A Skeptic's Account of His Religious Experience

A Skeptic's Account of His Religious Experience
by Alex Seedman
Religion always seemed like a bad thing to me. It causes wars. It establishes rules that seem silly (no pig skin on Saturday?) And until Birthright, it bored the gifelta fish out of me. But if it meant a free trip to the Middle East with a bunch of college kids for a week and a half, then slap some pais on me and call me Rabbi Goldsteinbergman.
When we arrived at the viewpoint overlooking Jerusalem for the first time, tour guides Ori and Tzach suggested we might experiene some sort of "spiritual awakening" upon looking out at the majestically sandy city. Unfortunately, all I felt at that hilltop was guilt for not feeling anything but guilt, which I suppose is a sort of Jewish spiritual experience in and of itself. Still, I was disappointed. So we got back on the bus, drove on through the holy city, and arrived at the Western Wall.
Strolling through the Jewish Quarter, I began to imagine the millions upon millions of lives that have fought, lived, and died for the very stone we walked on. To me, the experience here was simply the idea that, on this day, we explore a city with more human significance than any other in the world, and in just twenty-four hours, we'd spend the night in the middle of the desert at the Bedouin Tents, underneath the sextillions of stars that totally annhilate that idea of significance. For me, that's a holy comparison. So the experience became more meaningful, but the religion just wasn't felt quite yet.
Then we locked hands, and blindfolded, were led down an invisible flight of stairs and along a narrow hallway, eventually lined up against a balcony overlooking the Western Wall, where something was happening. Describing an invisible energy seems boring and maybe cliche, but I can't help but tell the truth; something was felt at that point.
So I pulled out my iPhone, scrolled through the list of names my mother emailed me, and wrote my holy notes, dutifully, like any good Jewish son. Notes in hand, I marched toward the rabbis, got super blessed (t'filin and all) and thought to myself, travel is about immersion, blindly and totally, so if I'm going to experience Israel, I might as well do it right. So I concentrated really hard at that wall, I concentrated on all of those people I love, some of whom I don't know, most of whom I plan on keeping in my life for as long as I live, and I imagined the love, the times, and the experiences we've shared, I really thought hard and long about those people and something really wonderful happened; I cried.
I'm not going to say I never cry, but I can tell you, as a Reform Jew, it's always been difficult for me to emotionally connect to a religion that seems more like a chore than an experience. But I felt it, and to be honest, whether I call that experience God or love or Israel or high levels of seratonin, the feeling was real and I owe it to Israel.
I look forward to praying tonight at Synagogue for Shabbat. I'm not quite sure who I'm praying to, but for me, those I pray for (including myself) are a heck of a lot more important than my belief in the man upstairs.
Shabbat Shalom from Jerusalem!!