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Reality Shows
 
Rabbi David E. Fass
Temple Beth Sholom
New City New York
Rosh Hashanah 2nd Day, 5762
Wednesday, September 19, 2001
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How many "reality shows" are there by now? Let's see. There's Survivor 1 & 2, Big Brother likewise, Temptation Island, 1900 House, Fear Factor, Spy Camera, Boot Camp, the Mole, a few others I may have left out, God-knows how many others that are broadcast outside the United States - and more are on the way.

Let's begin at the beginning, with the concept itself: reality shows. Facing facts, seeing the reality of our lives stripped of our excuses and rationalizations, is an important part of these High Holydays. What do we do when reality shows up, when facts intrude upon the things we believe about ourselves, about others, about the world around us, and about our religion?
A week ago yesterday the terrible reality of blind hatred, religious fanaticism and perverted bigotry intruded with murderous venom into the life of our country. For many the attacks became a test of their faith. Where was God? Why did so many innocent people have to die? I believe that most people will find that after time, their faith will return. We have become numbed by a terrible pain. It will subside.

Most of the reality we face, thank God, is not like this. Good people outnumber the terrorists by millions and millions to one. But make no mistake. Awful as it is, this is a reality we will have to face.

Dr. Andrew Newberg, one of those "good people," injects radioactive tracers into meditating Tibetan Buddhist monks - with their permission, of course - and then puts them into a very sophisticated brain imaging scanner. It measures the activities in various areas of the brain while the subject undergoes different mental activities and experiences.

Here's where reality shows. Dr Newberg, a researcher at the University of Pennsylvania, claims that the religious states people have long believed they reached while meditating, a higher reality, if you will, are the result of quieting the area of the brain that orients us to where our self ends and the world begins. When this border is erased by deep breathing, undirected, free-floating consciousness, or whatever, the person feels at one with a boundless universe.
There's a whole new science, "neuro-theology" that explores religious experience not as an external reality but as the result of various mental states that are hard-wired into our brains. As Dr. Newberg and his co-author, the late Dr. Eugene d'Aquili wrote in their recent book, Why God Won't Go Away, "The human brain has been genetically wired to encourage religious beliefs. As long as our brain is wired as it is, God will not go away." [Newsweek, January 29, 2001, pg. 59.]

What are we to make of this? How do we respond to such a radical, and seemingly factual, assault on our long-cherished beliefs? Do we respond like Morris Cohen?

  While walking in Central Park, Morris approaches another man and says to him, "Sam Kaplan, just look at you! You've had a face lift, muscle-building injections and all new teeth put into your mouth. Your nose used to be crooked but now it's straight. Your hair used to be snow white but now it is jet black."
  The man protests and says, " I beg your pardon, sir, but my name isn't Sam Kaplan. My name is Isaac Levy."
  Cohen smiles sheepishly, looks into the man's eyes and says, "I can't believe it, Sam, you even changed your name!"

Is that what we do when reality shows, when facts assail our heart-felt beliefs? Just refuse to accept what conflicts with them? It doesn't much matter that Morris won't be convinced he's not talking to Sam Kaplan. But what about…

  The Hindu leader who was called in by a team of American doctors. There was an epidemic and the physicians had traced its source to the polluted waters of the Ganges River. But how to convince the Hindus of this? They hit upon a plan. They called in one of the Hindu leaders and had him look at a drop of water from the Ganges in their microscope. In the drop were millions of live bacilli, the cause of the disease. To end the epidemic, the doctors said, the people would have to stop immersing themselves in the polluted river. The Hindu, however, proposed a different cure. He simply smashed the microscope, so now one couldn't see the germs.

Here the refusal to respond adequately when reality showed up very likely condemned untold numbers of people to sickness and even death.

Although most such denials are not likely to be as fatal, they do nonetheless have a profound effect on us as human beings and as Jews. When we don't confront belief with questions of factual reality, there is little or no chance for growth. We remain exactly where we are. For some, this is something to be desired. But as Reform Jews, as members of a movement that believes in progressive growth and believes this was always at the core of Judaism's message, we would call this stagnation.

When those who are chosen as leaders, like Rabbis, try to apply empirical tests to cherished tenets of religion, all hell is likely to break loose. Los Angeles has the second-largest Jewish community in the U.S. This past Passover Rabbi David Wolpe, senior Rabbi of Sinai Temple, a large conservative synagogue in Westwood, told his congregation in a series of sermons that the Exodus from Egypt didn't happen, at least not in the form in which the Torah portrays it.
He didn't say such things on a whim. Mainstream experts in archaeology, such as Israel Finklestein of Tel Aviv University and William Dever of the University of Arizona, examined the evidence and found that there were no Jews in the Sinai in 1250 BCE when the Exodus was supposed to have taken place. Other major figures from various scientific disciplines have likewise concluded that the traditional saga of the Jewish people's history, for all its inspirational, moral, and spiritual riches, bears, in many instances, little relation to the facts.

What was the response to Rabbi Wolpe's presentation of something the scientific world has actually known for decades? Six Orthodox Rabbis took out a half page ad in the Los Angeles Times because they felt his questioning undermined the very foundations of Judaism. One of his congregants, who asked not to be identified (of course) said, "It's like a priest telling his congregation on Christmas day that Christ never existed." Some people just didn't want Wolpe to say such things in such a public forum. "Tell twenty people," they suggested. Rabbi Ronald Price, executive vice president of the Union for Traditional Judaism, which broke away from the Conservative movement, was appalled at Rabbi Wolpe's rational, secular take on the events precipitating the Passover holiday. "It is hard to understand the impulse that would drive one to deliver such a message with apparent pride."

Rabbi Wolpe's response: "I am sorry if I caused people hurt or anger, but I stand behind my beliefs 100%. I wanted to give my congregants tools with which to work out their own theology. My goal was to teach my congregation how to learn about its faith from modern discipline and scientific truths." [All of the material on Rabbi Wolpe, his sermons, and the reaction to them is from The Forward, May 4, 2001, pp. 1-2.]

I share those goals 100%, and have for as long as I've been a Rabbi. One of the things that most attracted me to the Rabbinate was the opportunity to shine a light of rationality on some of the folklore-encrusted legends that passed for Judaism. Like Rabbi Wolpe, my intent was never to cause hurt or anger, though I am well aware I have sometimes engendered both. I have, I know, ruffled many feathers. I am sorry for any discomfort that may have caused, but I too stand completely behind what I have said and taught.

One main cause of those ruffled feathers is the feeling that science, facts, reality, undercut or destroy cherished beliefs. Yes, they do. I firmly believe they're supposed to. Not so much to destroy beliefs, but to replace worn out beliefs with better ones. By "worn out" I mean that if reality showing up can undermine a belief, it has, by definition, outlived its usefulness. I suggest that without exception we ought to have the courage to subject all of our Jewish beliefs and practices to the "worn out" test. By "better ones" I mean new, more expansive visions that draw us out of ourselves and into the unknown.

What then? Will there be nothing left? Rabbi Theodor Friedman asks,

  Are there any secrets left? Are not all the mysteries of nature and the cosmos fast disappearing before the ever-broadening light of knowledge? Are we not fast approaching a world devoid of all mystery?
  However, in the truest sense, the mysteries are not simply the unknown, rather they are the inexpressible, that which strikes us as filled with awe and wonder, something for which we have no words as yet. [Rabbi Theodor Friedman, The American Rabbi, Fall, 1999, pp. 96-97.]

No matter how many beliefs wear out, there will always be more than room enough for more. There is no need to lament. Are we worse off because, even though almost everyone believed it, the world turned out not to be flat and the earth was shown not to be at the center of the solar system? No matter how many sacred cows we slay, the horizon of complete understanding will always remain somewhere ahead of us. Our choice is to stay put on the shores of the well known, or sail off into the unknown in search of new formulations of the human condition.

To be a Reform Jew is to gratefully accept that what we strive for will always be beyond our grasp:

  One day a group of scientists got together and decided that humans had come a long way and no longer needed God. So they picked one scientist to go and tell God.
  The scientist walked up to God and said, "God, we've decided that we no longer need you. We're at the point that we can clone people and do miraculous things, so why don't You just go on and get lost."
  God listened very patiently and kindly to the man.
  After the scientist was done talking, God said, "Very well, how about this? Let's have a man-making contest."
  To which the scientist replied, Okay, great!"
  "But," God added, "we're going to do this just like I did back in the old days with Adam."
  The scientist said, "Sure, no problem," and bent down and grabbed himself a handful of dirt.
  "Oh no," said God. "You have to go get your own dirt!" [The American Rabbi, Spring/Summer 2000, pg. 213.]

Our Judaism indeed, all religion, deals with the inexpressible and the ultimate - things towards which we will always strive but at which we will never arrive.

On our search for our own dirt, and disease-resistant crops, and artificial hearts, and cold fusion, and meaning, and understanding, and a just and tolerant world, let us be careful not to damn the messenger who informs us that reality has shown up, reminding us that it is time to give up some of our old beliefs and forge new ones. Let us not bury in the sand the heads in which the rational thinking that is one of the crowning glories of humankind resides. Let us not lament the loss of the old, secure in the knowledge that what is yet before of us will open up wider vistas than any we have yet known.

And let us not be afraid that reason and reality will destroy the mystery and the wonder of our existence. Because, to conclude where we began, even when neuro-theology traces religious experiences to the hard-wiring in our brains, we will always be able to ask, and probably never answer: "But who do you think was the master electrician?" [Newsweek, op. cit.]


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