Though I have lived as an observant Jew, I have never been able to pretend to religious certainties. I have found it impossible to join in cheerleading condemnations of Reform, Conservatism, and irreligious Zionism; and for all my too-frequent public speaking, I have never denounced the assimilators. The words of Tennyson: "There lives more faith in honest doubt believe me, than in half the creeds...."
Later in that same chapter he writes, "I was gambling my whole existence on one hunch: that being a Jew was not a trivial and somewhat inconvenient accident, but the best thing in my life; and that to be a Jew the soundest way was the classic way." Later still, he pauses to discuss the tendency among non-religious Jews in America to not train their children in Judaism. They justify this decision, Wouk writes, because they don't want to "warp" their children. "When they grow up," these parents argue, the children "can make their own choice."
Wouk disagrees with their justification. He responds:
This view dictates the most total warping [parents] can condemn a child to. They warm him to a lifetime of rationalizing his ignorance. What adult sits down among the school children to learn the Hebrew alphabet, the Torah, and the ways of Jewry? It is the easiest thing in the world to drop one's early religious training, as many of my readers know. It is sheer mountain-climbing to regain ground lost in childhood. It ought to occur to such parents that they may be wrong about the faith; that it makes no sense to cement their children into their own attitude of denial. Judaism was in my possession when I reached the point of wanting it--like arithmetic, like geography, like all the things I learned long before I had the slightest desire or need for them.I read these words from the perspective of a person who was raised in an irreligious home but who, for some reason, believed in God and truly craved a religious identity. In time, I made my choice. To my parents' chagrin (mostly my dad's), I converted rather dramatically to Christianity at age 22, knowing next to nothing about that faith, and then devoted the rest of my life (to this point, at least) to Christianity. Might I have never become a Christian had I been raised as an observant Jew?
I also read these words from the perspective of one who tried to instill Christian faith in her children. In retrospect, my attempts were rather feeble, especially when compared against the way observant Jews literally school their children, especially the boys, (za rabatu! to work!, as Herman Wouk's grandfather said to him immediately upon completing his bar mitzvah) in not just the Torah but also the Talmud. Was I afraid to insist on such rigor for fear of turning them off, driving them away? I think so. Maybe it's because I'm a first generation Christian who doesn't know what I was doing. How does this compare against generations of parents, and their parents, and their parents' parents, and so on, raising children the same way, the way it's always been done. I wasn't raised this way, and as a first generation Christian, I was muddling along, trying to figure things out while the clock was ticking.
So now, here I am at age 56, attempting to learn about, discover, understand the Judaism my atheist Jewish father chose not to impose on his kids, and if possible, to try and reclaim a tiny piece of this amazing heritage.
It isn't easy. I'm so ignorant, on so many levels. Wouk's analogy to mountain climbing is apt. I finished this book and realized I've barely reached the foothills. My ignorance is vast and widespread.
Nevertheless, I loved this book (you should see my marginalia). I will read it again. Maybe even again. I will ask my children to read it. I'm thinking of even sending it to my dad. Perhaps he'll read it and, in reading, be drawn to Herman Wouk's God.
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