When I left academia, I began working in the corporate world as a technical writer. I felt a certain sense of belonging there, but after watching layoff after layoff, I realized that all of it could end abruptly. So, I learned not to get too attached to any job.
At around the same time, I started giving more attention to my spiritual life. I had always had very deep spiritual yearnings, but my parents had been atheists, and I had no spiritual language. Because my family was culturally Jewish, I decided to explore my spiritual life through Judaism. I was hopeful that doing so would lead me to a community I could call my own.
When my daughter was small, I began going to services at the local synagogue. And, with typical Aspie flair, I immediately pulled out all the stops. I brought home tons of books. I learned to lead the services. I started studying Torah every day. I was involved in several community service projects. I became more observant at home. And I took my daughter to just about every Jewish event I could find.
In short, I was determined to do everything “right,” convinced that if I did, I’d finally find the key that would open the door to a world of belonging. Of course, in the midst of my zeal, my very good instincts were warning me that maybe, my whole approach might possibly, by some statistically insignificant probability, lead me in the wrong direction.
But I didn’t pay much attention to my instincts. My need to belong blinded me to just about everything else.
Ultimately, of course, I figured it out. I learned that doing everything “right” didn’t get me what I wanted. In fact, it only exhausted me, angered me, and led to my fleeing with what was left of my sanity. In other words, I pretty much repeated the pattern I’d played out in academia, except that this time, I put much more of my heart into it.
In dialogue form, here’s how it went, from the moment I walked in the door, until the moment I left, a year and a half later:
Me: “Hi, I’m Rachel, and I really want be part of your community.”
Other person: “Hi, Rachel, and welcome. We hope you’ll be comfortable here.”
Me: “THANKS. WHAT A GREAT PLACE. I’M SO HAPPY TO HAVE FOUND IT!”
OP: “It’s very nice to meet you, too. So, will you be committing to an individual or a family membership?”
Me: “A family membership! Definitely! You know, I really love this place, and I want to be part of it!”
OP: “And we want you to be part of it.”
Me: “Thanks! I’m going to start learning the services here.”
OP: “Wonderful! You know, when the rabbi is on sabbatical, we’d love to have you help lead services. Would you like to do that?”
Me: “YES! I WOULD LOVE TO! VERY MUCH!”
[A few months go by.]
OP: “Wow, we really love the way you lead services. You should do it every week!”
Me: “Thanks!”
OP: “And by the way, your daughter is beautiful. We love seeing her up there with you.”
Me: “Thanks!”
[A few more months go by.]
OP: “You know, you can’t have your daughter up there with you when you lead services.”
Me: “Why not?”
OP: “Because she plays with her dress and walks around up there.”
Me: “But she’s so joyful. People always tell me how much they love to see her singing the prayers.”
OP: “Well, I don’t know about that. It looks to some of us like you’re not taking things seriously.”
Me: “What? How can you say that?”
OP: “You guys seem to be having too much fun up there. You’re being frivolous.”
Me: “What?”
OP: “I’m afraid your daughter will have to sit down in the congregation while you’re leading.”
Me: “What? She’s only 4. She loves being here, but she can’t sit without me the whole time. She’s too little.”
OP: “Well, then you can’t lead services anymore.”
Me: “What? How can you take that away from us? We haven’t done anything wrong.”
OP: [blank expression]
Me: [look of shock and disbelief]
OP: “By the way, do you keep kosher?”
Me: “What?”
OP: “Do you keep kosher?”
Me: “Well, um, sort of…I’m a vegetarian.”
OP: “Well, you know, there’s a lot more to it than that.”
Me: “Okay.”
[A few more months elapse.]
OP: “Hey! Your kid can’t draw with crayons on Shabbos. No drawing allowed.”
Me: “But it helps her occupy herself during services every week.”
OP: “Yes, but that’s the rule.”
Me: “But this isn’t an Orthodox shul. What are you TALKING about?”
OP: “Oh, for goodness sake, what about Legos? Why can’t you just bring Legos? Why can’t parents JUST BRING LEGOS?”
Me: “My daughter doesn’t like Legos.”
OP: “You know, if you want to be part of this place, you’re going to have to start following the rules and stop being so frivolous.”
Me: “Frivolous? Moi?”
OP: “Yes.”
Me: “I’m not being frivolous. I take Torah very seriously. And I try to bring a lot of joy to it. I thought that was the point.”
OP: “What gave you that impression?”
Me: “The prayer service. The teachings. My experience of G-d. What am I missing here?”
OP: “You need to fit in better, stop asking so many questions, and stop taking everything so seriously.”
Me: “I’m taking things too seriously? I thought you said I was being frivolous.”
OP: “Stop twisting my words.”
[A few months later.]
Me: “What’s going on in this place? There aren’t any children coming to services anymore.”
OP: “People thought they were too distracting.”
Me: “But they weren’t loud. They were just walking around and being with everyone in the sanctuary. Isn’t that what you want? To have children being cherished by the adults in the community?”
OP: “They don’t have to be in the sanctuary.”
Me: “But I thought this was a spiritual community.”
OP: “Oh, for goodness sake. This isn’t a spiritual community. It’s a social club.”
Me: “Oh.”
[At long last, the rabbi comes back from sabbatical.]
Me: “It’s been awful while you were gone. There are no children in the services anymore. If people want to support Jewish continuity, keeping the children out of the sanctuary isn’t the way to do it.”
The rabbi: “I agree.”
Me: “Well, if I’m right, why do I get no support on this issue?”
The rabbi: “Because the people who don’t want children there are the founding members of the synagogue, and you’re not.”
Me: “Do you see anything wrong with that?”
The rabbi: “Yes, of course, but that’s how it is.”
Me: “I have to go.”
I ended up at Bob’s synagogue after this debacle. I’ve already written about what happened there, so enough said about that.
After all these experiences, I’ve learned that many people join religious institutions for the social aspects of community rather than the spiritual ones. There’s nothing wrong with that, of course, if it works for people. But it can’t work for me, because a) socializing exhausts me and b) when other people socialize, it’s so distracting that I can’t focus on why I’m there at all.
So I’ve learned to bring religion home—into my house and into my own being. I haven’t given up on Judaism or on my fellow Jews. I just encounter G-d in my own way, and I practice Judaism in a way that works for my Aspie body, mind, and soul.
I have to start with my neurology, with the way that G-d made me, and live my life from there. It’s the only way I’ll ever find a sense of belonging.
© 2009 by Rachel Cohen-Rottenberg
If you ever saw my shul, you wouldn’t think that Judaism is an organized religion
Your post and quotes illustrate perfectly my feelings about organised religion. I was baptised and raised as a Catholic but found their rituals and beliefs too strict, their dogma and homilies too dull and their clergymen too family-unfriendly. I also became quite irritated with the fact that many religions in one way or another suggest that unless you’re a part of their particular religious sect, you’re damned. I’ve got friends who have all kinds of beliefs and I wouldn’t want to see them discriminated against, so why would I want to be part of a group that does.
In the end, I decided that G-d, to use your phraseology, is best dealt with at a personal level. I try to give my children a good grounding in morality and an awareness of various beliefs. Their school gives them all the remaining religion they need and when they’re older, I’ll be encouraging them to go out and find out what they believe in on their own terms.
Ah yes, the politics of faith communities. Fun times. I’m really glad you brought your faith home with you instead of giving up on it.
Wow, great post. Guess you have to be careful about which synagogue to join. Hard to know at first I’d imagine….Never been to one myself…… raised Jewish but not very religiously Jewish.
I don’t think this post had anything to do about religion.
Fitting in….first they welcome you with open arms, and then just when you finally let down all your walls and feel safe, someone swoops in and says, “You’re otta here.” No warning, no explanation, just “don’t let the door hit you on the behind on your way out.”
After this happening soooooooooooo many times, I’ve learned not to bother “joining” a group. As soon as my Aspieness becomes apparent, I’ll be asked to leave in one form or another. If you’re young, you keep trying thinking this time will be different. It never is….
It’s not synagogues, or churches, or temples, it’s groups, lightly organized, highly organized doesn’t matter.
I’m not an Aspie, but I identify with lots of Aspie things like not really enjoying small talk, and wanting meaningful things. I’m also very positive and hopeful, unprepared for the later moments of being disappointed.
I’m a bit shocked by what you’ve written because I don’t like the thought of people scrutinizing me and judging me. (Of course you keep kosher if you’re vegetarian- or am I missing something? They have supplies of paper and pencils for the children at my shul, in a side room where they can still hear the services.)
I’ve been told to bring my children half way through the service- otherwise it’s too long for them.
I thought that synagogue services were characterized by people walking around and greeting their friends, and that children could do that too?
I’m really new to attending shul. I’m still at that honeymoon stage of just being so glad that I’m there, part of the community.
LOL, I’m an atheist/pantheist (depending on one’s definitions) who is part of a Unitarian Universalist congregation. Gives me the community without the craziness.