observance. For others, the Jewish calendar helps position them on the road. For those people, it is Shabbat and Rosh Hodesh and Pesah that provide the cues they need to position themselves on the fogshrouded highway of their lives.
That is fine for those of us who have passed over this road before. But what of those who haven’t, who never have seen the landscape of Conservative Judaism? Do they see only the gray fog without knowing that the majesty and beauty of religious observance, our Mount McKinley, is out there? We each have a responsibility to assist those people who have not yet seen beyond the fog, so they too have the opportunity to see and recognize and celebrate the vista of Conservative Judaism. Those of us who know the landscape can serve as mentors, guiding them as they try to see beyond the fog.
It is vitally important to welcome those who do not know the landscape or only have glimpsed it – and to welcome them with clear and strong pride. How can you welcome someone to join you if you are not proud of where you are? Conservative Jews should take great pride in our evolving halakhah and the form of our religious practice. It is our reaction to our performance of mitzvot that will have the greatest impact on those we welcome. If you are dismissive about the wonderful life to which you are inviting them, why would they want to join you?
Take pride in being a Conservative Jew!
Conservative synagogues are more than just places of assembly, although they are that as well. Most critically, they are places where we practice our Judaism as a community, a kehillah. After people step out of the fog and we welcome them, they must be guided and mentored. That’s an important next step. The landscape is not simple. We have to show them the beauty that surrounds us. They have to learn to trust that whether or not they see the mountain, it is still there.
At the beginning of the Passover seder we read Kol dichfin yeitei v’yeihul – All who are hungry let them enter and eat. Let us welcome all to the seder of Conservative Judaism and let all who hunger for knowledge eat at our tables and find community in our synagogues.
The force that dissipates fog is wind; the wind’s energy mixes the air and lifts the fog.
From Sh’mini Atzeret to Pesah, when we say the Amidah we add the words mashiv ha’ruach u’morid ha’gashem – You cause the wind to blow and the rain to fall.
Recently I had the opportunity to spend some time at USY’s international convention. The 1200 teenagers from across North America at the convention created a wind, ruah, that could have blown away any fog. These committed young people generate energy. If we can trap and channel that energy across the landscape that is Conservative Judaism, it can... no, it will create an environment in our kehillot that will drive off any fog.
Mashiv ha’ruach.God makes the wind to blow. It is up to each of us to capture that wind and blow away the fog.
Dr. Raymond B. Goldstein is president of the United Synagogue of Conservative Judaism.
